Walked into the kitchen to be met by a stern look from 'the font'. Madame Bay had returned from her Christmas trip to New York. The reason for the frosty ' be on your best behaviour' look soon became apparent. Madame Bay has had her hair done in Manhattan. I must admit that I never really noticed our cleaning lady's hair before, the eye being naturally drawn to the cascading chiffon or the primary colours of her ensemble. However, even to an unobservant individual like myself it was immediately apparent that a great change had taken place. As she came towards me ,chiffon flying, arms akimbo in greeting, " Bonne Annee M'Ongoose, Bonne Annee", I could see that she had spent time in the Sinead O'Connor hairdressing salon. Gone was the perm to be replaced by a somewhat severe haircut modelled on that of a marine corps rookie. However, a marine corps rookie would not be advised to wear their hair in the interesting purpley-red colour ( did a detect a hint of blue) that Madame Bay's 'stylist' had liberally applied. To complement the new look Madame Bay was also sporting a large pair of brass circular earrings, fully three inches in diameter which could have been a prop in an National Geographic documentary on African tribal villages .What they did to the x-ray machines at Kennedy is anyones guess. Being a great diplomat I blurted out " My! You look twenty years younger and so chic!" 'The font' relaxed ( I hadn't stared fixatedly with my mouth open), Madame Bay beamed with delight, and I have been left alone to recover my composure. Wilf has spent the last hour looking quizically at Madame Bay's swinging earrings as she shuttles backwards and forwards with the hoover listening to Bob Marley on the radio, while Digby has retired under a table with what appears to be an arched eyebrow as he observes this new, and shocking scene. I shall not give up the wine drinking today - the effect of Manhattan meets deepest France Profonde is too harrowing . 'The font' being ever positive has described the cut as 'severely practical'.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Cut paw and Manhattan chic.
Somehow, somewhere Digby has managed to cut one of his paw pads. A rapid drive into the local town to see the gentle vet who cleaned the wound , gave him an injection, and wrote a prescription for a nightly antiseptic foot wash. Digby trembled on the vets table but was surprisingly well behaved. This morning while 'the font' and Wilf headed off on a long, girth shrinking walk, Digby and I went in the opposite direction and drifted slowly across the soft, paw friendly, village green. Overnight, there had been a hard hoar frost. Digby soon discovered that the fallen plane tree leaves had frozen rock solid so that they made an interesting crunching noise when he walked over them. Backwards and forwards he went revelling in the noise, oblivious to his sore paw, the cold, and me. Little boyz , whether of the two or four footed variety, will always be mischevious. We were home just in time for Digby to bark at the arrival of the much delayed DHL delivery driver.