A large pile of earth .

Thick Dickensian fog . The sort that drips like rain from the trees and eddies round the street lights . By the time we get to the ' big ' supermarket the visibility is finally starting to improve and an increasingly impatient Wilf is raring to go . Despite being blind and having only one functioning nostril there is nothing he enjoys more than a leisurely saunter across a car park. To humans just another parking lot. To an old dog a Bodleian Library of scents and impending adventures.

' The font ' shops while Wilf and yours truly slowly navigate our way past Renaults and Peugeots and Citroens . The old fellow carefully attends to all four tyres on a very large and very new silver Mercedes SUV . The model of canine concentration . Contentment PON style .

Home to find that someone has unexpectedly dumped a large pile of earth on the pathway in front of the house . Have the gardeners returned ? Are they about to start filling in the holes ? Why In France does no one ever telephone to tell you what they plan to do ? Why do they never call to find out if you'll be at home ? The mysteries of living in another country . The family fellow finds the wet soil tantalizing . He is quickly escorted to the kitchen .

As Wilf might say : '' Never regret anything because at one time it was exactly what you wanted " .

Well , only the one !

Seven o'clock on the dot . There's a beep of a car horn as the mayor pulls up at the front gate in his battered , once blue , now much resprayed , Renault Megane . '' Bonsoir M'Ongoose . I was just passing " he shouts out cheerily. His face lights up when offered a glass of champagne . '' No, no I shouldn't . Well only the one . It's been a long day " he says, sprinting up the stairs to the drawing room with a surprising degree of agility for man well into his seventies.

Three glasses of champagne and an invitation to the village finance committee meeting later, he goes . It seems that our local Member of Parliament is coming to the village to discuss funding for the restoration of the church and its frescoes . '' We were wondering if you could look over the proposal for us ? " . ' The font ' says I'd be delighted to . Angus is less sure . As the mayor leaves he turns to me and says " You do know that our MP's a Radical Socialist ". As the mayor drives off Angus is left standing in the lane wondering what this little nugget of information could possibly mean .

Through it all Wilf sits in the downstairs hallway happily playing with a squeaky penguin . Old PON wisdom : - " Just remember , once you're over the hill you begin to pick up speed " .

Christmas comes early .

For the next four weeks life as we know it comes to a complete halt here in France Profonde . The Rugby World Cup starts in New Zealand this weekend, and all eyes , in this rugby crazy part of the world, are on Les Bleus. Sitting reading the local paper at the cafe it seems that coverage of anything and everything else has been dropped for the duration . Crisis in the Euro ? Forget it .

Much to Wilfs delight the under five and under eight squads have entered into the spirit of things by setting out a team of rugby playing scarecrows on the village green . Their fathers , aided by copious quantities of lager , have been installing a large flat screen tv in the salle de fetes in readiness for the first match . Wilf has done his bit by carefully christening each of the straw figures.

Angus has also been preparing . A trip down to the wine merchants in Toulouse with Wilf. A special deal on end of summer wines . Domaine d'Ott , the Queen of roses , and Chateau la Calisse , a light Provencal white . A couple of cases of champagne just in case Scotland wins a match . Wilf happily settles down on the floor to talk to the shop staff and enjoy a hair tousling while Angus saunters round the wine racks . Both equally happy .

This morning , returning from our walk , we stop to chat to the old farmer . He's clambering up a ladder towards his balcony with length of electrical cable in his hand. '' More rewiring ? " I ask by way of polite conversation . ' Christmas lights ' he replies .

A poem remembered.

Excitement . Just before lunch a van draws up outside the gates . The whistling workmans come to give the warning triangles on the speed bump their once a year makeover. He paints one side before lunch , then carefully lays out traffic cones to protect his work . First stage completed he drives off to the village green where he gets out , sprawls on the grass, and enjoys an hour and a halfs nap in the shade. Suitably refreshed he returns , removes the cones , paints the other side of the speed bump, lays out the cones again and then drives thirty yards back to the green for the second half of his nap . An hour and a half later , paint dry, cones collected, he finally goes . Efficiency , Tarn-et-Garonne style. From time to time Wilf, who finds the whistling irritating, deigns to bark at him .

