So, five months to Christmas. Wimbledon, the Open now behind us, the Tour de France reaching it's climax on Sunday. Talking of France, we have our hols booked, way down in Torreilles Plage. A long drive, and the air con not working on H's car.
Another marathon 6 hour session with P. He's ok, but a bit dodgy on his lane discipline. His eyesight is a worry too. He can barely read a number plate at the required distance. Over lunch it transpires that like me he is a devotee of the Bombay Duck, and he's green with envy when he finds out I have a source!
A couple of hours with L to round off the day. She drives like a wildcat on speed. It is not a relaxing end to the week.
I don't go into Wetherspoon's pre curry. I note that the Goblin has Pedigree on tap. Fabulous news even if the price is close to double. The place is sparsely populated in comparison to days of yore, the need for nicotine herding all into the garden. I find they now keep a copy of the Indie on the bar, and settle in for a browse. A girl starts talking to me about Max Mosley who has sued the News of the Screws for revealing his session with half a dozen dommes. And he won! Good lad. After she's gone, I wish I'd been a bit more tantalising with hints of my involvement in such goings on.
The Bombay Duck tonight are the best I have tasted since their return. Supreme!.
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