The British Open.

Bonsoir, toute le monde.

Yesterday, my friend Fletcher called and said, "I'm coming to pick you up, but Tomtom [his GPS system] just told me I have to turn around, so it'll probably be like ten minutes."  In Fletcher time, that's like twenty minutes.  But eventually, he and I and two of our friends wound up at his parents house for the afternoon and evening.  We had a great time: it involved ping-pong, dominoes, heavy doses of Paul Simon, The Kooks, and a song called See You Again.  We also had lunch (we had some amazingly hot mustard, of which I've become a huge fan) and Fletcher's signature drink, the "Tropical Thunderstorm" (dark rum, coconut rum, mango-orange juice, and tonic).  I could leave it at that, and you would probably think we were pretty cool (minus See You Again), but I have to confess that we sat around for a good portion of the afternoon reading Herald Tribunes and watching the British Open (I'm a bit sad that Greg Norman didn't win...but how cool is it that Harrington is defending the British Open~has that even happened before?).  Anyway, we had a great time, and I'm playing golf at the oldest golf course in Europe (itwas established in 1856) on Friday, because Fletcher needs someone he can actually beat at golf (that would be me).  True story: I actually have a golf course appropriate outfit here in Pau, too, so that's a happy coincidence.

Just thought I would give you an update on my Sunday in France.  

Love, 

Marguerite.