A grey February morning. The early rising beer and absinthe brigade sensibly huddled together in the warmth of the cafes back parlour . The lady in the blue quilted dressing gown and red pop pom slippers greets me with an amiable , if ever so slightly slurred , ' Salut ! M'Ongoose ' .
Out on the market square the last of the Christmas decorations , a ceramic polar bear and white plastic seal , peer out of the bakers window. Will they ever be taken down ? Next door , the newsagent informs me that he has taken delivery of the ' new season ' postcards. A surprisingly extensive medley of kitten photos . '' They're charming " said with what might appear to be enthusiasm .
The old farmer continues to deliver hay to the cows. '' Where do you think he's getting it from ? " asks ' the font ' . The cows munch away unconcernedly.