Pt3 - 24: THE LAST LEG Saying goodbye is never fun, unless you’re saying goodbye to dickwads that is. Rosie and Rod aren’t dickwads; they’ve not only given us sanctuary in France , but opened their London home to us and treated us like honoured guests. How do you say goodbye to friends you met only months ago but feel like you’ve known for years? As well as allowing their idiot cat to live, you cook them dinner and present them with a mooning garden gnome to go with the rest of their hilariously rude collection, that’s how. While Rod played guitar in the back yard and Rosie rehearsed for her show in the front room singing a bawdy love song to a battered old store dummy, I roasted a chook and veg for our final meal together. I’ll miss them, though I expect they’re quietly pleased to have their house to themselves again. They’d both left for the day by the time I rose, inhaled a quick brekky and closed the door on Flanders Road for the last time. Today is a major missi...
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Showing posts from October, 2022