Sophie has managed to put on weight in the kennels. This is down to an unholy combination of stealing some of her brothers kibbles and an enthusiasm for 'recycling'.
A bright near cloudless morning. Bob and Angus sit on the storm drain and discuss world affairs. Angus tells Bob that the old aphorism " Put not thy trust in Princes " has never been more true. The family fellow absorbs this insight with quiet dignity while trying to ignore his sister who is hunting , noisily, for fox poo in the donkey field. Angus describes the 'immersive theatre' experience in NY. The first time he's shared what the cast are ( supposed ) to be eating on stage. '' Couldn't be as bad as contemporary dance " the male PON seems to say. I agree. We move on to Ryan Goslings role in First Man and I'm just telling him how wonderful it is to see an unemotive performance when Sophie appears and lets out a '' I demand a tickle. My brother's getting all the attention " shriek. Sophie is not unemotive.
Both PONs have survived twelve nights apart from us with no ill effects. Bob is still sticking close by me to make sure that he doesn't lose his flock again. 'Close by' in this sense means welded to one or other of my ankles.
It's now time to head off for the morning croissant. Angus is bombarded with PON ESP to tell him to hurry up. A triumph of non-verbal interspecies communication.
A mid 19th century American picture in the Smithsonian. Two miners in red shirts draw the eye to the foreground. A red shirt on a clothesline outside a cabin and a few daubs of red on a rose bush in the background subtle signs of the artists control of colour and sense of humour ?
Here's some Schubert :
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kuFzjkUcLw
The welcome as we collect the PONs from the kennels is 'vocal'. There's no doubting that this is the best day ever.
Bob refuses to leave my side.
He's not supposed to come into the bedroom but he creeps in and settles down on the floor by the window. Several times during the night he wanders over and sticks a cold wet nose in my ear to make sure I'm still there. There are occasions when the rules can be 'stretched'. This is one of those times.
After a late supper his sister is exhausted and doesn't make it up the stairs. She settles in the downstairs hallway and falls fast asleep. Sophie's still there when I come down this morning. A second round of emotional greetings ensues.
We shall soon be setting off for our morning croissant.
A happy and untroubled world is once again spinning smoothly on its axis.
Here's some cello music : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vD3UZGQqbl8
We're now homeward bound. The penultimate leg from DC to New York by train. The rolling stock has improved but the gloomy Amtrak waiting rooms haven't. 'The Font' wants to go and straighten a crooked picture and lamp but is persuaded that this is a job for someone else. It takes a pleasant but leisurely 3 1/2 hours to get to New York. In China it would take a third of that. America needs to invest in its railways.
En route to the station a quick trip to the National Arboretum to look at a plant 'The Font' wants to see in flower.
An apartment block in NY with two suits of armour outside.
Zana Hadid apartments by the latest section of the High Rise park. As soon as ( non-matching ) curtains are put up by their new owners they lose their magic.
The recently opened travel concourse at the World Trade Centre a stunning piece of architecture. It's fashionable to criticize it for being commercial - but it isn't. A sensitive addition to a difficult site.
A dinner in a restaurant that is hosting a Japanese boy band. We don't know who they are. We still don't. They eschew wine and drink cocktails and take photos of each course. This seems rather restrained behaviour for seventeen year olds. The worst aspect of their behaviour is a tendency to slouch.
The menu is prix fixe but the bill still leaves the space for a suggested 22% tip.
An interesting amuse bouche.
One of lifes great joys is the 7 am British Airways daytime flight from Kennedy to Heathrow. Breakfast on the plane, a chance to read et voila ! you're there. On a good day and a strong jet stream 5 hours in the air. Almost no jet lag. Into London in time for dinner. Or, in our case, the last flight to Toulouse and a late pick up for Bob and Sophie. The first thing three young Americans on the other side of the aisle do when they get to their seats is take off their shoes and socks. They seem quite at ease with walking around bare foot. Angus thinks of the dangers of broken glass and who knows what else might lurk on a British Airways carpet. Another sign I've turned into my father.
Amazing light in Washington cathedral.
The camera on the i-Phone can't do it justice.
The stone looks as though it's been dyed.
Roundels of light dance across pillars. The effect is not dissimilar to the Sci-Fi effects in 1980's Star Trek movies.
To the side of the chancel flowers are being set out on the tomb of an American who died in 1918. It's the centenary of his death and someone, after all these years, is intent on remembering it. The man who's arranging the flowers thinks it might be the surviving family. The flowers and their arrangement are of a subtlety and sophistication that are worthy of a centennial memory.
We'll be heading home soon and will pick up Bob and Sophie tomorrow night. The kennel owner has sent occasional e-mails assuring us that they're well and enjoying their 'vacation'. This is improbable but ensures repeat business.
Another bright and sunny morning. Angus wakes at 5:58 am with a cold wet nose in his ear.
This afternoon the angelic are off to the kennels. We keep on telling ourselves that Bob and Sophie will enjoy the chance to meet other dogs. Like all empty nesters we secretly don't believe a word of it. Hiding a trip to the k-e-n-n-e-l-s is rather akin to hiding a trip to the hospital for a tonsillectomy from an eight year old.
This mornings croissant ranks a 9.6/10. Golden, crispy crusted and a hint of butteriness to the dough. Bob and Sophie would probably agree but they've wolfed their croissant ends down so I'm not sure how much they actually tasted. Bob makes that peculiar snorting noise that PONs do when they're suffering from a happiness overdose.
The baker seems to have had a brain storm. Pear and Chocolate Tart vying with Tarte Exotique in the refrigerated cabinet. On closer inspection the Tarte Exotique looks as though someone has emptied a can of fruit salad over it.
