Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

' The font ' heads off to look after ' granny font '. Wilf and yours truly are left alone . It pours with rain . The tree surgeon doesn't show up so the drive remains blocked by fallen branches. Madame Bay unexpectedly arrives but just as quickly departs . Aude, the bi-polar decaratrice, works for a couple of hours then also leaves. She brings with her another oat crunch from the womens cooperative so Wilf is happy .

We aren't alone for long . Mid-afternoon the mayor comes to look at the fallen oak tree. We have a conversation about grinding out the remains and removing the roots . The conversation is one sided as the mayor speaks quickly and my knowledge of French technical terms for destroying tree stumps is limited . Not that it matters . The mayor finally announces that it's quite impossible to remove and that I should grow roses over it.

Ten to five. The mayor returns with Tweedledum and Tweedledee - the regional archaeologists . They're here to inspect the foundations the builders unearthed while looking for septic tanks in the courtyard . These have now been reburied . Tweedledum says somewhat self-importantly " they should have been left for us to inspect. They might be Roman ". Angus doesn't think it wise to admit that it was he who'd ordered the builders to cover them over . Instead he exclaims "Builders ! ". He then repeats it again for effect . This response seems to work . The two archaeololgists tut, shrug their shoulders, mutter something gallic , announce that ' we'll be back ' and then go .

" What was all that about ? " asks Wilf over dinner . ' Good question Matey ' I reply in between mouthfuls of overcooked beef . Wilf has a little overcooked beef with his kibbles . He settles down and is soon dreamily asleep.