" You old scoundrel ! "

It's been raining solidly for four days. The little market town deserted. The election posters peeling off the billboards. Angus goes to the post office with a parcel of books from Amazon. The carton has burst and three of the books are soaked through . Why the post lady would have left them outside in the downpour is a mystery . The post master can't understand why they've been left outside either . He agrees to return them but blames Amazon for putting too many books in the box. '' Books are heavy you know " he says by way of explanation. Angus unsure of how to respond , nods .

Home to find that Madame Bay is at the breakfast table relaying the latest village goings on to ' the font ' . Today she is in a chintz cotton dress , yellow woollen cardigan and paisley headscarve. A pair of blue wellington boots a gesture to the constant rain . It seems the 1500 bottles of Evian we saw being  delivered to the town hall on Saturday morning have been sent by the regional government . They are to be given to the old folk of the village if a '  heat emergency ' is declared . 

The very old farmer showed up at the town hall yesterday morning to demand his share of the water . The mayor patiently explained that he could only hand out the bottles if the temperature exceeds 100 degrees for more than four days in a row.  This is not what the very old farmer wanted to hear .  Madame Bay , coffee cup in one hand, feather duster in the other, then does a more than passable imitation of the old fellow shouting " I fought in the war for the likes of you. I know what your game is , you scoundrel* . You're going to sell them and make yourself a tidy little profit ''. Mayor and the very old farmer are no longer talking to each other .

This does not auger well for the next village committee meeting .Such is the excitement of life in deepest France Profonde .

* Not the exact word used but close enough .