Wilf is once again lifted, bed and all, into the back of the old Volkswagen. He sleeps soundly all the way to Toulouse airport . The first flight from London is late . Why is it all first flights seem to run late ? The old fellow trots happily across the car park and into the arrivals hall. He knows he's en route to the airport cafe.
While we wait there's time enough to share the crusts from two slices of buttered toast . At the third time of asking the evidently tired waitress brings him a bowl of water. When I get up to pay I notice she's charged us for a full bottle of Evian.
' The font ' appears at the table . No doubting where dog and owner would be found . Wilf is rendered speechless by this miraculous appearance . That trademark soft shoe shuffle of delight accompanied by the manic stump wagging .
Home to find Madame Bay hard at work . The village green echoing to the sound of the 60's classic " I fought the law and the law won ". Or, to be more precise, "Ey fort ze lor an ze lor un " .
Brunhilda the German billionaires dog is back for the May Day holiday .She's sitting outside the town hall . She barks at Wilf. He ignores her . She rushes over, runs round him first this way, then that . He ignores her . She stretches out, head and paws down in that tell tale ' let's play ' mode. All to no avail. Wilf carries on, head down, blind to her blandishments .