Sunday, 2 March 2014

Bretagne Poodle Vignette

Any day the Bretagne sun is as hot as any English
sun, but the stench of poodle piss here at the
riverside where I sit reading is distinctly
cultural: pampered pooches also pee all day on rear
window shelves in dandy old men’s cars, wafts of
perfumed urine wrapped around wrinkled necks
like cravats. There are then preened puppy-dog grins,
this time chauffeured in shoppers’ plaid holdalls
-  brought not bought – with smug peeking over the
fancy-bag rims in their cushioned glide over the
cobbles of Locronan. If only Polanski returned to shoot
Less of the Dogivilles where, Mansonesque, cutesy canines
and sissy men are massacred in 15th century splendour:
dog-owners cleared away in darkly ironic bodybags.

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