Saturday, July 31, 2010

THE great weekend arrives.

Yesterday, Wilf lay listlessly on the floor amid the paint pots listening to Aude holding forth on life. His once every ten days post-pancreatitis stomach upset had laid him low. I wish we could find out what we could do to stop the pain. Thankfully, after six hours of discomfort he returns to normal and this morning is once again in tip top form. On our morning walk an intermingled gaggle of pheasant and quail chicks with their parents meandered across the road in front of us. Anything small and fluttery would have brought out the demon in Digby but Wilf just stood, looked, and then got on with his sniffing. He is a happy dog.
A late night walk with Wilf and 'the font' was interrupted by the deputy mayoress emerging , wraith like , from under the chestnut tree on the village green and holding out two glasses of punch. A celebratory moment to honour the firing up of the kiln. Fifty yards further down the lane all the villagers were to be found clustered around the brick monster which was belching out flames and smoke to a quite alarming degree. The heat from the chimney had blown the tiles off the roof and a plume of cinders and ash was gushing heavenwards. Wilf looked at the dantesque sight and nestled in a little closer to my knee. 'It's up to eighteen hundred degrees !' the deputy mayoress gushed as if this was something to be proud of. Not that 'the font' and I cared. The hastily gulped down combination of vodka, armagnac, rose wine and orange juice had led to a sudden and inexplicable loss of feeling in our lower jaws. As we walked home we agreed that the best that could be said about the punch was that the taste was memorable and that orange juice and wine were added to the vodka and armagnac in infinitesimally small quantities.
The village is looking very spruce in readiness for the celebrations. The mayor has wound up the church clock which is back to chiming eleven, on the hour, every hour, twice. The tarmac in front of the mairie is spotless, and freshly laid and raked gravel leads down towards the kiln. The second night of the art show passed without incident although our American house guests have been harangued into being photographed by the local paper ( you could not make it up) as a sign of the international communities interest in the pottery kiln. Closer to home the immovable object (Cost centre 3) and the irresistible force ( the font ) are still disagreeing over whether being a greeter at A&F is suitable summer employment. It was not wise to have said 'I'll only be showing my abs' - the effect at the breakfast table was vaguely akin to the arrival of a new ice age. 'And what else might you be showing ? ' the frosty response.  Roll on the start of the new semester then we might all get some peace. Wilfs view is that this one is beyond my diplomatic skills and our time would be much better spent buying sausages.


  1. At least being a greeter IS a job. We know so many young people holding out for managerial positions...having no training and thinking everyone else thinks they're as intelligent as their besotted parents do.

    XXXOOO Daisy, Kendra & Bella

    Wilf has the right idea, as usual.

  2. Ah, time spend shopping for sausages is NEVER wasted time, that's for sure.
    As for the pottery kiln, surely the local press need look no further than comments on this blog for evidence that the 'international community' is indeed exceedingly interested in the project.....(if not for quite the right reasons).
    Toodle pip!
    PS As for your comment about Trump/Salmond. Well. Gail goes on and on and on about the long list of people culpable in allowing the desecration of our lovely coastline. If I mentioned them all in my blog I think you would be still reading it now.

  3. Oh, and Gail has just reminded that my predecessor Hamish did have something to say about our venerable First Minister..


  4. The shocker for me is how American-casual all the art lovers are dressed. Are they locals? Or part of the "international community"?

    I did see a beautiful field of sunflowers on the wall -- much like your photo of a while back.

    Here's to sausages to go with the celebratory punch!

    xx Joan

  5. Oh what a wonderous smile on Wilf's face. Perhaps he was thinking "sausages" as you snapped the picture. Back to the kiln...perhaps standing back (way back) would give one a safer perspective. Enjoy a beautiful everything!

  6. I agree with Gail and Bertie - at least he's interested in having a summer job. And with August at the doorstep, exactly how long will this ab-baring job last? Perhaps as a pre-med student, he's interested in studying anatomy firsthand?

  7. This reader from Colorado wanted you to know that today's post made her laugh out loud three separate times - not a common occurance! Your writing style and wry sense of humor keep me coming back day after day. It's also comforting to know in the midst of my own daily trials I can check in on Wilf's small-town observations half a world away, and know that despite my personal turmoil, the rest of the world carries on. Thank you Wilf!

  8. I'm surprised Mr. A&F hasn't been snatched up by the ladies at the art guild! I'm sure they'd appreciate his abs! Sometimes we learn as much from our mistakes as we do from our successes, and perhaps he'll learn it in one lesson.

    You sure have a lot going on there in your little village! I admit to being envious! The image of the kiln at night piques my curiosity!

  9. That punch sound interesting.

    Is that your picture of the sunflowers in the art show?

  10. I think that the laws of physics dictate "an immovable object" and "an irresistible force" cannot coexist. Either the object must move or the force must become resistible. That's my scientific contribution to your breakfast table drama!

    I agree that the events in your village could not be made up - they are far too wacky! I was having a very bad day, feeling angry and spitting fire, when I opened your blog. Once I started reading, I was reduced to fits of giggling within seconds! Thanks, Angus, I needed your dry sense of the absurd!

    Abs, cougars - What's next?