Building work on restoring the School of History to its original state was moving on apace. Academics and admin staff had temporarily been sharing offices with their colleagues in the School of Politics, but it looked as if they would be moving back in a couple of weeks.
Dermot had come out of his depression and was ready to do battle with the world again. Typing rapidly on his tablet he was confirming the travel arrangements for his research group to Bordeaux when Eoin bounded in.
“Funding!” he exclaimed holding out a piece of headed paper.
Dermot grabbed the document and scanned the contents.
“Who the fuck is the Enlightened Historical Enquiries Commission?”
“Who cares? 50k should pay for a few baguettes and bottles of plonk.”
“There will be no plonk on this trip. Simon has promised to raid his cellars, and I’m not going to stop him. I can taste the full-bodied swirl of Bordeaux’s finest on my palate already. ”
“Now you can afford my services as an eighteenth-century expert.”
odespinner 