Shall we go for lunch?

I was up before it got light – I can still do it – and writing by 8am. The sun came up and lit up the room where I write, and the sky was bright blue. Toast popping out of the toaster, coffee percolating away, me at the laptop writing nonsense. It couldn’t be much finer.

The doorbell rang and there was M&A ready to escort me into town. The strap on the watch H gave me for Christmas needed adjusting, and Michael agreed to help me out with technical jargon in French if needs be in the jewellers. It wasn’t necessary as the assistant spoke fluent English with an American twang – I’m never going to get any better am I? We walked around the market (for Wednesday is market day) and returned to collect my adjusted watch – a ferfect pit!

Next port of call – lunch. The last time I entered this particular establishment which is near the railway station, the barwoman was doing her ironing behind the bar, and we were accosted by a drunk. Today it was like a different place - a very pleasant restaurant, and I had an excellent lunch of fresh vegetable soup, leek tart, rabbit chausseur and cheese, all lubricated on its journey downwards by a generous smidge of rosé. After a spot of shopping (not me, I’m skint) we popped into a bar for a couple of swift halves, before I returned to my laptop to write for a few more hours. I wonder if anybody will be able to tell the bits I write before lunch from the bits I write after lunch…