Nanteuil-en-Vallée
Back in Moutardon after a days diy, we slump on the sofas. We’ve achieved just a little more of what we needed to and with our batteries now running on low, we stop. I glance over at Roddy and can’t help but laugh. The splashes of white paint lay heavy on his clothes in obscure patterns and he’s absolutely covered in them. The expression on his face reads as if the paint he is wearing is really weighing him down. I’m no better, it’s clumps of tiny fragmented plaster and bitty
