Wilf, who was engrossed with something unspeakable in the hedgerow, took some time to notice Kellys presence. But when he did he was star struck. The family troubador stood , frozen in admiration, as Kelly cartwheeled and piroueted around him. A rerun of the Polish farmboy meets sophisticated French ballerina script.
Sadly for Wilf, Kelly was soon off again . He tried to run after her down the lane but he doesn't have the turn of speed he used to. For a while the old fellow looked crestfallen but was soon heading purposefully home. A definite air of ' just let me take a quick nap and then we'll see who's the fastest ! '. He's now asleep by the door, dreaming of heaven only knows what. We'll wake him up at lunchtime. Perhaps Kelly will be there on his afternoon walk. As Wilf might say, ' It's not by the grey of the hair that one knows the age of the heart '.