We'd decided beforehand to squeeze in one more yoga session before hitting the open road, but when I got there that morning, there was no sign of Peronne. She did well to stay away, as they'd decided to concentrate on hand- and headstands, ever my favourites...NOT.
I made my way over to Pee's and was greeted by a vicar in complete disarray (if I haven't mentioned this: my friend Peronne is a vicar), fretting over a sermon she couldn't seem to write the way she wanted it, worrying over a little lump she'd discovered in her groin, and with her head in the clouds because she'd met a man a few days earlier, and was now in the first stages of love blossoming (so cute!). So I waited while she did her last minute packing and putting things in order, and halfway through the afternoon we finally made a move...to stop a few streets away for a consultation with her GP. She went in while I waited in the car, and with every passing quarter of an hour became increasingly worried. Finally, she reappeared, got in, put the car in reverse, and bumped it straight into a road sign. It turned out her GP had diagnosed it as a tumour of some kind, and mentioned he'd like to book her into hospital upon her return for some tests. I tried to reassure her that "a tumour" could mean anything, that we would go down to the pharmacy to pick up her presciption, and that we weren't going to think about it for the next few days.
And on that cheerful note, we roared off heading south...