Seventeen blue bottles sitting on a shelf ...

The horde of teutonic motorcyclists have gone and the little market town has settled back into its sleepy ways . Wilf was lifted down from the back of the car and ambled slowly across the cobbles , settling down with a contented sigh under his usual table . The pleasures of restored routine . He must be happy . This morning he made a particularly loud lip smacking noise as each of the croissant ends was devoured . As a treat he also got the crusty flap from the top of the croissant . As any PON will tell you , that's the best part .

On the way home a quick detour to the supermarket . A huge pan of moules marinieres bubbling away in the deli section. An unappetising sight at seven thirty in the morning . Equally unappetising the sight of white wine being sold in blue glass bottles . The first time I've ever seen such a thing . A marketing gimmick too far . Queasy , the word that springs to mind . Two lovely old olive trees for sale by the cash desks . I consider buying them but decide that life under the neon lights can't have been good for their health . The olive harvest the one thing that we both miss about life in Italy .

Wilfs spending his days asleep . Deep , long , uninterrupted and uniterruptible sleep . Strange , you spend your life expecting your dog to be there walking alongside you . Now we've reached that part of the journey where the roles are reversed . It's Wilfs turn to expect us to be walking beside him . That old PON mantra " Keep your fears to yourself , but share your courage with others " .