Café Paris

The girls, plus other halves, plus José (Agu's sister) came round. We were going to go to the mountains, but it was raining, so the Spanish softies decided we'd grill at home. We lit the fire and used a table top grill thing, which was suprisingly good. Even the cat didn't sit on it. Lovely time anyway.

This is where we saved on the washing up at Café Paris for coffee. José and Fernando. Sorry it's a bit badly focused.

I managed to do a lot of baking after they'd gone with the help of little Agu. Bread and two lots of cakes and soup. Ben slipped off to bed (sound familiar AKHF?) before tea, but maybe he was a bit annoyed at the match we were watching. He made it back down just in time to see me spectacularly (well I thought so) pulling a muscle in my stupid leg again and rolling around the floor in agony. It's easing now, but I really feel decrepit. It has made me appreciate how strong footballers' legs are though. I remember seeing John Barnes' thighs very close up. Impressive. That would have been a great blip! And with a smile on my face, I am now off to bed. Night night all :)