It's the Christmas market in the village and quel embarrassment. The sky is blue, the choir is singing and I'm standing outside the bar tabac chatting to a friend when the peace of this timeless scene is shattered by Biff barking very loudly and ferociously.
I turn around to look at the cause of this uncharacteristic behaviour and see that it is a man wearing a red suit and fake white beard. Fortunately, the villagers and stall holders find it very amusing. Everyone is laughing and I realise that rather than 'l'anglaise with the little black dog' I will probably be known henceforward as 'l'anglaise with the little black dog who tried to attack Father Christmas.' (Secretly however, I am impressed by my little dog's ability to spot a fake at ten paces!)
In the English bookshop, which is packed out with people who have driven from as far away as Angouleme to pick up their Christmas cakes, I bump into my friend Martine the maire, and tell her about the stand-off with Père Noel.
'I am not surprised by this,' she says, before heading off to distribute Christmas presents - this year it's half a bottle of champagne - to the elderly residents of her commune. 'Biff probably did not like it that this other man was the centre of attention.'