So I’m writing this from our cottage/apartment down in a village near Bath. I worked all day, then we got straight in the car, fought with the weekend escapee traffic on the M4 and headed West for an hour and a half to where we are now. We arrived a couple of hours back, unpacked, then went out for a sumptuous meal at the finest eaterie the neighbourhood could provide (OK the Happy Friar’s Chipshop, but anyway…) The locals seem an interesting bunch. As we left the chipshop one guy, in the very best drunken builder’s attire seemed to spend at least ten minutes repeating the words “small sausage, small chips” over and over to the patient but unfortunate girl behind the counter. So now we are back in the cottage, I’ve figured out the wi-fi password, opened the nicely chilled pear ciders, eaten the chips, and now (for some obsure reason) are listening to a Janacek work, something vaguely operatic and thoroughly unlistenable, and I sit and type this as I listen to the evening birds twittering in the window and am very conscious of a very patient Julie knelt reading this as I type it, so I had better not say anything sarcastic about the village. Oh damn, too late…..
Maybe a better post tomorrow, or maybe just a similar post with pictures of Bath. Tonight’s photo was taken a few minutes back, a close-up of the ghastly canvas print on the wall in the living room, which, when seen at very close range actually becomes far more interesting.