Saturday, October 1, 2011
We venture out after dinner to sit on the village green and watch , or in Wilfs case listen to , the pilgrims as they stroll through the village on their way to Spain . An old couple from Grenoble turn off the lane and wander over to him. The man strokes his head, the woman holds his paw. Their dog lasted four months with cancer . The woman kisses Wilf and says ' bon courage ' . Forget what you hear about the French being aloof . You cannot be alone in France if you have a dog .On our way home the fire hydrant christened in a peremptory way . Some routines must never change .
This morning is rugby morning , both France and Scotland playing .( Scotland are playing England - fellow Scots will understand what that means). By the time the sun has risen the parking area by the village hall is full . Young farmers and their offspring are sprawled on the grass in front of the war memorial. Around them a trail of identical Jack Russells walking backwards and forwards , into and then out of , the salle de fetes . Mischief in motion .
I can hear the Marseillaise being sung and shouts of ' allez les bleus '. Time for Wilf and yours truly to grab some champagne and head over to join everyone else .