The Journey -
Rosy is STILL at Montchanin

Shortly after arriving here, a Belgian couple with a delectable female half moored next door a couple of days.  They have a massive, lady alsatian, so Fanny is getting over her fears of them (after one bit her nose), and they both play together - after, that is, Fanny has made complete submission by lying on her back and exposing all her bits, and licking the alsatian's face.

The delectable female is pretty fit, leastways she has gently rippling muscles, nicely set off by the armless, legless clothes that she tends to wear.  Each time that I left Rosy, Madame just happened to be there, taking her woof for a walk.  So when I heard that Monsieur had to go off down South on the TGV train to bring their car up to Montchanin, I rather thought of suggesting to Madame that she and her woof, et moi et mon Fanny could slip off to the nearby reservoir for a swim, on the pretty good assumption that the sight of Madame in swimming kit could revitalise those parts etc. etc.

The fateful morning arrived.  I was up early to take Fanny for a walk, and on our return, I saw Monsieur heading off for the train.  I had breakfast, and then there was a flash, a roll of thunder, and it poured down with rain ALL day, easing up shortly after Monsieur returned, in the evening, with their car.  Such is life (being the reported last words of Ned Kelly the Oz outlaw/folk hero).

Indeed, the weather has been hot and, at times thundery.  I've taken Fanny down to the reservoir, to encourage her to swim, but to no avail - she saw swimming as pure survival - until today (Sunday) when we finally cracked it, and she was swimming off to fetch sticks and demanding that they be thrown back in for her!!

Wednesday is the market day here in Montchanin, so it was a good 'Bring your own food' BBQ day.  We lit the fires at 1815, and only one crew didn't pitch up for a burnt evening meal.

I've just finished reading a very moving book - 'Eleni' by Nicholas Gage.  It is a piece of investigative journalism about the ghastly goings on in Greece during and after WW2.  Nicholas Gage was born in little village in Greece in 1940, and he has been investigating the circumstances surrounding the arrest, torture and execution of his mother in 1948.  Although the main story line is somewhat harrowing, the book gives a wonderful glimpse into life in a remote Greek village at that time - recording a way of life that had lasted for centuries, but is now almost exterminated - except for the folk memories.

Apparently there are red squirrels in the nearby trees, so I'll be up early tomorrow with the binos to check them out.

Toodle pip!!

Bill