Thursday, September 8, 2011
Don't leave me this way .
The young man with the shaved head comes back to dig a hole in the gravel by the rose border . His arrival is unexpected . 'My grandad said I should check all the septic tanks " he says by way of explanation . After an hour he goes . He seems less than happy when I ask him to make good all the damage he's caused . Through it all Wilf lies on the grass, nose twitching , until the excitement gets too much for him and he falls asleep .
Across the lane the old farmer has put up another string of lights. The front and one side of his house now ready to exude Christmas cheer . So far no sign of the Christmas star .
Three solar panel engineers are staying at the gite by the crossroads in the village. On our evening walk we pass them . The boiler suited figures are outside , frying sausages on the barbecue while disco dancing in best 1970's, arms in air , fashion to a Donna Summers medley on Radio Nostalgie . '' That's not something you see every day " I say to the font . ' Indeed not ' comes the reply . Wilf is much taken with the smell of sausages and wanders over to introduce himself .
Life in France Profonde.