This old PON.

When I get home the painter is there. He is incredibly tall, at least six foot eight , and the spitting image of Charles de Gaulle . " Didn't come last week because of the rain " he says by way of greeting . He is apparently oblivious to the rain drizzling down outside . For a moment Angus thinks of asking why this weeks rain is any different to last weeks but , wishing to retain good relations with at least one workman , decides to keep this thought to himself.

To the womens cooperative with some material to recover the two arm chairs in the hallway . En route we pass Oliver , still asleep, by the old widows doorstep . Audes friend with the cement mixer , the bib overalls and the eighty a day habit is standing , smoking , outside the cooperative . " What do you want ? " or more precisely " Warra yewwan ?" she curtly asks. I explain and am told to leave the silk on a bench in the atelier. End of conversation . She doesn't look up from hosing down her van as we drive off .

Away for only thirty minutes but return to find that the 'eboniste ' has returned with the repaired grandfather clock. To be more precise this is the case for the grandfather clock , the mechanism having gone off somewhere else to be repaired . When we found it in the attic it was pitch black, riddled with woodworm, and sported a healthy patina of pigeon guano. Now, the woodworm has gone, the bulk of the soot has been removed and the guano thankfully scraped off. Underneath it all a riot of marquetry and painted flowers.

Wilf is happy now his family is back together. On our evening walk he positively dances along the lane. " I shall grow old, but never lose life's zest ; because the roads last turn will be the best " .