Faced with the unseasonal weather the absinthe drinking patrons at the cafe had all taken refuge inside. Plenty of space for Wilf to settle down at an outside table with a bowl of water . No unsettling noises here. ' The font' tells me that Oscar Wilde once said that drinking absinthe gave him the sensation of walking , bare legged, through tulips . I'd doubt if many of the locals would describe it in quite those terms. Afterwards a trip to the bakers. While I choose a strawberry sponge Wilf sits at the front door contentedly being fed small slivers of croissant by the bakers teenage son. Home in time for an emotional Madame Bay style welcome. "Bonjour Wilfee. Mon brave ! ". As he disappears into swathes of orange chiffon he looks at me in a reluctant ' what have I done to deserve this ? I'm a boy dog ' way .
Monday, April 4, 2011
Walking through tulips.
Sunday saw the village shrouded in a chill mist from the mountains. A relief after last weeks heat. Perfect weather for a polar bear look alike with a thick white fur coat and a large black nose to go exploring. At first light we amble off to the war memorial, stopping en route to sniff the fire hydrant before carefully crossing the road to christen the four yews recently planted outside the village hall. I say amble but there is no word in English to describe Wilfs leisurely - two steps forward, stop, look around, two steps forward, stop, look around - style of walking . 100 yards in twenty minutes.