Bob and Sophie ?

Dinner in a hotel restaurant in a little market town in deepest deepest France profonde. At one table 15 firemen celebrating the retirement of a colleague.  At another table 11 unsmiling gendarmes. By the window a dozen ever so slightly tipsy farmers in jeans and T-shirts. From time to time they all join in one gigantic cross restaurant conversation . 

We are seated in splendid isolation by the reception desk.  ' The font ' orders Vichysoisse. The waitress appears with the soup and then pipes a pyramid of aerated cream on top. '' Voila ! " she says with evident satisfaction. Both of us are rendered speechless. We are still admiring the ' blob ' of artificial cream when the waitress returns and scatters a teaspoon of dried fruit over the soup. ' The font ' comments on the unique way of preparing Vichysoisse. The waitress takes this as a compliment.

Long chat with the vet. He thinks getting puppies at 12 weeks is just fine . In fact he thinks that 12 weeks is the perfect date for the mother. We'll carry on driving north and make up our minds later today. ' The font ' has reassured Angus that Sophie will be more than happy to accompany him and ' Bob ' to the rugby on Sunday afternoon. The fact the pups already have names probably tells you all you need to know.