Clocks forward by an hour over the weekend . Pitch dark when we set off into town on the morning croissant run . Not that Wilf is bothered . He settles down under the cafes corner table oblivious to the jarring neon light and the glow from the television above the bar . Waitress, bowl of water, and illicit half croissant follow soon after . Angus has to wait for his coffee. Here in rural France small, shaggy , polar bears take precedence .Croissant finished , chat with the waitress done , he puts his head on my foot and drifts gently off to sleep , unconcerned about the noise and bustle around him . Not a bad way to start a new week. '' That which God said to the rose, and caused it to laugh in full-blown beauty, He said to my heart , and made it a hundred times more beautiful " . Old PON wisdom .