On our way home a strange sky. The aircraft contrails don't disappear - they just linger getting ever so slowly fainter. From horizon to horizon a chequerboard of white lines.
Time to make dinner reservations. Angus chooses an old faithful in NYC based on the fact that we always go there and it has milk and cookies as a dessert option. The young lady on the other end of the phone informs him that they have moved to a prix fixe menu where everything is included. Angus is left unsure as to whether the price includes the tip or not. If it does include the tip should you leave something extra as well ? The social minefield of American dining. https://www.gramercytavern.com/menu/dining-room-dinner/
The secret to avoiding the Toulouse traffic jams is to time your journey so it doesn't coincide with the shift change at the large Airbus plant. We don't. This morning Angus observes ( bad temperedly ) that all French cars lack that important optional extra - a turn signal.
His humour is improved by a trip to the fancy little bakery by the town hall. It's further improved by the young lady behind the counter who says he speaks French with nearly no accent. When I thank her for this rare linguistic compliment she adds '' I did stress the word nearly. "
A raspberry and pistachio thing for 'The Font' and a pineapple and coriander tart for me. Our respective favourites. It seems niggardly to buy so little so I also order a Rhum Baba and an Espresso Eclair for tomorrows lunch.
In the square for the morning coffee. A young man with a multicoloured mullet and an abundance of facial piercings appears. He is accompanied by a dog which is tied to a post. The dogs master then starts to play a wooden recorder in front of the cafe crowd. The noise is execrable. The dog looks on adoringly at his master. What music ! The recorder player gets given a Euro. Not so much for the music but for the faithfulness of his companion. The dog seems very happy.
A brief venture into the deserted cathedral. One of those mornings when the light streaming in through the windows lets you see the dust pirouetting in the air.They are practising for the organ festival. This rather jolly piece of music ( played with tub thumping enthusiasm ) a great way to start the day. Balbastre a composer I'd never heard of before. It seems that after the revolution, to stop the church organs being destroyed, organists would play revolutionary songs for the militants. This is why this mornings music is not the Marseillaise but the March of the Marseillois - a subtle but important difference that establishes the composers good revolutionary credentials.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJLINE1mQbY
In the old days you went to a store and bought a mattress. Now these are the dynamics of the mattress industry. Intriguing : https://www.fastcompany.com/90216464/the-29-billion-battle-to-own-how-america-sleeps
'The Font' wants to go shopping for shoes. Apparently this can't be done locally or on line. Shoe shopping requires driving into Toulouse, circumnavigating the huge roadworks and finding the underground car park in the middle of the temporary one way system. I'm told 'We' want to be there when the stores open. This means leaving the PONs and heading off just before nine.
While 'The Font' shops Angus visits the little Tunisian store that makes Baklava. This morning they have just made tray upon tray of ever so slightly garish marzipan fruit. The lady who makes them comes out from the kitchen. She recognizes me as a regular customer and insists I eat a marzipan pear.
Fuelled by this unexpected sugar rush Angus goes off in search of a cake for dinner.
There are a variety of exotic looking concoctions in the fancy bakers window but innate Presbyterianism rejects anything that is day glo lime or purple and violet as being 'suspicious'. We opt for a raspberry and strawberry tart.
The purchases are put in the back of the car. This is on sub level 4 of the car park so Angus feels virtuous in using the stairs both up and down. The cake and the assorted marzipan fruits ( and Baklava ) will be a just reward for all the climbing.
Amazing how much time shoe buying can take. Angus has a solitary croissant on the central square. For the very heart of Toulouse you'd think that the croissant would merit a 10/10. It turns out to be expensive but chewy. The German and English tourists who are sitting in the sun and feeling cosmopolitan seem happy enough with them.
Back at home the angelic duo are not impressed.
Let it never be said that dogs don't have 'that' guilt inducing look for owners who go off for croissants without them.
'The Font' announces that the shoes that have been ordered will be in tomorrow. Shops apparently no longer maintain stock. '' We can go back and collect them any time after ten ".
More $ 100 bills than $1 bills : https://qz.com/1395050/there-are-now-more-100-bills-than-1-bills-in-the-world/
The PONs are out at six for their pre-breakfast comfort break. Sophie hurtles through the door like a thing possessed with a howl of delight. She has absolutely no fear of the dark. Bob stays closer to me. When it's time to come in Bob is right by my side. Sophie takes longer to follow. She's sitting on her own staring towards the barn and the owls that nest there. Brother and sister but such different characters. This mornings it's colder. Much colder. The thermometer says it's a bracing 2 degrees. Our first three layer day. PON weather.
The streets lights come on at six thirty. So do the star and the white lights around the Old Farmers gutters. The multi coloured Christmas lights remain off. They must be on a different circuit.
In the little market town another shop has closed. A 1930's Coco Chanel type ladies outfitters. A touch of Parisian chic in the outer reaches of France profonde. There was something about the way double height 1930's windows with stone mullions were inserted into an 18th century building that spoke of self confidence and style.
The wonderful little cheese store is going strong. We stop off for some Chevres for The Font. Bob and Sophie get a little Port Salut from the young lady behind the counter.
We're late in getting to the cafe . The outside tables empty. The locals move to the tales indoors after the start of October. This morning the only outside occupant a foreigner who chats to two tail waving shaggy dogs as he feeds them the ends of his croissant.
Absinthe in the supermarket. It used to be banned in Britain. Something to do with it making you go blind. Its presence on the shelves tells me that we are far from Scotland.
This is the Hungarian National Anthem. The Music written by Ferenc. The words impenetrable in Hungarian and equally so in translation. It is beautiful but could it also be the saddest sounding national anthem ? : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1de8yb2cgkk
