The giant paella dish .

Saturday night. The Saints Day dinner. Sainte Rolende. One of the lesser known saints . Farmers, their wives, tractors, small white vans , chairs , blankets, dogs and toddlers scattered haphazardly across the village green . In the midst of it all a fire with Willy's giant paella bubbling merrily away . We are introduced to Willy . A jovial man who inherited the giant paella dish from his father . '' Two metres forty in diameter and weighs ninety three kilos " . Angus unsure of how to respond to the proud owner of a giant paella dish makes an ' I'm amazed  '  whistling noise.

Wilf settles down next to ' the font '  . The other dogs come to say hello but quickly leave him alone . Canine understanding . Wilf discovers he likes seafood paella. A clear " why did you never tell me about squid ? " look on his face . Protracted lip smacking, then a sigh, then it's time to fall asleep .We leave when the old farmer starts to play the accordion . '' Going so soon ? " shouts Madame Bay .

This morning the procession leaves the church at six thirty . Wilf asleep at the foot of the stairs . When I open the door the sunlight falls on him. His fur glows . A great way to start a Sunday in France Profonde .