Carte sénior

Well, I'm past it. That's official. Perhaps fearing the onset of decrepit old age, I deliberately didn't avail myself of a bus pass for my last months of Edinburgh existence. But here in Antibes, I gave way, whether to wrinkly epidermic evidence, or merely the idea of affordable Wanderlust, wasn't clear, even to me, and I bought myself a Carte Sénior, the French over sixties rail pass.

As if to prove I wasn't past it, I spent the afternoon doing woodwork on the damaged Norman wardrobe. I had already removed most of the damaged glass (a ticklish and potentially dangerous job, for which I wore, very sensibly, a sub-aqua mask with hardened lens, though I drew a line at using the attached snorkel) and, with a chisel and hammer, had got rid of nearly all the hardened putty (still bearing fingerprints nearly two hundred years old). Today I reshaped the oak corner posts to receive the now shrunken top cornice, and reglued the broken sculpted flowers. I found myself quite enjoying the carpentry. Maybe it is a profession I could have entertained. In any event, the operation was a success, and the wardrobe now looks almost complete, albeit only glassed on one side.