Bob and Sophie watch as fifty or so septuagenarian farmers, kitted out in day-glo orange hats and jackets, arrive for their quarterly '' hunting breakfast ". A bibulous affair. Large quantities of Floc and a chunk of baguette. Doleful looking hunting dogs run up and down outside the village hall howling in frustration. Bob and Sophie howl back. '' Please Lord let them not be hunting anywhere near us " says 'the font'. 10:23 am : a convoy of battered white vans, hunting dogs on board, head off, slowly, very slowly, down the hill. From the driving we can assume that the old farmers are not in a state to do much damage.
This morning the chocolate gateau is rejected and we opt instead for a light orange sponge. While it's being wrapped the bakers wife gives each of the PON's a handful of croissant crumbs. Bob's tail goes into overdrive.
Sophie has been eating carrots and windfall cherries ( a lot of them ). She lies, on the wooden garden table, sunning herself. She snores. She also passes wind. PON heaven.
This is a bit 6th grade but could you name the biggest object in the universe ?
