Monday, April 23, 2012
String vests .
It's still raining . The centre of town a hive of muted Monday morning activity . A small crowd of beret wearing tradesmen standing under the dripping arcades . Each of them noisily providing his own analysis of yesterdays election results . A phalanx of shoulder shrugs, arm waving and pouts . Textbook Gallic body language . Wilf settles down under a table for his half croissant. The plumber buys Angus a coffee. '' I'll be out to see you later this week " . Angus smiles . The waitress tells Wilf he's looking very handsome this morning . Wilf smacks his lips.
Local white asparagus in the greengrocers. The height of the season . Wilf waits at the shop door while Angus buys a kilo. '' Picked fresh this very morning " says the greengrocer . A lady in a bright red headscarve with a matching string shopping bag talks merrily away to Wilf .
Back to find the old farmer working on his motorhome. Angus waves and says ' Bonjour '. Our neighbour looks up . '' What's good about it ? If that lot get in I might as well go and live in North Korea " . Someones clearly not happy with the election results . Angus wonders how many North Koreans wear string vests. Wilf , unbothered by such things, heads off to christen the fire hydrant .