Sunday morning, a day when we often just hang around and do not much, but our heads said it was time to go, even if other parts of us could have stayed much longer.
Half a dozen kilometres would do, but first there was some housekeeping, wash the boat, still badly in need of a clean since our friend Ralph failed to do so all those weeks ago, fetch the bread and perhaps take a photo or two. Even so we were gone by eleven, nicely tucked up for the afternoon by one, and snoozing and generally doing not much at all not ten minutes after that.
Occasionally in our travels there are days in which life though enjoyed to the full, bear little description, days when a postcard will suffice.
This has been one of those days.
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