A shopping day. Wilf is lifted into the back of the car and we set off , windows down , in the direction of the little market town . While Wilf and ' yours truly ' go in search of a coffee , a bowl of water and a pain au chocolat , ' the font ' goes off in search of dinner plates . After twenty years of family breakages and other assorted mishaps we are left with a motley collection of day to day tableware . Not so much the survival of the fittest as the survival of the least fragile . Time , I'm firmly told , to jettison the feeding time at the zoo mix of Jerry's Home Store / Marks and Spencers / Villeroy and Boch that we use and invest in new crockery .
After an absolute eternity ' the font ' appears carrying some examples of what's been ordered . " What do you think of these ? " I'm asked . ' A bit blousy " I reply. From the the look I get it can be assumed that was the wrong answer . Ever the diplomat my plea is changed to a more ambiguous " they look very French " . Wilf has a btter understanding of shopping psychology . He emerges from under the table with a look on his face that says " Where there's plates there's sausages " . That ever hopeful PON outlook on life .