Legends from our own lunchtimes

Wednesday, May 25, 2011


Somewhere from beyond the galley I heard a muffled voice announce that it was nine.

I poked my nose out from below the covers and half opened one eye. There was just no way I was going to get out of bed until the temperature reached at least ten even if the time was well past eight, so I reached for the trusty computer to see what was going on in the world.

A few boat parts were on their way, arrangements were being made for our visit to the Orleans Prefecture office on Monday. Sue had made it to London. Bob and Penny were in Paris and might to try to see us today.

I had to read that again.

Bob and Penny were in Paris and might to try to see us today.

I fired off an email explaining that I thought a five hundred kilometre detour for a cup of tea was probably a bit extravagant, and suggested that if they were to stay a night or two we could make them TV stars, telling them that we had a entirely clear notion of where we would be by the evening as we'd made arrangements for our TV crew to find us in the morning.

But Verangeville isn't all that pleasant a place to stay, all  and despite our having waxed lyrical to Barbara about the joy of entering cities through the canyons of decaying industry, Nancy lying just nine kilometres down the waterway seemed to us to provide the prospect of greater joy.  In an effort to cause complete confusion all round, we motored on past the point of no return.

Eventually, through sheer fluke, we found each other, or was it they who found us?

No matter, the night was long and noisy in a muffled and civilised sort of way.


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