Huge excitement down here in the Sunny South of France. We are soon to be the Snowy South of France if the weather forecast is to be believed. The wind is howling making the entire house groan and creak, the shutters and windows are rattling with indignation against the cold. I'm alright though. What with thermals, cashmere, and topped with an alpaca wool poncho from Peru I'm well equipped to carry on regardless.
His Lordship has found a spare 100sqm of space in the house. Well, the attic of the apartment to be exact, and has decamped along with his entire library of some 1,000 books plus to his new sanctuary. He is safe in the knowledge that I won't be a regular visitor as to reach him you have to climb a rather precarious ladder and he knows only too well that I hate heights. This has put me at a great disadvantage as he seems to respond only too readily to the words "cup of tea"? but not so rapidly to "can you do" ?
He announces, with some exaggeration in my opinion, that his new space is "just like the room from Dr Zhivago. "And you're like its protagonist Yuri Zhivargo are you" I retort. "Only unlike the backdrop of the Russian Revolution of 1917 we are now in The South of France 2007 and its not THAT cold". I like a few titbits of information to throw out occasionally.
"Another cup of tea" ? I enquire pleasantly.