Friday lunchtime at the Table of Dreams 🏓 BATTERED her 4-1. Wind may have played a part.

We played with the heavy wind ball. It bounces like a demon.

In Boules News: the new boules strip built by the Town Council looks ready to play.

I look forward to the culture clash, when the stiffs look down on two young-ish urban kids living out their table tennis fantasies. Yep.

#tableofdreams

A pleasant early autumnal walk along the Trail towards Sunny Colch. Not a bad little place to live, etc.

To Moving Image!

…on Tuesday evening. Tuesday evening is DATE NIGHT, right? I do bloody love sharing my Tuesday evenings in a musty old village hall with the local coffin dodgers.

Oh - and Wifey as well.

The film up for grabs was Holy Cow, a French language film, natch.

Wifey tried to tell me beforehand that it was a flick all about a French yoof living in the countryside who liked shagging.

Job’s a good ‘un, etc.

I was the smart arse who watched the trailer shortly before leaving. I pulled her up on the finer details.

“Actually, luv, it’s a film about making cheese. Plus some shagging in a rural French setting.”

So there.

Erectile dysfunctions also featured. It was a French film, after all.

Plus it was short - the film, not the erectile sub-plot. I do like a short film that means that I’m back at base for the second half of the football.

Date Nights ROCK in our household, Comrades.

The plot was simple: a family death on a rural cheese making farm leads to some rapid growing up for a young French yoof. His quest then becomes to manufacture some award winning cheese.

You’d have problems pitching that one at the major film studios.

There was a delightful sense of innocence throughout. It was accompanied by a charming rural soundtrack. It reminded me in parts of the fantastic Detectorists.

It made me want to experiment and make some cheese.

No prizes for guessing that the French yoof didn’t land the big cheese prize. But there was a happy ending, of sorts.

Ce la vie.