As far as Wilf is concerned there is one thing even more devilish than the vacuum cleaner . The power washer . Demonic noises and water in tandem . How evil is that ? While yours truly blasts the moss off the pool tiles with a cloud of super-pressurised spray , Wilf heads to the safety of the kitchen . Grosses crevettes au pavot et au miel for lunch today . He lies in his alloted place in front of the stove , silently following each movement , the occasional twitch of his fringe indicating ' perhaps a little more salt ? ' . PON gourmand .
The family fellow deigns to leave the kitchen to join me for a post- breakfast trip into town . A bright ' Bonjour Wilfee ' from the local beer and absinthe set as he slides under the table with a bowl of water . Then it's off to the garden centre for a matching , twelfth, geranium before detouring to the bakers. We're late this morning. The remaining offerings decidedly limited . A difficult choice between the raspberry and chocolate bombe and the profiterole cake. The bombe wins the day. Back home and Wilf scurries off to join ' the font ' in the kitchen . Zero chance of him working with me in the garden while lunch is being prepared . As he heads off to the kitchen he turns back with a look that seems to say : " Never hold discussions with the monkey when the organ grinders in the room ".