June left the house early for her work. I felt tired and took the imaginary lift rather than the stairs to our ground floor kitchen (lingerie is in the basement along with the carnivorous deck chairs). I walked the garden like Nelson walking the quarterdeck only stopping to give a French sniper my business card. When June came home earlier than usual we changed into stone flies that had recently emerged from their pupal cases and went out for a Venusian meal (this isn’t as hot as a Mercurial one but lasts much longer). I hurt by foot on the artificial turf of a bread roll and hobbled through a baked potato like a water buffalo in a rice paddy. June and I came home with salad days heads - although mine always has too much lettuce.