Ills have no weight.

Bob comes along with me to the barbers. His second trip there. He immediately settles down on the floor under the sickly aspidistra. Within minutes he's asleep. One of the four old farmers, shoehorned onto the sofa,  tells me that he had a thirty seven year old Marc de Champagne at his granddaughters wedding. '' Pleasures like that are rare at my age " he says . The other old farmers nod silently. The aged gentleman at the end of the sofa  informs us that his wife is saving a bottle of 2005 St.Emilion Grand Cru for his birthday in November. We all agree that a 2005 St.Emilion Grand Cru will be quite something. As we leave they all say ' au revoir Bhub '.

Sophie, who has developed a habit of lunging at bicycles ( where this trait has come from we don't know ) , heads off with ' the font ' to the cycle track that runs round the lake. Time for some acclimatization . They are gone for an hour and a half.  Every fifty yards Sophie insists on standing stock still to watch the ducks and listen to the lapping of the waves. They walk the three miles round the lake but there's not a bicycle to be seen.

In the afternoon there are more lost pilgrims for Bob to stand and bark at. Already enormous, he continues to grow.