I did the airport run a few evenings ago and, in the pouring rain on the way back, the car sloughed off its back bumper and the accompanying plastic trim. I pulled into someone’s drive and tried to put it back but the circumstances were against me, so I stuffed it into the back of the car and took it home. By 9am the following morning, the maire had replaced it and locked it in position with a couple of screws. The car becomes tattier by the day but it remains the quickest, most comfortable and reliable ride I have ever owned. It’s due for its control technique next November, but the rules change in April and it will never get through the new pollution regulations. Consequently it will be presented for MoT at the end of March, which should give it another couple of years before it’s finally put down. The maire is a bit depressed about it. He’s been wanting to sell me his 2nd best BMW 4X4, brown, for the last couple of years, but I don’t live in Chelsea so I resist.
The most recent potential buyers of the chateau are turning up mob handed over the weekend with assorted experts in tow and intend to spend a couple of intensive days trying to work out the hows, whats and whens of a restoration. Perhaps even the how much. That is the killer. There’s no doubt that it could be done up but its consequent value would not come close to the cost of rehabilitation.
My venerable US coz lives within earshot of the Florida school shootng. I watched its pupils gliding home on their skateboards when we were staying with him and thought how cool they looked.

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