Out of the front door to find a fine coating of frost on the car windshield. Wilf takes one look at the wintry scene and scurries back to the warmth of the kitchen. " I'm Polish not Siberian ! ". Our scruffy companion with the large black nose looks imploringly at 'the font' and gets a bowl of warm porridge and honey. Both demolished with relish.
He has decided to stay in the kitchen while the lunchtime poularde farcie is prepared . Who knows what the day has in store? There may be more porridge or honey or chicken or coconut ice cream.