Thursday, October 18, 2012
Eight at night. It's pitch dark . The wind from the mountains rattling the shutters. This is the moment the landscape gardener chooses to ring the doorbell and ask if now would be a good time to talk about what needs to be done in the garden.
The newly repaired dishwasher gives up the ghost. An agitated Madame Bay can be seen in the kitchen turning the dials and pressing the buttons. The thing remains resolutely unresponsive. . Madame Bay finally gives up trying to coax it back to life . '' You need a new dishwasher . This ones broken " she says helpfully before leaving .
The large rolls of red tubing are still littering the village green.
Off to Paris. 'The font' has booked us on an airline that doesn't assign seats. This means a highly stressful twenty minutes at the departure gate with a group of Parisians who are willing to kick you in the shins, elbow you in the ribs or gouge out your eyes in order to board first.
Back on Saturday. 'The font' tells me it will be great fun.