Six thirty at night . A group of a dozen or so red shirted pilgrims wander along the lane . They see 'the font' working in the garden and ask if they can fill up their water bottles . Nice , ordinary folk from Munich taking three weeks to walk as much of the route towards Santiago di Compostela as they can . Due to the unexpected guests Wilf gets his insulin injection from 'the font ' later than usual . I feed him earlier than usual . Our well practised family routine thrown twenty minutes out of kilter . Result ? A really bad night for the family fellows diabetes .

This morning Angus is feeling decidedly sleep deprived but Wilfs tail is wagging . He's happy . Dogs seem to have read, and remembered , that ever grateful Emerson line that goes : " For each new morning with its light, For rest and shelter of the night , For health and food , for love and friends , For everything thy goodness sends ". The irrepresible gratitude of our four legged companions . Today , Angus and Wilf will be having an extended post lunch siesta .

For a reason .

We drive into town to find a coachload of holiday makers disgorging themselves onto the market square . Noisy, happy and crimplened . By the time Wilf has been unloaded from the back of the car all the seats at the cafe are gone . So too are the croissants . Wilf puts on his best Mr.Frump face . " Things just ain't as they should be " .

Home to find ' the font ' getting ready to prepare roti de cabillaud au bacon et olives for lunch . Wilf sits and stares. His PON telepathic powers letting it be known that he's been hard done by in the croissant department . A slice of bacon is cooked for him. That, and a kiss on the head from 'the font' and normal service is soon resumed . As any PON will tell you , " Remember : Whatever happens, happens for a reason " .

A wistful sigh.

Out with Wilf for our early morning amble along the lane. After the recent sunshine a chilly, overcast start to the day. Everywhere around signs of spring bursting into full throated song. We'd crossed the village green, made a quick detour to the fire hydrant and just turned for home when a living bundle of playfulness burst out of the vegetable garden. Kelleeee. Within seconds she was bounding up to us - tongue lolling , ears flying , paws heading in all directions. A canine ballet of disorderly confusion.

Over the last 24 hours Wilf has gone completely blind. At first I was worried that this unexpected visitor might frighten him. But no. He stood stock still as Kelly danced and leapt around him. A moment or two for him to work out what was happening and then he was a dog transformed. Shoulders back, head high, nose in the air. All the aches and pains and mistiness forgotten.

Kelly is clearly not the sort of girl to dawdle. Just as Wilf was beginning to make her acquaintance , she was off again. A blur of exuberant brown fur hurtling, pell-mell, past the war memorial. The mobile phone camera barely had time to focus but managed to pick up the tail end of their all too brief encounter. Wilf made a few hurried steps after her but although the mind was willing ....

Home with the old fellow. I can tell he's feeling low. The eyes now completely cloudy. His process of adjusting to the total darkness just beginning. He follows me , carefully, into the office and lies with his head on my feet. A wistful sigh : " I had rather a fool make me merry, than experience make me sad ".

Lifes greatest mystery .

A great day for Wilf. Five white vans parked in the courtyard. Time for the serious business of sniffing wheel arches and christening tyres. Aude, the bib overall wearing decaratrice, arrived with a pack of biscuits. She received a lick. The other workers were greeted with a warning bark. The canine house rule : Biscuits = Acceptance. No biscuits = Disdain.

Few things on earth as mysterious as the plumbing system in the rickety old farmhouse. Pipes appear, then disappear into the ground, only to reappear again in improbable places far,far away. Faucets exist where no faucets should be. Water flows in enigmatic ways. The whole labyrinthine system a gurgling tribute to two and a half centuries of gallic improvisation. Logic and an understanding of the laws of gravity notable by their absence.

Two large, track suited, gentlemen arrived in the late morning to conduct a survey of the village septic tanks. Could this possibly be the worlds worst job ? They poked around in the garden for three hours, returning with the news that we have two ancient and hitherto unknown, fosse septique, by the front door. A plumbing enigma inside a pipework riddle.

They'll be back this morning for 'further explorations '. Wilf slept solidly from ten last night until six this morning. No early morning pit stops for him. A dog completely and delightedly exhausted by the discovery of fresh, highly pungent, odours . Heaven.