A quiet Sunday morning in deepest France Profonde. Just the croaking of the frogs in the pond and a chorus of zoological noises rumbling out of Wilfs latest toy . Four days now and the infernal thing is still working . A testament to the sturdiness of its construction and the asocial credentials of its presumably deaf designer . The villagers look out of their windows to see a man in a fishing hat slowly walking along with a white fluffy dog enthusiastically swinging a rugby sock from its mouth . ' Les Anglais '. Dog and owner settle down on the bench in front of the church to the sound of a gorilla, a parrot and a pig. Wilfs attitude to blindness and lifes other imponderables : " A smooth sea never made a skilful mariner " .