Legends from our own lunchtimes

Sunday, June 23, 2013

On a promise

 A long walk in the country, a nice lunch, and a long lie down in the afernoon after the carefully chosen wildflowers had been suitably arranged.

Today was a good old-fashioned Sunday, nothing more, nothing less, nothing to add.

Except perhaps that Georges had spoken to the racing-car engineers he thought may be interested in playing doctor to our Mr Perkins and he'd already asked François to interpret for us and that they would come at six-thirty tomorrow evening. It's just as well we slept in the afternoon, because sleep would be near impossible overnight as our anticipation, or perhaps it was excitement, built.

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