The torrential rain continued all day. Heavy, power shower, Pyrennean rain that cascaded off the roof in uninterrupted sheets. Wilf would make an occasional saunter outside to christen the palm tree but for the rest of the time remained firmly, and immovably inside.
Madame Bay has had the flu. After a weeks asbence she reappeared at the kitchen door looking for all the world like a large, agitated wasp. Black leggings, black knee length dress, a yellow woolen scarf and a turban the colour of burnt saffron. " Just look at the mess in here ! " her cheerful greeting as she set about dealing with the scars of the New Year. Wilf chose to ignore her as Yves Montand and the sounds of the 50's was cranked up to full volume on Radio Nostalgie.
'The font' is determined to use up the freezer full of food left after Christmas. Bacon, sausage and eggs for lunch, prepared under the watchful eye of the family gourmand. There would have been a time when a sausage would have caused Wilf all sorts of digestive problems . Now with a cortisone plated stomach he can munch away on anything. A cold sausage, a kiss on the head from Madame Bay, laughter aplenty. Time to fall into an unburdened, rain lullabied sleep. Even the bad days can be good. Wilfs attitude : " It doesn't matter how slow you go, as long as you don't stop !"