The waitress at the cafe under the arcades still wearing a pair of glittery Valentines Day angel wings. Bob and Sophie look at her adoringly when she brings them their illicit half croissant and bowl of water. Over by the working radiator the lady with the dressing gown, pom pom slippers and hairnet nurses her second pre-breakfast glass of lager and says '' that's funny, that's funny " each time the waitress passes by.
It's wet. Great dollops of rain falling from a slate grey sky. Scottish weather but warmer and brighter. A few brave souls out and about in the market. The first of the seasons daffodils on sale. Shopping completed a sodden Bob and ever so slightly less sodden Sophie are lifted into the back of the car to dry out. Overnight they've once again slept for ten hours solid. The little darlings batteries are fully charged and ready to go.
In the bakers a sign has appeared " En reaction aux mots 'gateau au chocolat' les Americains pensent 'culpabilitie' les Francais 'anniversaire'. Roughly translated - '' When hearing the words 'chocolate cake ' Americans think of guilt, the French of birthdays ".
