I had my first extended conversation with the local roadsweeper this morning. It was mostly about the weather, but that still counts. We are to have rain, which had already begun, on and off over the weekend. But it is needed for the fields. This was more successful than my attempted contribution to the discussion in the Post Office about a young lad who had just skidded off his scooter outside. Like the boy, my words fell on stony ground. He got up unscathed. I departed in disarray.
The delivery of loft insulation materials did not happen yesterday ‘because the driver is on holiday’. It is now arranged for next Wednesday, the day before I leave. Preparatory work will continue on Monday.
In the rain, I walked along the Pomport Road and up the route around the field I still call the donkey’s. 
At most corner junctions in Sigoules there are bright floral displays which brightened up the grey atmosphere. 
Yellow crocuses burst forth in clumps in the gardens and along the grassy banks by the side of the road. Some months ago I watched roofers working on what I take to be a barn conversion. 
Their work now forms an attractive patchwork quilt.
My assinine friend has not been in residence for some time now, and at first I thought the field empty. Two goats, however, still occupied the top corner. 
One hung its head, but the other clambered from beneath the tree that had sheltered the donkey back in April, stuck its nose through the wire fence, and gave me a beguiling bearded smile.
Le Code Bar, post-summer, is now closed on Sundays, and not serving food on Saturdays. Today being Saturday I was saved disappointment by Fred, who, although in sole charge of the bar, vanished into the kitchen and produced roast duck, chips, and salad. He needn’t have worried that the duck might be too dry.