It's amazing what almost 12 hours asleep will do to lift the fog rolling across one's countenance. By eight this morning though, that fog had been replaced by another which for a time hid a perfect sky and a "Sunshine Coast mid twenties, windless winter's day". While one of us got decidedly chilled just taking the photo then pottering in the 6° comfort of the saloon thankful that we aren't here for all that minus twenty nonsense that goes on in winter, the other quite wisely remained "chilled" but toasty warm buried under a pile of doonas for a few more chimings of the church bell .
Perhaps we should have moved on under that electric blue sky, but that would have wasted a perfect day for doing absolutely nothing, or pulling the leaking bits apart and re-shuffling the bed frame or oiling the grates in the bathroom floors and catching up on the washing.
We have three weeks you see. Three weeks to think of everything and do everything and get it all sorted before next year.
In the midst of that thought, as suddenly as the second fog had lifted, the last vestige of the first disappeared as well, and his brain became just as clear as the sky;
"Perhaps", he thought, "if instead of doing it all, he could just make a list, then get a chap to do it."
A cunning plan indeed.
But it was Michel's day off, and Jacques was alone in the office.
Well this is France and it was a perfect day for simply waiting till tomorrow after all.
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