A handful of patience is worth more than a bushel of brains.

We're out early, the sun just rising. Bob silently leading the way past the frozen pond, nose down in the long grass. His sister following along more slowly behind. The morning mist thick and chill - two pairs of socks weather. On the banks of  the stream a family of plump and amiable water voles lost in play. The young ones tumbling over each other, the less sure footed sliding through the mud into the water. When we arrive they paddle off, line astern, concerned father at the rear. Bob, oblivious to the water voles and the icy water, ploughs through the stream to the other side. Sophie stands on the near bank, carefully keeping her paws dry while drinking.Two such different personalities.

Its too cold for the beer and absinthe set. They've taken themselves inside to the warmth of the bars dimly lit 'salon' . There's a rapping against the window. The lady in the hairnet and dressing gown is standing there, pressing her nose against the window while waving at Bob and Sophie. I wave back. Bob and Sophie are too busy devouring their illicit half croissant to notice. On the other side of the road a small forest of Christmas trees has appeared. A thicket of them in front of the town hall, elsewhere solitary examples scattered randomly about. A tribute to the seasonal creativity of the public works department.

Ferrero Rocher time. You never see them at any other time of the year but now they've made their appearance in the supermarket. Christmas must be near.