Sleep, sleep and more sleep.

A quick trip to the Post Office ( when did stamps become so expensive ? ) , and the bakers ( a chocolate covered Opera for me and a wholesome nutty-fruity thing for ' the font ' ) before stopping off at the cafe under the arcades . Wilf gets his hair tousled by the waitress . He gives her his very best '' Leave it out love , I'm a boy dog " look before settling down with his illicit half croissant under the table .

On our way home we pass Oliver , the old widows labrador. He turns his head and looks up hopefully. Still patiently waiting for his master.

The builder shows up mid-morning to do some repointing of the stonework around the doors. '' This is an unexpected pleasure " I say . He looks back at me in that searching way the French do when faced with the strange linguistic constructs of foreigners . Late-morning there's a loud crash followed shortly afterwards by a half hearted knock at the door. ' We've got a problem with the wall '. Angus sighs.

Wilf asleep in his little brothers bed. There was a time when he wouldn't have been allowed near it . Now , despite being too small, it's become his favourite sleeping spot. He's using it a lot .