Tuesday morning .

Off to the neighbouring village for an early morning walk . The sun still drifting into the sky . We park the car on the grass verge opposite the farmhouse with wonderful blue painted gates . Envy is a sin but I must admit to being envious of these huge , oh so French , oh so formal, metal gates . I'm also envious of the cared for, weed free, garden that lies behind . Clearly this is a house that has been looked after for generations and doesn't suffer mysterious early morning odours or frequent power outages . Although the farmhouse shutters are open there's no sign of anyone in the garden or lights on inside . This is just as well as Wilf decides to give the gates a lengthy christening .

We turn right beyond the Post Office and pass in front of the chateau . The chateau dog , a rather plump fox terrier called Henri , wanders out to say hello to Wilf. He's followed out onto the square by a shaggy, but much loved , mutt from the restaurant . A few moments later and we're joined by a shy , black and white , hunting dog from the melon farmers house. All three of them bark in unison and then, deciding that Wilf is not a great playmate , hurry off , line abreast , down the lane in search of adventure. The amiable social life of village dogs is a wonder to behold . Wilf is too busy christening the tyres of a little blue Peugeot to pay them any attention .