The High Lord Arrives

Pretty much bang on schedule I heard from the innards of our little house in Trébrivan the purr of a large horizontally opposed twin boxer engine.

"Aha!" I thought. "That'll probably be The High Lord of Southwick arriving upon his enormous steed."

And, indeed it was.

The diminutive Chateau owner of Wiltshire was in Trébrivan for the first time.

I'm fairly sure that I don't malign him by quoting his first utterance as I remember it.

"You can put a glass in my hand if you like."

And lo! It was so.

Declining the invitation to ease himself out of his leather kecks and slip into something more comfortable, The High Lord stood his ground and slurped his Chateau Cheapoplonk  with great relish.

A small repast to precede the main event of beef stew was quickly demolished by the newly arrived aristocrat (with some help from the rest of us, it should be admitted).

And an evening of amiably slurping wine and talking bollocks ensued before Trébrivan's church clock struck the witching hour so that we could ignore it for another 60 minutes prior to retiring.

It would be a big day on the morrow - The High Lord's first full day in our small domain and the date of Bar L'Alsa-Breizh's "Barbecue Géant".