It is admittedly:
a) Fairly unrelaxing for a houseguest on holiday to heave herself up from a sunbed and go running every afternoon.
b) A bit smug.
But I don’t care because LOOK how pretty it is trotting through the French hills. My favourite bit is when I jog past a gravel petanque court where a 500-year-old topless man normally stops playing and runs alongside me for a bit, Gauloise bouncing in his mouth, grinning as if this is the best joke he’s ever thought of.
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