Wet Easter Saturday

(E)Vita and I, between downpours, at 6.30am on the wet grass, enjoying the nightingale song.

Strange number plates in Leclerc carpark - not Lot & Garonne (47).

Groups of small, ruddy Spaniards and Portuguese back for summer work, gossiping in Leclerc, wearing too little clothing and wet open-toed shoes. I feel cold just looking at them.

Empty holes in the Kinder Easter egg stand. Large elaborate cakes covered in brightly coloured eggs, bunnies, piped icing nests in the fridge where I usually buy my after-shopping millefeuille.

(E)Vita spooked at the rain pouring over the gutters and rushing back to the kitchen door, tail between her legs.

This rain is promised for all week and stocks are low in the woodshed.

No work done on the partly finished cottage roof.