The Brasserie des Beaux Arts. One of those timeless French restaurants. A row of plate glass windows looking over the river. Starched white tablecloths , thick carpet , zinc covered bar. The service hurried without being unduly so. Just a hint that if you're quick and don't dawdle they might be able to fit in an extra sitting . ' The font ' has oysters. Angus has foie gras .
At the corner table a languid Labrador pretends to be asleep. Next to us a cheeky Westie cocks his head , inquisitively , everytime a waiter passes . Near the door a grandmother with daughters, grandchildren and something white, fluffy and indeterminate . Dogs and humans all well behaved . The dogs certainly quieter. Why do Anglo-Saxons view dogs in restaurants as health hazards ? A reflection on Anglo-Saxon dogs ? Or Anglo-Saxons ?
A quick lunch before ' the font ' heads back to London . Angus offers to come along. A moments hesitation but the thought of a journey involving Angus, airport security, customs and an urn deemed to be best conducted alone .