Thursday, May 25, 2017

It is rain that grows flowers not thunder.

First light. Sophie finds not one, not two but three dead birds on her early morning garden patrol. A dead Woodpecker, a dead Nuthatch and a dead Swallow. The culprit may be a large bird of prey that's nesting in the field behind The Old Farmers house.

The Woodpecker and the Nuthatch are brought through the house and deposited in the kitchen. The Swallow is taken upstairs to the shower room. An unnatural silence tells me 'The Font' has been presented with it. The woodpecker and the Nuthatch are merely dead. The Swallow was killed a few days ago and is now ( in canine terms ) alluringly pungent.

After the Swallow is disposed of Sophie is told she's a walking advert for cat ownership.

She takes this as a compliment. Her day has started swimmingly.

The notice boards have gone up for the parliamentary elections. Only one poster has so far been pasted up. A former government minister who's brother rented our flat in London for a couple of years after we started our European wanderings. What a small world .

Bob and Sophie are told to sit still while a parade of pre-schoolers are shepherded along the road. The children are going to visit a restaurant to see how food is prepared. God help the chef. There are five teachers and twenty little ones. A group of good children lead the way with another group of four year old angels following on behind. In between are a gaggle of monsters who willfully disobey every command. The noise level is thunderous. Three boys are leaping on and off the kerb into the roadway. Another is pretending to be a flesh eating Zombie while another is refusing point blank to move. One of the teachers has got to the stage where she's considering infanticide as a career option. The little boy who's refusing to move bursts into tears. It seems his elder brother has told him that as part of the restaurant visit he's going to be cut up into little pieces, fried and served as lunch.

Later in the day, while cutting the grass, Angus finds two ( indeterminate ) birds legs on the lawn. Is it possible Sophie brought three birds into the house because she'd already recycled a fourth ..... or fifth ?

Everything will become clear with the passage of time.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017


For dinner small pieces of steak with puff pastry in a chervil sauce are added to the PONs kibbles. ' The Font' is supposed to be stricter with the dogs than Angus. This is palpably not true. Bob decides this is definitely the best end to a day ever. The family fellow sports his ' I is happy ' face.

As the sun sets two PONs make a tour of the village. Bob bounces. Sophie saunters. Their owners follow along behind. Goats, frogs, horses and donkeys are inspected with sparkling eyes. The yappy poodle at the crossroads is ignored. Satisfied all is well brother and sister head home. They have a long drink and then fall asleep. Bobs tail wags. Is he dreaming of steak and chervil sauce ? He is certainly as happy as a French summers day is long. Sophie snores. She sleeps deep in the certain knowledge tomorrow is going to be even better.

The rich rhythms of a dogs life.

A reminder that the world has a courteous side :

Tuesday, May 23, 2017


Thunder and lightning all through the night. Overhead, cold air from the Atlantic battling it out with warm air from North Africa. I get up and go through to watch the news from Manchester. The bomb attack was just being reported when I headed off to bed last night. Is targeting teenagers a new low ? The PONs join me. This morning the storm has passed through but it's a cloudy and muggy start to the day. The angelic duo head out of the front door and across the garden. Sophie sees the collar doves and gives chase. She howls with delight. The village wakes.

Sophie was groomed yesterday. This morning she manages to look as if she's never seen a brush in her life.

When we return from our morning walk The Old Farmer is checking his post box. He greets Bob formally with a hearty 'Bonjour' and tells Sophie, in an altogether more intimate tone, how beautiful she is. Sophie looks at him spellbound. We laugh. The Old Farmer says our local owls have one ear larger than the other. This helps them triangulate exactly where a rustling vole is. He thinks we have so many on top of the ridge because there are fields on either side ( rather than woodland ) which makes it easier for them to find the small critters they live on. He's counted four nesting pairs on the mile long stretch of lane.

The young Arab couple with the seriously disabled boy walk by and we wave. Both doctors, they work in Toulouse during the week but have rented a house by the crossroads and come into the country from Friday through to Monday lunchtime. It's the Ascension Day holiday on Thursday so they're here all this week. They wheel the boy along the lane - en famille - three times a day. The mother says the peace calms him. I'm left overawed by the simplicity of their devotion. The boy doesn't notice much but he now seems to recognize Sophie and her brother and laughs. The parents smile. Another of the small things that make the world spin.

Events too unimportant for a diary but too much part of life to go completely unrecorded.

Monday, May 22, 2017

Monday morning.

Monday morning. Bob finds the one legged Panda in the laurel hedge. Joy of joys !!

There's time for a celebratory game.

Half a dozen throws of the toy soon turns into a dozen and would reach twenty ....

 ... were it not for the fact that Bobs sister arrives and decides she wants to reacquaint herself with the rediscovered toy. It is THE object of her affections.

