Saturday 7th
July
Pete
had a very late night – the annual game dinner at the Tasmanian Club. A whole bunch of happy men, all resplendent in
back tie, eating, drinking, telling jokes, catching up. I had offered to be chauffeur so I watched TV
until – well until 2.35am… I saw all of the Tour de France, right up to the very
last man, who rode in, miserable, in the drenching rain with his lycra ripped
to shreds and his skin equally ripped and bleeding. Nobody commented on his arrival; he was one
of the survivors of a crash about 20ks from the end of the race. A few people clapped, but mostly the crowd
was more interested in the prize winning ceremonies – awards of green, yellow,
white, and spotty outfits, and of big bunches of flowers – and in going home. I then watched, faute de mieux, half of an ancient episode of The Love Boat which was quite astonishing in that…the acting was so
very bad. A great relief when Pete rang
and said he was ready to come home!
No ball breaking that night. Now there's a perfect example of just how obliging you are. Most of us would have told him to catch a cab and gone to bed well before the last rider :)
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