Lou and I thought we might make it back to London but the flight we were meeting was delayed. It’s ten to 1 in the morning and we are about to doss down on a pullout bed in front of the fire in the chateau des chats. The bedroom has been returned to the rightful owner.
Carlos has immediately plopped next to us for warmth. Rajah is out in the garden looking for more friendly mice to play with until they fall apart and get abandoned on the sofa where one can tread on them barefoot in the morning.
Loads of driving today. We witnessed a superb example of emergency passenger dusk pee-break on the south circular. “That’s your blog sorted,” Lou said and at the time as now I wondered how to write vividly about some guy sprinting out of the car in front on a traffic queue into a dark driveway, and then returning guiltily but joyfully but in time, and failing to get back in the door for ages. It was an entertaining watch primarily due to the complete lack of stealth combined with the accepted physicality of “I am being furtive right now don’t look at me.” He’ll never be a spy, but he can definitely sprint and he has a jetwash for a prostate but then he is only about twenty. We thought maybe his friend would continue the joke of locking him out of the car, but the traffic was about to start moving. It was a bit of humanity. A live solution. Two idiots in their twenties with an expensive car already. How do they manage it? I was driving a clapped out golf at that age.
I’m glad to stop. I’m knackered and my wrist is angry about something. Back to London tomorrow. Sleep now as he fire crackles and the car purrs…
AlBarclay 