Eight in the morning and the peace of the village is interrupted by the arrival of an ancient and very battered motor home . It proceeds along the lane towards us producing a noise not unlike the contents of a cutlery drawer being emptied onto a marble floor. With a final crunch of the gears it finally pulls up outside the old farmers front door . He steps down , gingerly, from the cab , waves delightedly at Wilf and yours truly and shouts " It's for my vacation " . We wave back but remain silent while digesting this latest piece of news . Considering the decrepitude of the vehicle and the fact that the district nurse comes to give the old farmer injections twice a day for his ' trouble ' he is presumably going to holiday close by . Maybe in his back garden . Motor home and the equally ancient mechanical digger are now parallel parked on the patch of grass next to his atelier .
Madame Bay arrives shortly afterwards. Today she is resplendent in lime green chiffon , black angora cardigan, grey calf length leggings, and sparkly gold open toed sandals . Faced with this vision of overpowering loveliness Wilf and yours truly escape to the sanity of the cafe under the arcades for our morning cofee , bowl of water and croissant . Local peaches in the greengrocers today. Unpriced, ie startlingly expensive , unlike the Spanish imports at €3 .40 a kilo.