We were so close to Chitry when we woke that it almost wasn’t worth moving, but despite ourselves we did, and exhausted from another four kilometres of journeying declared the rest of the day to be Sunday.
We thought briefly about going out to lunch, but the implications of that, the shower, the shave, the bike ride to Corbigny without certainty that we could even find somewhere, let alone whether the rain would stay away led to only one logical outcome.
Instead we decided would spend the rest of the day in bed, or at least not far from it. We would read, eat banana pancakes, have a snooze and perhaps in the evening we’d even watch something from our vast recorded collection of things we must watch one day.
Late in the afternoon, with the onset of atrophy perilously close, we wandered gently over the bridge but not far beyond, through the village with it’s wolds-like walls and gardens which we noted was either abandoned, or more likely, the entire population had treated Sunday in exactly the same manner we had.