There is an ear shattering 'diva' moment.

Finally, Sophie and her Panda are reunited.

Bob takes the liberation of the toy and the end of his game with brotherly good grace.

A day reunited with a one legged Panda is shaping up to be the best day ever. 

May your Monday morning be as blessed as the PONs.

Here are a thousand pipers playing. A rare occurence :

Sunday, May 21, 2017


Through the night the owls that nest in the plane trees have been chatting to one another. Their conversation starts with the pair nesting by the village green and is then passed, baton like, for a mile or so along the lane to the pair at the crossroads. No wonder an owl gathering is known as a parliament. Thankfully, the PONs, being farm dogs are quite untroubled by garrulous owls. Sometimes two or three owls come and sit on the window ledges at The Rickety Old Farmhouse and enjoy a leisurely midnight chat. On nights like that the human occupants of The Rickety Old Farmhouse decide that an apartment on Time Square might be quieter. 

We head off  for the papers. I point out to Bob that he has yogurt on his beard. He seems unconcerned.

On our return a sudden summer storm blows down from the mountains. The aerodynamic gyrations of the PONs fur a sure indication of which direction the wind is blowing. Bobs right ear flaps in the gale.

The overnight rain has caused the weeds on the drive to shoot up. This afternoon, if its dry, I'll burn them out.

More arrivals at the chateau. A huge Mercedes and two merely large Mercedes. The family fellow stands on his stump seat and monitors the comings and goings. 

Sophie's lustrous nose continues to amaze.

'The lightning strikes on every side'. You don't need to be a Presbyterian or religious to know that the Easley choir in South Carolina posted a song for our times when they uploaded this unknown and rather jauntily beautiful piece of modern American music:


A thank you to a reader in Chicago who sent another version of the song. All Scottish hymns either relate to wolves devouring sheep or boats in gales. This falls into the latter category. This choir rehearsal a reminder that there is a very special place in heaven reserved for those high school teachers who do the impossible and coax music from a 'teenage' choir :

Saturday, May 20, 2017

PON words : limitless. exhaustless, unbounded, unending.

The heat rising. The PONs are harnessed up and ready for their walk at 6:30. They head off across the garden to bark at the collared doves and make sure there have been no c-a-t incursions.

We return from our walk to discover there's a scandal in the village. It seems the plumber visited the German billionaires chateau, unannounced, to repair a security light. A thirty something woman was swimming 'topless' in the pool. The woman seemed unperturbed by the plumbers arrival. The morose lads were,momentarily, less morose. Madame Bay ( who has heard the story from the good for nothing son-in-law Hugo, the husband of her hairdresser daughter Sandrine ) helps herself to a mug of coffee and a Madeleine and recounts the story to 'The Font' .  Madame Bay is of the opinion that  '' That sort of things probably alright where they come from ( ie Germany ) but it's not done around here '. She then adds primly '' I suppose it's the modern way '.

So starts an unexpectedly sultry Saturday morning in deepest, deepest France profonde.

After Madame Bay goes Sophie is taken for a stroll round the village. This turns into a leisurely 'sniff every flower, bark at every bird' affair.

Bob looks amazed when I tell him Callista Gingrich is to be the new U.S ambassador to the Holy See. 

The winds have flattened the rose border.

One of those days when nothing happens and you wonder what to write about. But then the PONs are a reminder that there's no such thing as an ordinary or uneventful day. The phrase ' just another day ' not part of the PON lexicon. There are only great days full of mysteries to be explored and excitement to be unearthed. The PON world is full of words like limitless, exhaustless, unbounded, unending.

These are the largest garden fountains in the world - the jets reach 175 feet - and they reopen after a $90 million renovation later this month.

Friday, May 19, 2017

Multilayered clouds.

Just as the sun is setting a pilgrim and two donkeys come wandering through the village. Bob stands on his stump seat and watches. Sophie stands on her titanium rear legs and howls. The two donkeys ( or let's hope it's the two donkeys ) trail a pungent odour behind them. It lingers in the air. Bob and Sophie are of the opinion it's the Chanel #5 of odours. Their owners are less sure. The pilgrim continues through the village and sets up a tent in the middle of the traffic island at the 'T' junction where the main road snakes down into the valley. A strange place to choose to spend the night when there are fields and woods all around.

This morning its pouring with rain. Multi layered clouds cast a peculiarly Scottish greyness over our little corner of paradise. After their morning walk the angelic duo  are looking a little the worse for wear.  They are also ready for a day of indoors fun. No need to worry about irrigating the garden today.

Despite the rain there's much activity at the chateau. A small fleet of black, highly polished Mercedes vans arrive. The German billionaires will soon be here. The local tradesmen will be very happy.

The Dutch have such good taste in political scandals :