Wannabe .

Is it better to live in the country or in town ? At the bakers the two ladies in the queue behind me are lamenting the fact that the house with the cream shutters is up for sale . '' Only Parisians will buy it. They've got all the money " they intone as if being Parisian somehow guarantees the riches of Croesus . I've always admired this little medieval house with its pleasing run of arches and deep, sun sheltering arcades . There again it's right opposite the market square which is the site of many an impromptu concert . Last night it was the unusually named Lonesome Wally who were holding the townsfolk in thrall .

In the village salle des fetes a laminated poster concerning conduct has been tacked onto the notice board . A guide to good behaviour for five year old wannabe rugby players and their wannabe , again , fathers . I read it and smile . An innocent and uplifting guide to life .

Hot and humid . One of those days when you expect a thunderstorm to come barrelling down from the mountains at any moment to clear the air . I say Savannah weather . ' The font ' says ' more like Shreveport ' and stays indoors . Wilf , driven by the need for a pit stop , ambles with me down to the village pond . Above two buzzards are chasing off an eagle that's strayed too near their young . Down at pond side the sun drenched frogs register an annoyed ' ribbit ' before hoping into the cold water. Wilf settles down in the shade of a pomegranate tree and falls into a gentle sleep . Not much bothers him these days . Wisdom begins at the end.