The traffic jam .

Up early . Angus stands at the open front door, large cup of coffee in hand, watching a family of magpies walk counter clockwise around the swimming pool . Round and round they go. Two adults and three young. They do this at six in the morning and again at six in the evening , every day. Natures  routines. How many of these little rituals do I miss ?

No sign of the builder, electrician or gutter repairman. There is however progress of sorts. The bamboo cover for the pergola is delivered. It was supposed to be here on Friday but the shipping company took it to a village with the same name but in a different departement. " Perhaps you could come and collect it " they suggest. Angus chuckles .

To the bakers for the breakfast croissants. On the way back a traffic jam. Fifty or sixty ancient motorcycles out for a Tuesday morning spin. Some of them heading towards us on the wrong side of the road. At the back the figure of Monsieur Bay , stalled  , trying to kick start his vintage machine into life. Swearing contentedly away he's quite oblivious to the line of cars building up behind him . The Retired Gendarmes Association on summer manoeuvres.

And so with life in France Profonde drifting gently along we head off on vacation. One final reminder to water the garden and we're off on our way to Boston.