Monsieur F has been muck spreading in the field at the back of the house and behind the wood store. Clods were flying over our fence and onto the grass between the fruit trees. The hot wind was blowing from the north west and as I started to do supper I realised that we would only be able to smell and taste ammonia .
We fled to the crêperie in Clairac.
The tables in the courtyard were crowded as everyone was there to eat before the evening concert in the church - the last in a week of classical music. So we sat inside in the cool, brick-walled gloom listening to Madame chat behind the counter as she whisked up her crisp, light crêpes.
The performance was Mahler's Fourth Symphony, played with great verve to a packed, sweaty and enthusiastic audience. There was to be another piece by Mendelssohn, but we slipped away to escape the heat and took great gulps of fresh air driving home in the batmobile, to store up for our return to our smelly valley.
Today, after a garden-reviving downpour, the air is sweet and clear again.