Over the years here, and at Out with Mol, our neighbour Victor has featured occasionally but perennially. A blogging friend visiting a few years ago brought this to my attention when we passed his veg patch by asking with amusement 'Oh, is that Victor's place?!'
He doesn't have his own tag, but putting 'Victor' into the search box yielded up several pages of results, and though one or two of them referred to Victor Hugo, most of them were to the man himself. He is now over ninety, and though hip replacements, the loss of his beloved wife Céline, a minor stroke and the final passing of the mobile distillery for making eau-de-vie from home-made cider (which he was one of the last farmers in the commune old enough to have the right to use) all threatened to be the final blow to his continuing life here, he is still going very strong, and seems to me much the same as ever.
He has had to downsize rather. In the last few years his old orange Fergy tractor has been replaced by a ride-on mower,
but better a ride-on mower than no tractor, size isn't everything (V himself comes in at no more than five foot),
and it's got headlights.
I think he's given up his chainsaw, and is no more to be seen swinging around in the upper reaches of his Scots pine tree with it, but still hangs onto his hedge cutter, which he wields dexterously while scrambling about on the bank opposite.
I think he has the blood of the Old Ones in his veins.