One of the unanswered questions about French villages in summer is what happens to all the people ? Our little village is deserted - not just quiet - deserted. From dawn to dusk not a soul is to be seen and not a sound , apart from the crickets and the amorous serenade of the frogs in the village pond, is to be heard. Yesterday a grand total of six cars and tractors passed along the lane outside the rickety old farmhouse, and two of those were post office delivery vans. Summer torpor has arrived in deepest France profonde.
After his trip into town with me Wilf has settled himself down on the cool grass in the shade of the oak trees. Last night he scratched at the door at one thirty am to be let out - a sign that this latest stomach upset was a bad one. This morning , the problem passed, he is as bright and as happy as a dog can be. He was even allowed to get a piece of fresh croissant from the girl behind the bakery counter. Bliss can be seen on a dogs face.
Have to rush off to the airport to go and give a speech to a group of men in suits. Back on a six am flight tomorrow. Did you know that if the Chinese continue to buy cars at the current rate then with thirty years all the worlds oil production will be needed just to keep the motorists of Beijing and Shanghai on the road ? What interesting times we live in.