The idea was to move the Monday appointments seamlessly over to Tuesday, but it didn't quite work out like that, and I am left with nothing till 2. I perve on the net for a while, and then do the righteous thing and wash the car inside and out in preparation for S's test tomorrow. Then off to Aylesbury to see if, in the two week hiatus, S has shown any proclivity whatever for the art of driving. Pretty resounding "No" on that one I am afraid. She is a lovely girl though.
Just before I set off for S, R texts me announcing at about three hours notice that she is unwell and will not be attending today's lesson. I should be stronger. She's paid up front, and I should tell her she's lost the lesson. I don't of course, but I must remember to make these things crystal clear at the outset. the fact that I am too prone to doing the same thing doesn't make this any easier of course.
So I am home early and slump in front of the telly watching not much in particular. "Goodnight Sweetheart" is a prog I have always watched and been intensely irritated by. Great idea, dismally executed, but it tugs me in nonetheless.
I decide to make an effort and get the bike out, it's first excursion since St Omer. I make it up the hill,, and my reward is a pair of Cocquilles St Jacques. Scrummy!
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