23rd September 2008

Me and him indoors are going for a walk around the village. Thought you might like to tag along. You won't need a coat as it's still warm outside and the sky's blue. French villages are like no other. Outside of France they would by now have evolved from rusticity to urbanity, but not here; they are content to remain small villages for ever, curiously proud of their tranquil decadence. As we head along our country lane, we make sure that Bruno's away from next-door's gate: don't want a barking confrontation at this time in the morning. Around the corner and across the road; no need to hurry. In fact, we can walk right up the central road line as there's not a car in sight, as we cross over to the ancient 15th C Eglise St-Pierre. The door's slightly ajar so I suggest to H that he take Bruno down to the river whilst I peep inside. The stone walls are damp and the atmosphere chill in here, my breath almost ghosting up in front of me. History has dwelt within its walls awhile and departed. Glad to be back outside again, I hurry past the ancient sandstone castle and its fortified gate into the old cite. Soon I've reached the rushing waters of the Aveyron, snaking its way along before falling down sheer rocks into the lower levels beneath. I anxiously look for H and Bruno. Where are they? Oh no, H and dog are both sitting in the water. How did you come to fall in the river? I didn't come to fall in the river, I came to walk the dog! Safely dried off, we headed home, past the enticing aromas emanating from the boulangerie. I'd like some Russian bread, says H. Oh, you mean black bread? No, ones with the Kruschov! Grr.

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