Le coin sauvage....

.....is what they've called the little shack they've had the chutzpah to construct in my little neck of the woods.  
This is pure Nimbyism on my part.  
I trudge crossly across the dyke and then forget about it for the beauty of the field path that takes us to our little beach.  
This year it's wheat.  This year Berstein is big enough to show both his head and his tail above the tips of grass.  This year the lake water is high and we have only a tiny strip of dry clay to lie on. 
The heat is écrasant.  We eat bagles in the shade and swim through the top branches of trees. 
This year Leila doesn't give a damn about taking her top off and swimming torse nu in her knickers. 
Mu tutts and reminds me of the time, before Dublin, when Leila didn't behave 'whorerish';   I remind Mu of a time when all you children swam arse to the wind, butt naked in this same here lake. For me it was yesterday, for Mu it's childhood light years away.  She tutted some more and rolled over to read her book.  I whipped my tits out and joined Leila in the lake.