Thursday, November 15, 2012
A miracle. Barring a two hour lunch break the gardener is here for a full day. He and the four morose lads lay turf around the palm tree in the courtyard , prune the limes and reseed the lawn they planted a year ago. At five on the dot they load up their equipment and go. They promise to come back next week to lay more turf and plant the roses. '' It'll be either Monday or Tuesday. Maybe Thursday " says the gardener with studied imprecision. ' I'll put it in the diary ' says Angus. The gardener looks back blankly.
The post lady delivers a large bundle of Christmas catalogues. Seasonal bargains on ear defenders , a fitted kitchen for €299, Father Christmas decorations ( Angus points out to 'the font' that the Father Christmas in the catalogue is a dead ringer for the Old Farmer across the lane ) and a reminder that the 2012 Beaujolais Nouveau is for sale in the local supermarket.
'' Oh " says ' the font ' . '' I've got tickets for tonights Beaujolais nouveau dinner at the restaurant in town". Angus grimaces. " You'll enjoy it once you're there. We don't want people to think we're recluses ". Between champagne drinking villagers and a stream of unscheduled French workmen Angus wonders how anyone could ever think we're reclusive. A chance would be a fine thing.