Down among the flowers, and nothing was nicer, those warm September days, than to sit on the wrought iron chairs under the big green parasol. Idly pointing the camera anywhere you liked, always yielded something. This was what we had to ourselves, with goats and goat cheese and home-made crepes and jam and cider in abundance, and a swish bathroom of our own and sea views with breakfast, all for 50 euros a night, for the three of us, a stone's throw from the Roscoff ferry. We even took bread away from the breakfast table to eat for lunch. I shouldn't be broadcasting this, but keeping it to ourselves.
I've a new class at a different level to teach tomorrow morning. Times like these, it seems as if, for the actual hours I spend, and get paid for, teaching, I spend a great deal of time and energy preparing, driving, photocopying, going over books and materials, and indeed worrying about it. However, it has to be done, and it's not without satisfaction. I haven't had a new class or had to devise a new course for a while, and perhaps it will be a tonic. My other classes were getting a little dull and frustrating too, for the students and for me, so I've put quite a bit of effort into finding new things to do with them too. And it will get easier; the more of a push I give to get the ball rolling now, the better it'll go, I hope.
And, in the same manner that hunger is the best sauce, I find there's an edge to the appetite for the things I haven't had time for, but will again soon.