A salon of unhappiness.

Up early. Bobs hair is a gravity defying miracle.

Sophie's nose glistens.

Two lanes of the motorway are blocked by a group of farmers. Another 'escargot' protest. Today, instead of burning tyres, they've set up a 'Salon of unhappiness' . This involves a group of them sitting on deck chairs in the fast lane. They're surrounded by a small caged menagerie of goats, an unhappy looking pig and a bemused donkey tied to the rear fender of a tractor. Three lanes merge into one and we drive by slowly. The farmers don't look very unhappy. They seem to be having a whale of a time.

The driving school instructors are also blockading the roads. They are 'en colere' over proposed changes to the syllabus. A group of instructors have parked so that all the roads into the town centre are impassable. We find a spot by the river and walk, PONs leading the way, to the electrical store.

We need a dishwasher urgently. A fitted one can be delivered in two weeks. We settle for a stand alone one that should fit into the gap in the downstairs kitchen where the old one was. Delivery and fitting is promised for Wednesday afternoon. Hope springs eternal.

In the green grocers some strange leathery brown things are on sale. 'The Font' looks at them . I look at them. We both look at them. We are still none the wiser as to what they are. We have got to the age where the old adage ' you should try everything once' no longer applies. This is particularly true if the 'everything' in question is unlabeled. The lady behind the counter doesn't know what they are either.