les Davey de France

Alan and Pat live and work in Bordeaux. Alan is a pastor and Pat was a nurse. Now we work with UFM worldwide. Read on! (If you'd like to know what took us to Bordeaux, then start with the archives from September 2004)

Sunday, March 19, 2017

Today I was brave

On Friday morning as I tottered out for a scamper round the vines I saw that there were two people waiting by the bus stop. I don't wear my glasses to run and sometimes I have to squint to decide whether the animal in the distance is a sweet little pussycat or a ravaging dobermann pinscher - this morning when the thing began to move I could tell it was a cat - so I didn't recognise the people at the bus stop. Not until they both said a cheery "Bonjour" and I realised it was our neighbour and her daughter....

So early this morning, perhaps it was knowing that all was revealed and my feeble attempts at secrecy were all in vain. Or perhaps it was that my back was aching and I was hit by one of those early morning existential crises, so eloquently sung by my neighbour on a Welsh language camp all those years ago - "ffili gweld y pwynt o godi, ffili gweld y pwynt o gwbl" - I don't see the point of getting up, I don't see the point at all. Anyway the clock said "6:30, time for your run" and I said to myself, "time to roll over".

At 7 I thought, "it's now or never", so I got up and ventured out. The morning was overcast but mild. I have these navy cotton running trousers - well, they are designed to wear for loafing round the house, really - yes, they really do make trousers specially designed and made for loafing round the house - can't you just hear people saying, "Oh, it's too bad, I have absolutely nothing to wear while loafing round the house, I'll just have to do the garden instead" - and they are cut quite tight to the calf. I wear a grey sweat-shirt which is just big enough. I imagine it gives the effect of the cart horse who somehow got into the corps de ballet by a fluke. I warm up by gently moving anything that can move as I slowly ascend the hill to the inappropriately named Rue Profond.

I needn't have worried. Except for one small pussycat - "or is it a rabid dobermann pinscher?", he squinted - the streets were deserted.

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