Four thirty in the morning . ' The font ' on the first flight to London . The car finally packed , engine running , waiting outside the front door. Wilf remains immovable. Completely uncoaxable . All the usual words - ' Breakfast, croissant, treats ! ' - ignored . The old fellows firmly wrapped in his pre-dawn ' cloak of invisibility ' . In the end he's picked up, bed and all , and deposited in the back of the car .