Frances and I rode on ski lifts to alpine meadows high above Ax-les-Thermes in the French Pyrenees. We were almost above the clouds that swirled amongst the mountain tops like wreaths of smoke. I am still editing the two hundred pictures I have just taken in France but I rather liked the above - two oil drums wedged with a piece of broken concrete and a woman snapping a photo across the valley as the mountains appear to float on a sea of blue-whiteness.
And we returned to a lovely, warm and summery northern England. Bradley Wiggins had just won the Tour de France and Sheffield was throbbing with the music of the "Tramlines" free festival. We ate salad, new potatoes and roast chicken out on the decking and told Shirley of our Gallic adventures. More tomorrow.