When travelling in a country where trains are obliged to slow to a mere one hundred kilometres per hour when negotiating busy stations, but need only drop to two hundred for the lesser ones, distance is covered at a remarkable pace.
But perhaps its the very speed with which we move that creates a certain fatigue at journey’s end. Surely it couldn’t be the constant round of social engagements, the food, the drink, or the sunshine? I don’t think for a minute that the walk through Paris this morning and the post-luncheon dash to the train could have contributed.
Whatever the reason, it was late afternoon when we arrived home, and we looked at the list of things that absolutely had to be done before Cliff and Gina arrived tomorrow and decided that they would best be tackled after a long lie down.
After a long lie down, we looked again at the list, and thought:
“Tomorrow”.
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