The Bank holiday weekend showed all the signs of living up to its reputation on Saturday, when the rain varied between light and torrential. No complaints from us, except that it gave us a foretaste of the months to come - as do the shrinking evenings. At least it filled up the water butts, which is handy now that we've had a couple of dry days. The tomatoes are coming along nicely, though I turfed one out yesterday. Its leaves were yellowing, and the fruit were rotting in from the blossom end: the badgers have nevertheless eaten them...
We took a ride up to the teeming Metrollops on Monday: Kate and John had invited us to a barbecue in their back garden, so we got to spend a pleasant few hours with them and their neighbours and friends (we shall not drop names, since we can't imagine that those whose we might will be dropping ours). Good company all, and Kate's cooking and John's barbecuing were terrific.
An old BT France colleague, Gurch was leaving St Pancras on the 18:00 Eurostar back to Paris, so we met him for a glass of pink fizz at the station. Isn't it maddening when you find that people you haven't seen for close on 20 years haven't aged a day in the meantime? Or perhaps, gentle reader, you're among that blessed company, and notice all too readily how much more noticeably I have aged than you.
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