Bright but chill. The geraniums surviving if not thriving . The lawn tractor delivered back after three weeks in the workshop. Angus heads off for a celebratory grass trim . After twenty metres the machine emits a loud bang, then stops. A wisp of oily smoke traces its way delicately into the air. Angus kicks the tyres. Wilf christens them . The machine remains immovable.The camera function on the i-Phone stops working . 15 calls back to the support centre. Each time a helpful voice asks " Have you tried turning it off and then turning it back on again ? ". Detecting the growing tetchiness in my voice ' the font 'suggests the quest for a solution be left to another day . Angus goes to bed determined that his future won't be Orange .
Wilf sleeps for most of the day. A different type of sleep now. Deep , calm , restful . His breathing untoubled . In the morning he's in exactly the same place he went to sleep in eight hours before . The sort of secure canine slumber that says ' My soul is from elsewhere , I'm sure of that , and I intend to end up there '.
