Friday, September 23, 2011
The old farmer visits his wifes grave every day . Out of the front door, right across the village green and then sharp left past the church . A journey of two hundred yards . He sits under the yew tree by her tombstone and then chats away aloud for an hour . An unchanging routine of continued devotion . We pass the graveyard on our afternoon saunter . He sees us and shouts out " just telling her to keep the bed warm for me ". I wave back unsure quite how to respond .
' The Font ' is making Selle d'agneau sauce aux cepes et son soufflet de carotte for dinner . Wilf and yours truly are sent to the supermarket for cepes. It's the foire aux vins . Hundreds and hundreds of different wines . We return an hour later with a dozen cases of burgundy and some chocolate . When asked where the cepes are we have to admit that they have somehow been forgotten . We get a rare '' Oh Angus ! " . Wilf gets a second visit to the supermarket . This time with ' the font '. He also gets a bowl of water and a piece of wholegrain bread at the supermarket cafe .