Broken

Mr B finally made it back, with his rusty old truck on the back of a shiny new tow truck, just before lunch time. After much drama in getting the tow truck into our driveway - which involved ladders and saws - we could relax, have lunch and catch up a bit and then get on with the unloading. Though Mr B really should have his own blip to tell the bizarre tales of endlessly eating kidneys and fending off vicious turkeys, I think it may be a trip he would prefer to forget.

Mr B hurt his back a few weeks ago, and it's still sore - perhaps not surprising after two weeks of carrying stuff and driving a thousand miles rather than bedrest. Despite that, we managed to get half the van unloaded, then took advantage of the sun to head into Castres and join our friends for a few hours lazing in the park. Somehow, despite our best intentions to head home early - it being a school night - we found ourselves being very easily persuadable to go back to their house for 'just one glass of wine' and somehow it was easy to say yes to pizza for the kids, and maybe just one more bottle of wine...

So, home late for a quick supper and a late night for the two over-excited and exhausted kids. Conor took a big step and chose 'his' football team. Barcelona. I have to say he may have had a little nudge from me (only to make sure he didn't follow his Dad's path and choose Man United), but his decision was approved by a handy 10 year old Arsenal fan. Now I need to go and buy him the t-shirt to seal the deal.

I should have stopped to take a picture of the outstanding sunset tonight, but instead found myself desperately waving the camera around at 11.30pm, and spotted this daddy long legs on the inside of our shutters. He looks how I felt.