What a sweet gesture.

With 'the font' away for 'Granny fonts' 92nd birthday Wilf and yours truly were left to fend for ourselves. Pizza for lunch and a pre-cooked chicken casserole - "all you have to do is warm up the oven" - for dinner. It should be noted that pizza crusts rank up there with cauliflower cheese as an all time PON favourite.

After Wilf had enthusiastically finished off a large bowl of chicken and potatoes it was time for fun in the hallway. Not so long ago we would have rug surfed and played rugby for forty five minutes solid. Now, it's three minutes of action , ten minutes of down time, three minutes of action, fifteen minutes of down time. Come nine thirty prompt, he got up, put his paw on my arm and clearly announced it was his bedtime. Uncanny.

The mayor came to see me late in the morning. The pigeons have got into the church belfry again and a dead bird has fallen into the mechanism and stopped the clock. No more chiming thirteen - twice - on the hour every hour. I prayed that my delight wasn't too obvious.

We wandered across the village green to see what could be done. After yesterdays heavy rain the church roof is leaking and the plaster work behind the frescoes is bowing with the resulting damp. The church is a strange affair. During the '14-'18 war the village was decimated. 10% of the population killed and a similar number maimed. All young men or rather almost all the young men. After the war the villagers covered every square inch of the old building with paintings commemorating the war, the fallen, and their grief. There's now a very real danger that it may all crumble into dust.

While the mayor and I discussed the options Wilf stretched out on his back on the gravel outside the church door. When we emerged there was one very comfortable, very relaxed boy snoring peacefully away.

Just as it was getting dark the mayors wife appeared at the front gate with a small 'cedar of lebanon' sapling taken from the ancient old tree in the churchyard. She'd remembered that Digby had passed on six months ago and had brought this to plant over his resting place on top of the ridge. What a sweet gesture. Despite its struggles our little French village is a place of continuity.