Captain Midnight here, reporting from Paradise.
No, really!
Himself is sliding gently into the second week of our French idyll, with Rosie parked in the garden of a house called Paradise. The old word-botherer is using it as a writing cabin during the day, otherwise we’re staying in the main house with Herself and an eclectic bunch of friends.
Big news! I’ve learned to play boules! If you are not familiar with the game, it goes something like this. First, take up a position out of sight, behind an apple tree, for example. Then wait until the other players (four ladies in my case) have lobbed their cannonballs at a little ball called a cochonnet or piglet. Before they stroll up to see who is winning, rush on to the court, grab said piglet and run off with it. This avoids unnecessary arguments about whose ball is closer than whose and results in the most delightful final phase of the game – the chase.
I’ve also discovered that French wasps are not nice to eat. A whole bunch of them kept buzzing round the outside table at dinner time so I decided to catch one and eat it pour encourager les autres as they say in these parts. Unfortunately it stung me on the way down which swole my lip and made me bark with a lisp. Himself said he was very concerned but laughed in what I thought was an unseemly and unsympathetic manner. Next time, he can eat his own wasps.
Last but not least, it seems that I can actually walk on water. This will not be a surprise to my die-hard fans, but it came as a bit of a shock to me. I’d been running around the swimming pool as Himself advised, until someone who shall remain nameless (Herself) threw a ball from one side to the other. Well, what’s a dog to do? I ran straight over the pool cover.
Think they’re clever, eh?
I’d like to see them try that!
Coming Home to Story 