Egg and Yoghurt

as promised yesterday

Isn’t that typical?

Who would have thought!

When did you find out?

When I slowed down, pulled over and reached for my camera, which I had made certain was with me in the front of the car. By the way the tyres are now excellent but I think I should update the breaks.

So what do you make of it?

Well, obviously my theory was wrong.

That, or someone had a change of heart.

Probably the one fascist in the office.

There often is one.

So there I was, thinking that after 20 odd years of scrawling and un-scrawling the graffiti-ists had adopted their strategy and slipped up something of unquestionable merit and the cleaner-uppers had taken a step back and decided that the merit enhanced and took a executive decision to rest with it.

Cut the grass and move on.

It had been there a month or so.

Maybe the fascist had been on holiday?

Bang goes my philosophical musings about adaption, beauty and acceptance.

Egg on your face.

Still, we do have yoghurt.

Please explain.

It’s the photo we posted yesterday, at the entrance to the village, and the one today which is at the exit of the village – unless you are travelling the other way and then yesterdays would be at the exit and today’s would be at the entrance.

There’s only one road in this village?

Yes.

And it’s called Yoghurt?

No it’s called Vaour. (editorial note t)

And?

In French you would say yaourt if you wanted to say yoghurt, so the local graffiti-ist has added a subtle piece of black tape to the V and a T at the end.

Tape graffiti, nice.

It stays for a while then suddenly it is municipally removed.

The fascist?

Maybe, then it comes back. Each time I think that I should take a photo but by the time I align myself; a lens and the sign, it’s been cleaned.

Except now.

Caught it! And so begins another battle – it’s been going on and off for at least four years and has crossed over two the tenure of two different Mayors.

For now no-one is giving in.

Someone makes us laugh.

Someone tries to restore civic pride.

I’d be proud to live in a village called Yoghurt.

Sounds tasty.