Monday, January 9, 2012
Fawlty Towers without the humour.
We've only had one frosty morning this winter . Today it's warm and wet - again . More like March than January. On our way back from the cafe with the croissants we stop off for a leisurely walk along the old roman road. The American woman restoring the house in the valley has installed electric security barriers at her front gate. Our quiet part of the world has never seen the like. Wilf christens both contraptions with studied indifference.
To a local hotel on Sunday afternoon . A rambling fifteenth century castle. It's closed for the season . From the look of it possibly longer. The upper floor covered in a thick mat of damp green moss. We turn to TripAdvisor when we get home. ' Fawlty Towers without the humour ' says the first review . The other reviews less kind. Google Translate a cause of much mirth.
Wilf , exhausted by all the recent activity, curls up by the front door and sleeps . He rouses himself for dinner and a quick pit stop and then dreams on 'til dawn. He's sleeping more and more these days.