The visit to Cheshire ended with a visit from la soeur and the occasional appearance of la nièce ainée. The drive back south-eastwards was followed by delicious dinner chez J&C and a visit from the JeB bearing alcohol. Dangerous. A stiff caiparinha and several glasses of wine left two old men asleep in front of the telly while little Ms Beaucoup and the cocktail mixer conversed incoherently. Apparently. The latter then shunned a carefully made futon and cycled drunkenly home on a flat tyre.
The following day, worst hangover since, err, the last bad hangover inflicted by home-brew peach schnapps in southern France. And the hangover continued all day, made worse by a visit to the home of football, where, despite creating chances aplenty, the red & white heroes crashed to defeat at the hands of the blue Russian mafia from the posh end of London. Nonetheless, managed to summon up enough enthusiasm to venture out in the evening to the pub to watch some excellent jazz in the company of the Margarita man and the Jon-E boy.
Quiet day of recovery on Monday, almost missed train to airport on Tuesday, but made it back to the comforting warmth of Lyon by mid-afternoon. Then ventured out for more football, of the OL variety, in the company of le voisin en bas while la bienheureuse was out to dinner. Les gones finally got back on the winning trail with a 3-0 victory against a Nantes team struggling in the relegation zone. Sadly, the championship seems likely to slip away south or west...
