Sunday. I had it all planned. A nice lazy day. Bit more work to the painting of Didier's maize field at around lunchtime when the angle of the sun is just right, followed by an afternoon's slobbing out in front of the telly watching Le Tour and the men's final at Wimbledon, then a quick checkover of the Citroen dogwagon before its MoT test on Monday before rounding off the day with a good old soiree dogwalk up in the hills and a dozy ogle of the US round of MotoGP just before bo-bos.

Er, didn't quite happen like that though.

Around mid-day I was just about to go out painting when the phone rang. Isabelle. Come round to lunch immediately. Er, but I'm just going out to do some more painting. Do it tomorrow, come round now. Er..., dammit, okay. I'll be round in twenty minutes. As I've said before, you don't argue with Isabelle. Gave the dogs a quick walk, had a quick wash, noticed the dirty washing basket was brimming over with smelly gear, loaded the washing machine, stuck the waste pipe in the sink, grabbed my baccy and toddled off to lunch with the dogs (Isabelle said bring 'em round).

Despite being somewhat miffed about my painting session being aborted (maize grows rapidly at this time of year so it's already much higher than when I started) I had an extremely pleasant al-fresco lunch with my friendly neighbours. Roast chicken, beans and grilled (I think) tomato halves topped with a yummy garlic cream with parsely, accompanied by a cheeky Cote de Rhone, followed by bread and cheeses and fresh coffee. Marvellous. Lasted a couple of hours.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OO3ZMdcL8Pc

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Lunch over, I waddled off home for Le Tour and tennis. Opened the front door and... disaster. Kitchen floor had become a swimming pool. Checked washroom. Washing machine pipe had fallen from the sink and was gushing water. About two hours' worth. Switched off machine and dragged soaking wet dog beds, settee blanket, carpet and floor-standing piles of old newspapers outside. Then started emptying the swimming pool by sweeping water towards the front door (not as easy as it sounds - has to go up a one-inch step). Took ages.

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With soggy shoes I made a cuppa and went upstairs to the telly. Caught the end of Le Tour and then the third set of the tennis. Splendid match. Nerve-wracking stuff. Dogs started demanding walkies in the fifth and final set. Not yet lads, it'll be over soon. Said that for an hour or more. What was it? A 15-13 final set? Shame someone had to lose.

Monday morn. Kitchen floor almost dry. Washing about to be hung outside. Then check Citroen. MoT at four. Might fail due to elderly rear tyres. We'll see. Fingers crossed.

P.S. - Smelly Citroen dogwagon amazingly passed its Controle Technic (MoT test) with just one advisory - get those rear tyres replaced soon. While it was being tested I waddled off down to Aubusson to kill an hour by buying a few classic car mags and having a couple of coffees, then waddled back. About three minutes later, halfway up the hill, the cafe proprietor wheezily caught me up carrying the sweater I'd left at the table. Nice people the French.