Shop till you drop

Le Marin is a thing of the past. Funny how when the sun shines and the sky is a clear cornflower blue you develop an extra 'spring' to your step and 'zing' in your heart. I'm a early bird myself so as soon as the church clock strikes seven before it has a chance to remind us again one minute later, (strange things French church clocks) I'm out of bed and bounding towards the kettle. The happy yellow face is out, remember ?

It's going to be a scorcher. Not a movement, not a single rustle of any leaf to be heard, it won't be long before the sound of the cicadas start their singing until late into the sultry evening.

I grab my old wicker basket and prepare to do battle, the daily chore of the shops beckon for bread. Camera at the ready I wind my way through the tiny streets of the village. Elderly dames are gathering in the shade of the trees, 'Bonjour Salleeeeee' ça va ? The mobile shop has his counter open and he waits patiently whilst the daily ritual of chatter takes its slow course. Meanwhile I enter the small village shop, the last loaf has been sold. Never mind, who was taken away in an ambulance last night ? why didn't you come to the féte ? we all danced the night away and probably drank too much and heads are thrown back in laughter at the memory. 'ça ne fait rien' (it doesn't matter)

Holiday makers in the village want to peek at the pool, I hand out cards for next year, they sigh wistfully.

Meanwhile there are jobs to be done and despite the heat I decide to crack the whip.
2b is dispatched to clean the pool (from the inside) with a sponge for round the edges. It's a tough job but someone has to do it. 'Would you like some help' ? I enquire.'You're all heart' he replies.

Some days you don't have to travel very far to live life, do you know what I mean ?