A sure sign of spring is the roll out of plastic in fields in preparation for melon planting. So far there’s a just a single field under wraps. It must be 30 hectares but it’s on the right side of the village as far as we are concerned, down near their depot, so we should avoid the continual shuttle of tractors in front of us past the chateau. But there may be more. The chateau buyers intend to lay out temporary accommodation for themselves, a family of five, in a couple of its enormous downstairs rooms and peck away at its restoration for as long as it takes. They all spent a week clearing brush, ivy etc., through a great roiling bonfire but I don’t think they’ve yet discovered where the septic tank is sited, so there’s a way to go. The young have unusual first names. A son is called Come. I asked for it to be repeated twice to confirm it. I didn’t ask how to spell it.
A neighbour’s cat took a bird from our terrace a couple of days ago. Since then I’ve satisfactorily bowffed it twice since and narrowly missed it with a stone so it may have taken the hint. It’s quite a nice cat – as cats go – and I’m reluctant to lay out a gin trap. Once the French windows can be left open I hope the dogs will keep it off the premises.

0 Responses to “Gin”

  • No Comments

Leave a Reply