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A drunken cicada.


One of those late summer mornings when the sky is an impossible blue and the lazy heat builds up and lingers.


On our way to the bakers we pass a number of open doors. They hint, invitingly, of brewing coffee and jam and croissants. The duo are keen to explore but are 'encouraged' along . Not everyone would be keen to have enthusiastic PONs join them for breakfast.


On our way home a quick sprint through the sunflower fields. The farmers have just started harvesting them; a sure sign that the year is about to turn a page. By the waterfall we startle a late returning Nightjar which rises into the air and then circles over us making a long trilling song like a drunken cicada. I stand and stare at this rare sight, Bob and Sophie are too busy following scents to notice.


Mid-morning, The Old Farmer heads off again. He has packed a two wheeled trailer with wine, a collection of foam pillows and enough Toulouse sausage to feed an army. 'The Font' thinks that his lady friend from Paris may be joining him on the delayed excursion across the Napoleonic battlefields of Europe.



Would you let  your dog travel on this ? : http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2009/jul/15/pet-airways-american-travel



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