The weather is set to be very good, and we will be spending a lot of the time (breakfast, etc.) sitting here and looking out over this stretch of ocean and completely ignoring the London Marathon and the 270,000 psychopaths who have entered it this year. I know what the outcome will be - it will be won by a small African man who was brought up on a high carbohydrate diet, in a village half way up a mountain in the thin atmosphere, where he used to run 10 miles to school and back, every day since he was about 5.
Last time we stayed here, my German friend and I referred to this palm tree as 'Tina Turner'.
So I've packed my bucket and spade, digital radio and Panama hat, and when I go to collect the car to load up, I will walk past the saturday flea-market, just to see if there are any half-decent rusty candlesticks or chipped glasses for sale, in one last-ditch, pathetic attempt to placate my addiction before I set off into the barren West Country.
I think this will be the last time we stay in our friend's house in it's current form, as this year, it will be demolished to make way for a zero-carbon, utterly green house that looks like a luxury liner on the drawing board. I don't know how they are going to get the building materials down the lane, as it is only just wide enough to get the Volvo down and there is much evidence of slightly wider vehicles which haven't made it without mishap.
We are booked into the 'Garrack Hotel' for dinner tonight (just down the lane), so if you are in the area, pop in and join us for a glass of wine.
(P.S. Calling all Bookanistas - I think that 'Westward Ho!' is the only novel ever written to contain an exclamation mark in the title.) See you next week. X