Friday, December 9, 2011
A pre-breakfast tincture .
Seven thirty am . Amid a crashing of gears and a beep-beep of its asthmatic horn Madame Bay and her gold metallic ' Wild Child ' voiturette arrive at the front door . This morning our saintly cleaning lady is dressed in pulse quickening orange and purple . The tout ensemble crowned by a paisley patterned turban and a cascade of lemon chiffon .
This jarring vision of loveliness is the cue for Wilf and Angus to head off to the little cafe under the arcades . While the family fellow savours his half croissant , Angus reads the paper . Overnight there's been yet another European Union summit so the headlines are full of unseasonal doom and gloom. This is intermixed with a healthy dose of Anglo-Saxon bashing . The failure to reach agreement blamed on '' our friends the British " . A phrase liberally spread across the pages with relished bile. For a moment Angus thinks of joining the beer and absinthe set in a pre-breakfast tincture .
Dogs of course are untroubled by such things . They have an attitude to life that asks : " Will this matter tomorrow ? " .