Life at № 42
The gardener, Olivier, plays rugby. He’s apparently quite good at it- except he’s in hospital now, only to be released next Wednesday. That’s actually him in the picture under the arrow. Until yesterday he had a perfectly formed compact nose, not unlike my own. Goodness knows what it will look like post-breakages. It wasn’t just the nose if he’s confined to hospital for a week but his girlfriend didn’t want to give out any more details of the injuries.
I just don’t understand why anyone would do anything to endanger their face. I suppose it doesn’t matter too much for ugly people, but for non-ugly people it’s sort of a guarantee of continued preferential treatment in saecula saeculorum. I know mine has gone a very long way to getting me what I wanted when I wanted it. I wouldn’t dream of risking that.