The day started with a giggle on Viv’s bed before I ran out onto the patio in my polka dot pyjamas and bare feet to enjoy the sunrise. There was a nip in the air, different birds singing in competition, and what sounded like a motorbike hovering in the distance. Jock had classical music on in the background. There was a slight haze over the fields and some cloud; the château bell tower next door peeped through the shedding trees, a neighbour’s fledgling orchard below them. The sun came slowly up and there was a brief period of stillness.
Did you ever have a perfect moment? I did.
Breakfast was a real French croissant, fresh from the village (thank you, Jock) with Viv’s home made plum and apple jam. Sumptuous.
Jock had done nothing but drive since we arrived, and before; we gave him the day off and Viv took us to the pretty town of Coutances. I don’t need the adjective because all of Normandy is pretty – and no litter! The Hub kept on about that because it was wonderful to not see litter.
I enjoyed looking in the expensive shops, each one smelling better than the one before. Viv bought me a French notebook and I posted some French letters (postcards really, but you know I had to work that joke in).
We walked around the thousand-year old cathedral – no charge! Are you reading this, St Paul’s? – and the Hub cursed the airline weight limit the whole time, because he needed the good flash he had to leave at home to truly capture its beauty. He suggested I light a candle for my deceased Catholic Mum, and that was a lovely moment for me.
We had lunch at Le Crêperie. When Viv told us where we were going, I got the giggles because I heard ‘Le Crapperie’. Le Crêperie sells pancakes, but like no pancakes I’ve ever known: I had a buckwheat pancake with fried egg, cheese, ham and lettuce – all on top. Delicious and filling, and delicious.
After lunch we had a walk in the Botanical Gardens. You must be tired of hearing me say this but, beautiful! The gardens were beautiful; Normandy is beautiful; France is beautiful. I’m in love with France.
Finally, it was on to a French supermarket, Le Clerc. We had popped in the previous day, when I bought toys for the dogs. Then I remembered my children so we had to go back to buy something for them.
In the afternoon, Viv and I spent some time in her much coveted by me workroom; she made some Christmas decorations for us to take home and I critiqued a lovely novella she has written.
Dinner was even more delicious than lunch: meatballs and pasta in a home-made pepper sauce…yum, yum, YUMMY! With champagne to celebrate our departure the following morning. We had eaten Jock and Viv out of house and well-stocked larder: of course they were celebrating. [I’m going to get a telling off for this one; check the comments later].
You may be wondering what we did with Spud while we were away, given that he is only fifteen. Tory Boy came to stay and look after him. It ended up being the other way around, as Tory Boy was struck down with something nasty and Spud had to minister to his brother. I emailed the boys each day with our doings; here’s a sample:
FRIDAY
Me: Miss you both but I bet you don’t miss us at all! That’s okay; it’s as it should be. [Lying on both counts: we didn’t miss them but I didn’t want them to feel bad. It’s not okay for my children not to miss me]
Spud: Nice to hear you’re having a good time. Yes not missing you at all I’m afraid.
SATURDAY
Me: We went to a supermarket where we might have bought you a little present, but only if you missed us.
Spud: I DEFINITELY MISS YOU…not sure about TB, I think only I should get the present.
As it happened, that’s what happened: we bought shirts for the boys but Tory Boy’s was too small, so Spud got it. The French must be skinnier than Brits, despite all that good food. Never mind, TB had French chocolates and French biscuits to compensate. I wonder why the shirt didn’t fit?
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