This was to be the post making all those inevitable remarks about how we intend to pursue the fleeing season south across the continent, but in fact the European summer is conducting a reasonably ordered retreat this year, with a particularly impressive rearguard action here in southern England.
Anyway, it's holiday hiatus time again.
We have have allowed ourselves just a few hours short of one week to get down to the Villa Grazioli in Gottaferrata. It will be strange after all those days of serene solo travel to suddenly find ourselves in the midst of the babelesque Baksheesh bash. Guests will be flying in from all over the global underbelly, the dress code permissive of "anything except man-made fibres".
The journey down already has a vague outline. Breakfast tomorrow in Reims, followed by a relaxed drive on the N roads to Burgundy. Watfish has been giving me the low-down on how to make best use of time in and around Gevrey-Chambertin - a really nice cave just off the main square run by one Monsieur Gerarrd Quivry - and Fleurie, which has a Michelin-starred restaurant where "the Maitresse wears purple Ozzie Osbourne specs and floats around like an old sailing ship".
We should reach Orange (Chateauneuf country) by Sunday night. I want to show V the Pont du Gard, and then drive east along the coast, stopping in Aix and then in Monaco to visit my late uncle.
That should leave us with two more overnight stops, in Liguria and western Tuscany, before arriving in Frascati. Baksheesh has boasted that his wedding posse will be taking over the hotel for the whole night, convincing me of the folly of reserving one of the €400 bedrooms for the hours of debauch.
It would be optimistic to expect to add much to the mileage the morning after, but I have hopes of getting down to the Bay of Naples and Pompeii before the need to plan the journey home arises.
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