Half term

A brace of expats, here for the best part of 20 years, are returning to the UK. Someone lent their house, everybody brought food and wine and 50, almost all Brits, sat down for a very good meal to say good-bye to them. There was even a live band playing generationally appropriate music. One of the few French present told me how impressive he found the foreign community. As a Frenchman I could only agree.
It’s half term and much of the village will empty for the week as people visit relations and have a change of scene. We take charge of four extra dogs, a cat and a hamster and I have been instructed to call the gendarmes if anything untoward takes place. They were out again to see the grandson over the weekend concerning some months-old motoring offence. Their van must be able to find its own way here by now.
The people threatening to buy the chateau are German, not a nationality that often settles round here. There’s a bit of a mutter about this amongst the more ancient inhabitants of the commune but I think I’d prefer them to French buyers who might try to turn themselves into the local squires. They also would be unlikely to be here that often.

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