My favourite.

All the outside tables taken . A coachload of Dutch tourists in bright orange topped, black bottomed shell suits soaking up the early morning sunshine. Wilf and Angus move to a table inside the bar . Angus discusses the weekend rugby with the barman and the beer and absinthe crowd. Scotland has lost - again . An Armagnac offered by way of commiseration . Angus politely refuses. The waitress breaks up Wilfs half croissant and feeds the pieces to him one by one . The tourists peer through the windows.

We leave the bar and head off shopping. The bakers seven year old son rushes out of the front door of the shop closely followed by his younger sister. She stops abruptly, walks back, tousles Wilfs head, giggles , then runs off to catch her elder brother. Satchel dragging behind her along the ground . The sound of squabbling as they head off to school . '' You'll make us late ". ' No I won't '. '' Yes you will " . ' No I won't '. Wilf basks in the attention . A little old lady in a black cardigan stops at the shop door to talk to him . '' You're a character " she says. He looks back with a hopeful " Did you say sausages ? " expression on his face .

Angus buys a lemon meringue pie , a baguette and the breakfast croissants . Wilf follows him back to the car , off lead , close behind. The one remaining nostril working overtime . No doubting what this hopeful old PON is thinking : ' Lemon meringue pie for breakfast . My favourite '.

Not yet eight in the morning and this blogger has already laughed out loud half a dozen times. Life with one of natures trusting, happy go lucky, jesters.