BRIGHT PEOPLE

Yes, darling, we lyrically tore away Andrea's promise of returning to Spain in one day, as we were asked by Inspector Clouseau to stay over for further questioning, which by the way, he frankly dismisses as answers not true that are subliminally false for confusion unless constructed otherwise, so his request wasn't imperative, but disarmingly confusing none the less.

Most inviting of all was that we'd found ourselves enthralled with Lt. John Kirk's band of sisters.

He encouraged we spend a long weekend on their grand estate in the country where we met up with R. Kate and two more quite not like her. Alex M. was the oldest of the girls and reserved with a manner that bespoke old royal in the way she presented herself amused not much with our zany laughter and she's rather intellectual, in a hard quiet kind of way. The youngest of them was Rory who had an eternal list of unknown friends in never ending supply and who were forever part of the revolving scenery more so than the scads of servants who scurried to provide our every request and whim.

It was the most pleasurable weekend of sporting events what with riding on Rory's many thoroughbreds she keeps warm in the stables with her own imposed sunshine and games of tennis in between long swims in the shortest of pools, which caused no termination in a trail of swimmers requiring first aid after they'd bump their heads on one end then the other.

Their mother was quite distinguished, as she seems to have effortlessly supervised the upbringing of good sports with manners this side of paradise and the other side as well. A delightful bunch the siblings were and we've invited them all to meet us in Pamplona July 7 for the running of bulls.

Their mum is just wild for bull runs, but the siblings say she's been stampeded too many times through the years, so that they feel most protective of her and insist she stay in France where she plays Joan of Arc in the field behind their estate, which she does best when left to her own devices. Their father's been dead for years and no one seems able to recall his story, but Rory told Andrea in secret amongst her many scandolous friends that her father had once been a bad oil artist who went madly insane from paint fumes and that their mother forbids the mention of his name as she becomes extra unordinarily over excited with fond memories of turpentine so that she can't complete a sentence what with becoming overwrought with eccentric joy at the memory of her late husband's death.

Oh darling, I'm more than excited to have this lovely cadre of bright PEOPLE to entertain this summer in Spain.

ciao

-Jacqueline