10.33: "I'm on the train to Lyon! Arriving in an hour!" came the wake up call from my five-day flu infested hub. I was still in the fug of nightmares about being fired from Scarlatti's hareem. I zapped on the ring for the coffee, showered and was on the bus.
J descended the stairs at Lyon station, scarved, red-ring-eyed and muffled, and...ooh what a thrill it was to meet and hug him rather than to be met and hugged.
Ill Julian lasted about ten minutes in the Lyonais freeze and another 12 hours watching rugby on satellite tv and drinking sage tea (whilst I did the dress rehearsal) in my sweaty résidence before we took the train back home together.
You could say it was a wasted visit but there was a critical element: THE BATH. We both agree it was worth the €60 round-trip for Julian to have had a rose scented bath.
What a glorious day awaited us back in the Vaucluse. Much restored by his tub shaped ablutions, a little tlc and a centrally heated hotel sleep, we were able to walk the walk with our darling blue-cat-on-green-moss. On it we met three people walking one donkey and vowed that, at whatever cost, this would be our last winter without a bath.