Thursday, May 14, 2015
A florist on acid.
Breakfast with the men in dark suits. Then it's back to the hotel to check out. In the space of two hours a new display of flowers has appeared in the lobby. They have a sort of 'spikey' look to them, as if arranged by a florist on acid.
Off for some last minute shopping. A milk jug with a Scottie catches my eye but I settle on fudge . A product unknown in France. The rest of the week holds out the prospect of a fry up followed by slab of concentrated sugar. Gourmet heaven or as 'The Font' might say with a sigh ' a grown man with the taste buds of an eight year old '.
A full flight. Back to The Rickety Old Farmhouse in the late afternoon. Sophie's greeting is rapturous. Bobs soft shoe shuffle welcome, although enthusiastic, cannot match his sisters for theatricality. The family diva starts her welcome howl on a High C which continues upwards. She then runs round the garden in ever decreasing circles before finally performing her 'welcome home' dance. To the uninitiated this might look like a wild, tail wagging, wallowing.
Normal service has once again been resumed. All is well with the PON world.