Catkins

A sore head this morning .....

I dragged myself up into the hills as the cathedral bells rang for mass. God knows where to find me and Père David prefers my non attendance because he dislikes his parishioners, so my soul felt clean and the wind  helped untangle the cobwebs. 

It was, nevertheless,  a hard slog after an evening of wine and contreband Gauloises spent with my bro and I took a break at Bastonis to gather breath. 

Back at the mill I found Jo tucking into a bottle of rosé and a bowl of peanuts.  The catkins tapped at the window but the sun wasn't playing the game and went behind the clouds when I took this photo.

I've lived in France for nigh on 20 years and only just learnt that catkins are called chatons


France 25  Scotland 14