Legends from our own lunchtimes

Saturday, May 31, 2014

It was quite chilly this morning.
Still in Lagarde.

Well there was no point in two of us being up before six, so while one of us was appreciating the bracing freshness of sunrise in nine degree warmth, the other one wasn’t.

As the temperature failed to soar, one more coat of oil found its way onto the bench tops before seven thirty and time to return the car to Luneville.  The prospect of cycling home through almost thirty kilometres of misty valleys was not terribly daunting albeit it may have taken a little while to thaw the extremities when it was over, so when Bob from a couple of boats away offered a lift in his car it would have been rude to have turned hime down.

By the time we returned, the temperature had reached “civilised” and it felt as though half the day had been done and it wasn't even quarter to breakfast time.

It would be remiss of me not to mention the pile of steaming crepes which were waiting for my return, and perhaps what seemed to be an nibble-athon in honour of my attaining the same age as her good self, arranged of course on other people’s boats due to the absence of anything remotely conducive to sitting on in our own, let alone washing up in. 

Thus was any thought of work kept pleasantly at bay for the rest of the afternoon.


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