9am and M. Hulot blows his nose as he descends the stair to retrieve his morning paper.  Trying and failing to dislodge the bit of brain from yesterday’s descent, but not at all discouraged, he sails forth under full steam for the mailbox.

Clicking with satisfaction, he tucks the paper under his arm and remounts the stair to add to the pile on his ironing board, the sole inhabitant of his living room.  For M. Hulot has no need of chairs, never being in one spot for more than five minutes.  True to his chairfree nature, he shortly reappears for his trip to the laundry to wash his maroon polo shirt from Mildura.

Spying someone in their house contemplating laundry too, he begins making elaborate gestures of obeisance at the laundry door, and when politeness’s due has been paid, and his tiny wet stash has been plunged into several tubs, he re-emerges.  This time to hasten to the side of his trusty bronze steed.  After a smooth five point turn he clears the driveway and so begins his hectic day of pointless trips and ginger returns. 

*****