A chicken pooped in my campervan
Daisies, clover and buttercups. These are the feint scents I can smell from the tree-dotted meadow Cleopatra spent last night and will remain for the next two.
The wind is rustling through the trees but I can't feel it as I've moved my chair next to the hedge to enjoy my morning coffee in the sunshine.
There's dew on the grass and so it's still a little early to bring out the picnic blanket on which I intend to spend the laziest, dreamiest of summer days.
I can hear only birds chirping and the quietest clucking of the chickens around my feet.
There have been probably half a dozen times I've thought 'this is why we bought a campervan.' This morning it's half a dozen plus one.
Fast forward to 3pm. There are a few clouds in the sky but it's mostly sunny here at Domaine les Gandins.
This is the estate we stayed on at Easter following a booking mix up when it was still closed for the winter. Not much has changed. There's still nobody else here, but they were expecting us, and the swimming pool is open.
Five chickens are making sure we don't feel lonely. There are two red ones, two black ones and a white one. The red ones are the most fearless. One will happily take bread from my hand. And this is the one which pooped on the step of the campervan.
They're now banned from the vicinity.
We waited until noon to start on the beers. It's now 3.30pm and I'm on my third. We've had lunch of salami and cucumber sandwiches, I've been in the swimming pool twice and I've read some of my book. Shortly I hope to persuade Tony to play table tennis.
There's still as much of the day ahead than has passed, so we'll see what else happens.
That's all for now. Just saying.