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March came in like a lamb.

Blossom on all the trees in the Square had bloomed overnight. 

Emma and I took our table on the dark side of the town where we can see everyone but no one can see us.

Bernie OD on speculoos biscuits while we downed a couple of coffees.

The woman on the table next to us sold us tickets to a burlesque cabaret sometime in July, which seems way off.  

Emma and I just like to be left in peace and spill the beans on the people who pass and who can't see us but the cabaret lady took a shine to Bernie and fed him more speculoos.  

Her partner, Marco, was as taciturn as she was loquacious. She told us her stage name was Tess Kaa (she'd chosen the surname because she didn't want to be called Baloo or Raksha.)  I dug deep in my hippocampus and The Jungle Book manifested itself in my foggy brain.

I went back to childhood and realised that I'd never been allowed to watch or read anything by Kipling because, like Enid Blyton and Robinson's jam gollywog, he'd gone out of fashion in the '70's. 

I asked her why Kaa and she told me that it was a nod to her great great (possibly a third great) grandfather Rudyard

Apart from that the Square was quiet.and the blossom unfurled itself in the sun.