Just slightly less brilliant than it had been outside, the weather suddenly became ordinary again: the heavens giving the correct salute to everything returning to routine. It had been a perfect long weekend. I can’t remember a nicer one. All thoughts of destination, deadline and doubt disappearing in the long and certain kiss of summertime, all present utterly content to do little beyond nothing whatsoever. Water pistols, cookery, dawdling and finally learning how to play C# diminished seventh on the guitar was about the size of it.
But now the bouncy castle had been packed away — a bit like putting a genie back in a bottle, that: both a struggle and a shame; the blow-up mattresses and sleeping bags from the night in the tent rolled into neat sausages. There was still a gigantic train track going all round the lounge but my wife had begun to pack her case for the early train to London and that was the end of that.
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