The village Christmas market.

The village Christmas market. The Old Farmer dressed as Santa Claus. Madame Bay in a gravity defying turban and paisley poncho. She, Monsieur Bay and a coterie of grandchildren are on the stage of the salle des fetes slowly dancing to that Christmas classic  ' Killing me Softly ' as sung by Ms. Roberta Flack.  The mayor overseeing the setting up of the crib in his trademark pork pie hat.  Dogs, children, farmers and their wives, a coachload of zimmer framed visitors from the old folks home in the neighbouring village. Chaos - France profonde style.

We wander over mid-afternoon. A stall selling booklets on esoteric subjects - ' ancient vegetables ' or ' the benefits of Spiruline ' - is doing a roaring trade. Angus can imagine the scene on Christmas morning.  '' Look what I got you for Christmas Grandma ! A booklet on ancient vegetables ! ". Next door a husband and wife team that make espadrilles. ' The font ' looks at them and tries, unsuccessfully, to  interest Angus in a pair. By three o'clock the stallholders dogs have got bored and have left their beds under the tables in search of adventure. The Jack Russells lead them all in a parade in and out of the French windows.

Having failed to charm any ' lovely ladies ' to visit him in his magic grotto the Old Farmer wanders off. He and the Very Old Farmer are last seen sitting  drinking ' floc ' on the town hall steps.