Dragoman 2009: tales from the fifth dimension.
We all gathered in the chill of the castle courtyard. I could only think what a cold, unwelcoming place a medieval castle must be to live in. It may well be an inspirational place for composing piano concertos though.
The curtains on the occupied side of the castle were all drawn and Mr and Mrs Halftter maintained a stately silence. I didn’t see them in the post-race paella either.
Next, we all ran up the steep, steep hill to Dragonte and then jogged back down again with fire in our calves and smart new Dragoman t-shirts on our backs.
Basurko ran dressed as superman.
Early rumours of snow in the village proved unfounded. There were a few brief flurries but nothing stuck.
The 91-year old boy wonder made it to the top again chaperoned by Baltazar from the cement factory.
There were so many people that both the consummé and the garlic soup were consumed in record time despite being housed in immense pots. The t-shirts ran out as well and poor Baltazar was left cursing his choice of running partner.
I wore my dad’s Air Pegasus last used on that fateful morning in August. The river keeps a-flowin’ and the big wheel keeps a-turnin’.
