Jill and I are off to Bolago tomorrow for their first "Slow Food" weekend. Well, who else would I take for a weekend of eating - good thing Jill doesn't read this.
Actually, nobody reads this... however that's another story.
She's the only person I know who could order the entire desert menu because she couldn't decide... unashamedly. (And then insist I help her)
Jill's off to her personal trainer in the morning - someone who should be clearly sacked - and then she's picking up something or other. She did tell me, my memory is shocking. I think it was lovely glasses. (that's the drinking kind)
She's famously late to everything, lets hope that tomorrow is an exception. I stressed that I wanted to leave when it was still morning.
And then we're off. Amazingly, I have never taken Jill to Bolago? One of my oldest friends? Funny how things like that turn out.
So the only question left is, Peugeot or Audi? I drive, she drives? I know we'll have discussions about it, always do. Usually, it ends up me driving her car, which makes little sense, but there you go. So the
MI16 will get left at home and the A4 will get a whirl up the Calder, most likely.
Ah, fresh air. I love it when I turn into the driveway, I open the windows and smell the gum trees all the way down the kilometre long driveway. Mark calls it his womb, whenever he enters the forest after being away. I can always feel the stress of the city leave me, sucked out by the Box and Manor Gums, disseminated amongst the bracken, returned to the pure earth.
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