Crestfallen.

It's a normal working day here in France and the first priority is to get to the vets with Wilf . Over the last 48 hours he's started to drink much, much more than normal. This also means that he's having to pop outside for a pit stop every couple of hours - day and night. Either a sign of diabetes or that the Cortisone is at last impairing the livers functioning . The indignity of having to scratch on the door to get out has left our proud fellow looking positvely crestfallen.

The peace of the small hours is a fine time to be with Wilf and catch up on the million and one little things that get overlooked during the rest of the year. There is something so elemental and trusting about the warmth of an old family sheepdog asleep across your slippers. In a drawer in the library came across two water colour sketches by a Scots artist, Francis Cadell. Done in 1915 they tell the story of Scots soldiers in London during the early, more innocent, days of the 'Great' war. Most of the ' Jocks' time seems to have been spent looking longingly at the behatted shop assistants. These two are cheekily entitled ' I don't think ' and ' Admiration '.