No one told the dogs.

Two stern looking police women at Paddington station. The sniffer dogs with them are having a whale of a time. The contrast between dogs and handlers makes me smile. No one told the dogs they have to be serious while on duty.

On the plane a well known classical actor. As we deplane he stands next to me in the aisle. A chance to tell him that thirty years ago we saw him in London in Breaking the Code. A few weeks later he was sitting alone in a cafe in LA but British reserve prevented me from going over to say what a powerful performance it had been. A lost courtesy I've regretted. Now is my chance, three decades later, to put the matter right.

He looks at me as if waiting for the punchline to this story. Perhaps something along the lines of the performance was so moving I gave up my day job and became a stage designer . '' That's all " I say to break the slightly embarassed silence. 'Oh ! How Kind. Thank you ' he replies clearly delighted that this conversation is over. These are exactly the same words I used when Madame Bay gave me a jar of pigs trotters in brine.

At the airport chairs that double up as instruments of torture. A narrow base and no back means you have to crouch in a fetal position if you don't want to fall off. Someone somewhere has decided that the travelling public shouldn't be allowed the luxury of comfort.

Dogs are supposed to get less emotional as they get older. This rule does not apply to PONs. In fact the reverse seems to hold true. Bob looks up from waving a large paw in front of the motion sensor on the arrival hall door to see me coming towards him. He throws his head back in a howl of delight. Not to be outdone his sister joins him. They both then turn on their backs and wait for a tickle. They squirm - a primary symptom of joy overload. 'The Fonts' greeting is less uninhibited. 

Safely back at home Bob suggests a game of throw the Furry Fox. Sophie wonders if there are sausages in my bag.

All is once again well with the world.