Thursday, October 27, 2011
A Wednesday in France Profonde . Madame Bay is hoovering the upstairs kitchen , Aude the bipolar decaratrice is busy at work replastering the guest bedroom , ' the font ' is at the front gate listening to the mayor explain his plans to instal four new street lights , the tree surgeon is felling what remains of the diseased oak tree and Angus is in the office calling the insurance company ; again . Wilf is very sensibly asleep in the downstairs hallway .
It is clear that Madame Bay is taken with the tree surgeon . Between nine and eleven , no less than three cups of coffee are made and then carried across the courtyard to him . Our saintly septuagenarian manages to spend much of her morning standing , arms folded, chiffon turban blowing in the breeze, watching '' ce jeune homme bien dans sa peau " cavorting in his oak canopy . For my benefit ' the font ' translates this little nugget of wisdom as " he's fit " .
In the afternoon Aude brings Wilf an oat biscuit , baked especially for him , by the womens cooperative . He takes it , eats it carefully, makes sure there are no crumbs left , beams , turns on his back and falls asleep. The stressed daily routine of a family dog .