Saturday, March 10, 2012
Madame Bay arrives. She makes a cup of coffee, hoovers the upstairs hallway, has another cup of coffee, reads Le Figaro magazine, hoovers some more, then leaves . Today she is dressed from head to toe in a variety of almost matching reds. The pillar box red turban a particularly eye catching touch of haute couture . Madame Bay's excitement building . The trip to Greece with the Retired Gendarmes Association now barely a week away . A new primary coloured wardrobe ready to be unleashed on the unsuspecting citizens of Athens .
'' The font " returns . Wilf does a little, silent, dance of joy. He's given a toy. He repeats the dance . He settles in the courtyard and is soon asleep. Flock united and a new plaything . PON seventh heaven .
Wednesday night. Dinner time at The Bell Hotel in Malmesbury. Reputed to be Englands oldest . Both hotel and restaurant really rather good. ''The font " and " Granny font " come down and take their places for dinner. Two American ladies at the next table pick at their first course and barely touch the entree. ' We ate lunch very late ' and ' We're not used to such rich food - We come from America ' the excuses proffered . The young waitress says '' You won't want to see the dessert menu then ? " . ' Oh, we'll just look at it ' comes the over eager reply . Each of them proceeds to have not one , but two, puddings. The smaller of the two, very New England in a Pringle sweater, considers having a third. Their plates scrapped clean . Much guilty laughter. Late lunch forgotten.
Yesterday . Wilfs ratio of sleep to activity 6.5 : 1. One happy , if tired , boy.