Jean-Jacques, our neighbor, turned up on the doorstep this morning to tell us that there was an injured deer at the end of our garden; it had probably been hit by a car last night and was obviously very distressed. Our friend Kate suggested calling the pompiers; the fire brigade here plays a much more diverse role than in the UK. So I called their number and explained the problem; the man gave me two phone numbers to ring in order to have the deer removed. Both numbers, however, were for people who deal with such things as wasps’ nests, certainly nothing as big as a deer. Which says a lot for my French accent! I called the pompiers again and spoke to the same man; this time he understood the problem and promised to send out a team to deal with it. 5 minutes later, a big red van came speeding up the road, siren wailing and lights blazing…. and shot straight past our house! Kieran and I stood by the gate to flag them down on their second attempt. They had a look at the deer and diagnosed a broken spine; then they took it away to be put down, poor thing. It sounded as though it’s a not uncommon event.

Trauma over, it was time to set to work on the soil mountain left in the back garden when they buried the gas tank. Kieran, being a gentleman, suggested I drive the digger and the tractor while he did the heavy work and showed me how to work the digger. At first, there seemed to be more soil landing around the trailer than in it, but eventually I got the hang of it and by the time we finished this evening, we’d cleared about three quarters of the heap onto a low corner of the garden. We should get it finished tomorrow morning, with a bit of luck.