In Bléré for an English lesson this afternoon so I thought I’d take a walk along the cycle path along the river Cher past the rowing club. I tried rowing once there with an acquaintance and immediately realised it was a mistake. I had thought that the calm of the river and teamwork and coordination would suit me but I was about as coordinated as I usually am; which is not. Being on a rowing scull with someone else means you can’t just go where you want to. I’m also not a big fan of having a wet bum or of being in proximity to cold water. I didn’t try it again.

After a damp, frigid, dismal morning the sun came out for a couple of hours and the late autumn colours were particularly vibrant.

Quite a few Blearies or whatever you might call the inhabitants of Bléré had stepped outside to walk dogs and ride their bikes. I was astonished at the quantity of large brown turds on the side of the path. The production along there is quite prodigious. I wonder how long it will take for someone to find a use for dog shit and for our footpaths to become a little more agreeable.

As I walked back an elderly couple overtook me at a very stately pace on what looked like children’s bicycles. The lady was really tiny. She had a red woolly hat pulled down almost over her eyes. The man following close behind her wore a purple colour ramped jacket, fading from light purple at the top to dark purple at the bottom, with bouffant purple sports trousers and a packet of chocolate biscuits in his basket. Must be going to the bingo.

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