Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.

As we park the car the autumn sun is just rising over the plane trees. Bob walks across the market square , tail high and waving, head down. He's moving with that happy, sauntering gait that says he doesn't have a care in the world. His sister trots along behind, her little legs pummeling away twenty to the dozen. She finally gives up trying to keep up with her big lug of a brother and turns her attention to chasing a fat pigeon. She lets out a brief yelp of '' don't mess with me " delight when it flutters noisily up into the rafters. By the time the pigeon has settled Bob is already at the cafe under the arcades waiting patiently for the waitress to bring him his illicit half croissant. Sunday morning contentment.

Airline lounge chairs. Quite unlike chairs you find anywhere else. Uniformly uncomfortable. The place where design meets torture. There is a coffee table book waiting to be written about them.