Bob and Sophie take their gardening skills to new levels. Low hanging tree branches now a source of intrigue. By lunchtime every branch within leaping distance lopped off. Tree pruning PON style.
White van day at the cafe under the arcades. We take a seat in the recently redecorated 'salon'. Sophie makes herself invisible under the table. Bob sits, facing outwards, on guard. I study the Christmas decorations - glitter balls and stars. The white van men ignore us. Despite being busy, the waitress remembers the illicit half croissant and my cup of coffee. Bobs tail beats against the leg of the table with a joyful thwack- thwack- thwack.
An afternoon on the phone to America trying to make reservations for a summer visit. An inn outside Washington informs me that '' If you want to dine with us we only have one slot left. We can seat you at five thirty but you'll have to vacate the table by seven ". When asked if there is anything later the lady on the other end firmly (officiously ? ) replies " Sir! This is a fine dining establishment and we book up quickly. You should have called earlier ". What sort of people make dinner reservations six months ahead of time ?
