Wilfs Friday PONder.

" It ain't no use putting up your umbrella till it rains ".

Irony.

Five in the morning and I'm woken by what sounds like a motor bike with a broken silencer. Wilf has rolled out of his bed in the dressing room and is now lying on his back, legs akimbo, snoring away to his hearts content. Not just any snore but a series of deep rumbles that reach a crescendo and then taper off in a gentle expiratory sigh. Intense, squirrel chasing, REM sleep.

Have you ever noticed how dogs and owners often seem to end up looking alike? Perhaps as the years roll past physical characteristics somehow become passed on and shared. I'm happily pointing this interesting fact of life out to 'the font' when a disembodied voice issues from that dark, private place under the duvet. " No need to worry. No one around here's shaggy or snores ". A moments pause and a final coda, " or needs constant attention ".

Boy, am I glad that Swedes aren't ironic .

' C'est bizarre '.

"C'est bizarre" said Madame Bay eyeing up the hugely expensive emerald green silk tablecloth /acrylic sari with machined edelweis motif. "C'est bizarre" is a phrase used by Madame Bay to deal with anything that is not French and therefore to be treated with grave suspicion. It is a mystery why Madame Bay should think a sari is bizarre when her own dress sense is somewhat 'off the wall' . I did not voice this thought .

The autan wind is still howling away , stripping the leaves from the trees and carpeting the lawn with chestnuts . Wilf appeared at the breakfast table, eyes bright, rugby ball in mouth, ready for some random parabola drop kicking. His morning message - ' My religion of life is always to be cheerful'

The art of souvenir shopping

It's six o'clock. The last speech has been given and the last group of serious men in white shirts and dark ties have gone back to their offices. No need to be at the airport until midnight. Ample time to relax and head off for a nice cool, restorative beer in the air-conditioned bar of the hotel. Only when settled comfortably in the back seat of the car, the image of a freshly poured Kingfisher dreamily before me, do I remember that all important thing - buying 'the fonts' present.

So it was that the government minder, security guard and yours truly found themselves executing a high speed 180 degree turn in the middle of the road in search of a local arts and crafts centre. For the briefest of moments the idea of air freighting back one of the large brass deities in the lobby crosses my mind. However, after 35 years it's become apparent that 'the font' doesn't always share my enthusiasm for the eclectic. " Is that a table cloth ?" I ask the startled assistant. Taking silence as affirmation the emerald green thing is quickly wrapped and then government minder, security man, and yours truly sprint back to the car. Shopping done and still time for the beers.

" Look ! I've brought you a table cloth ". 'The font' eyes the package suspiciously and starts to unravel the contents. It soon becomes clear that this was meant for a very long table. In fact it seems to have been made for a very, very long table.On the floor of the hallway it must stretch at least twenty feet . Where I see an expensive silk table cloth edged in hand stitched gold thread 'the font' sees an acrylic emerald green sari with machined edelweiss motif. Madame Bay may be about to receive an unexpected present.

Impressions of Asia. China and India produce their own wine. It says wine on the label but innocent traveller be wary. What emerges from the bottle is not wine as it is commonly understood but rather a palet numbing concotion suspended halfway between vinegar and treacle. The Chinese and Indians also produce whisky. For some reason very senior men in dark suits are very proud of their indigenous whisky and are keen to toast your health in it at any, and every opportunity. Little in life can prepare you for this substance which retails for about a dime and a half a litre. Think of that stuff that they advertise to remove rust from the chrome on your car and you're getting the idea.

Wilf is enjoying the Autan winds. The soft rugby ball that cost €2.10 in the local supermarket prescribes a very satisfying parabola when drop kicked into this never ending gale. Proof, as far as Wilf is concerned, that the little purple critter really is alive .

Tetu.

Two or three times a year a ferocious hot desert wind, the Autan, sweeps across the mediterranean from North Africa. It blows relentlessly for three or four days then disappears homewards just as quickly as it came. Its brute strength generates a hail storm of acorns and rips the red and gold leaves from the trees . Today is one of those ferocious 'Autan' days. Wilf and yours truly wandered unsuspectingly out onto the lane to be met by searing conditions more reminiscent of the Sahara than the gentle South West of France. Seven in the morning and its already 24 degrees. Wilf stood in the middle of the track, eyes closed, head held high, nose to the surging wind breathing in the scents and smells of a different continent - souks and medinas, saffron and orange groves. Transported to Morocco or Algeria he stood transfixed, lost in a reverie of his own imagining. Completely immovable. When a PON decides he's not going to move nothing, but nothing, will move him. The French word for stubborn is tetu. If ever we get another PON that will be a leading candidate for a name.

More about the trip to Asia tomorrow but I couldn't resist the blurred picture of the Funky Monkey Tattoo Studio taken in Delhi. If only I'd been thirty years younger ! One of the hotels provided their guests with no less than eight different mobile phone chargers.That makes life on the road much easier.

Wheresoever thou goest..

Two o'clock on Saturday morning and while the rest of the world was heading into Delhi for the opening ceremony of the Commonwealth Games yours truly was heading in the opposite direction. British Airways were very proud of the brand new Boeing 777 they were operating on the route - it was so new it had an engineer from Boeing onboard to deal with any snafus. The redesigned interiors are just a tad too blue for my liking. Blue carpets, blue seats, blue window blinds and blue lighting. As I was wearing the perfect camouflage costume of blue shirt and blue suit there was a real danger that the drinks trolley would pass the invisible passenger by. There again what do I know about designing aircraft interiors? This is a man who thought those bright orange seats at the back of a Delta L-1011 were the height of fashion. Tartan would be a prominent feature on any Angus Air cabin. Tartan and dog bowls.

This is the first time 'the font' and Wilf have been left on their own for more than one night since last years unpleasantness. 'The font' was just fine but Wilf seems to have decided around night three that I'd gone off to join his little brother in that place you don't come back from. Not even the expedient of a conversation on the cell phone would shake him out of his torpor. He is now acting like a cojoined twin determined not to let the lost sheep out of his sight. The PON ' wheresoever thou goest I shall follow too ' stare is much in evidence.

'Where exactly do you think you've been ?'

Back from five nights away in Asia. At the airport Wilf fixed me with his best 'where exactly do you think you've been ?' look. This is 90% delight that the lost sheep has returned, 10% 'leave you alone for five minutes and you get lost' admonitory glare. There'll be a longer post tomorrow after some relationship restoring touch rugby and swing biffing.

PS : I see that Wilfs Ponderings have all been published with last Sundays date. PONs and technology !