Lou Gehrig, facing death from a horrid disease, stood before thousands of his fans and proclaimed himself to be the “luckiest man in the world”.
Well, here I sit in a beautiful old stone mill house in the south of France, with Bonnie and the dogs, and two dear old friends visiting from London, healthy as a horse, having last evening celebrated my 79th birthday with an unforgettable meal at a local french restaurant, and looking ahead to another two-and-a-half months of blissful remove from Trump’s America. So what does that make me? The luckiest man in the Universe? In the cosmos?
And, so, many thanks and much love to all of my dear friends who sent birthday greetings. You are all that I miss during my summer abroad, but miss you I truly do!