Posted on Friday 27 April 2007 by Camille Savory
Cough, sneeze, those of Central London who are still standing head West (the tug of apron strings or merely sunshine), in search of Bluebells. A picture for posterity and we’re off in the usual formation: the fast, the steady, the take-it-easy (and sadistic).Wheezing in the wake of our Esteemed Secretary (fixed, de rigeur), I think he’s doing it with his eyes closed. Possibly asleep. Inez and I fuss and chat and snack and query directions while he sensibly ignores us, bar the odd warning shout of ‘gravel’ or ‘granny’. Neither the lumbering horsebox on a steep downhill or the fact that we tailgate with smoking brake-blocks when the traffic picks up on descents elicits a reaction.