I actually wanted frogs legs but the man from De Valley say ‘No! It’s the first day of the hols – I don’t want you ill for the rest of it!” And to be fair to him, he’s always right about these things. Dammit!!!!
This was it…...
This is the riverside where we ate that anniversary lunch on the only searingly hot and sunny day we had on our holiday. We’d left a rare Swansea heatwave behind us to find typical Swansea Valley weather after that first day; damp’n drizzly, yes, damp ‘n drizzly getting into every sinew and bone inside this ageing ex-lump of lard…can you hear me rheumatically croak the damp ‘n drizzly blues?
A jerky, joint-jolting road-train journey back up to the centre of Dinan saw us mingling with touristy types and street vendors. I bought a homemade, handcrafted necklace and matching bracelet at an extortionate price merely to spite Huw the Rock for not allowing me the teeniest weeniest temporary tattoo somewhere discreet Ah! But I hear you mutter disapprovingly, "Hear! Hear! You are too OLD for such things," well I beg to differ because I’m only as old as the man that I feel. Mon Dieu! That makes me 56, almost an OAP, so I retract that statement NOW !
Huw always did have an eye for the absurd which I guess must be the reason why he ended up with me, so when I saw this photo he took of a street musician, the mind begs the question just what IS that in between Sioni Wynwns legs…????? They like it up 'em, Capt'n Mainwairing!!!???
The following day…. back to where we were staying in Rennes……we went a-wandering, or should I say a-wheelie-ing through the old town. Just what is it about the French and their dogs? They roam everywhere leaving their doo doos for every wheelie user and pedestrian type person to pick up the muck, though I think the following is quite cute …..the house, not the dog…..
I don’t know what it is about the French and their bitches either, because upstairs in one of those buildings we heard the most venomous caterwaul of a tantrum emanating from a French female’s mouth, directed at who or what we’d no idea because it spat forth at such a rate of knots we'd no chance of getting the drift.
That may have been a good thing because it sounded as if a murder was about to be committed, so if we were to be questioned by the Gendarmerie at a future date then at least we could innocently protest, ‘I know naaathing!’ pretending to be from Baaathelona!
Next….one of me in Rennes Centre Villes…
It’s the usual scenario of Huw dumping me in a convenient location whilst he took shopping back to the hotel. I sat and dreamed with eyes wide open behind those shades. My reverie was broken by a line of official looking cars pulling up solemnly in front of me, each one doing a graceful right turn then a slight reverse movement until I was surrounded by an army of French gendarmarie and quite high-ranking looking ones at that.
Worse still, each one on emerging from his (and her) car had a pistol tucked in their belt and stood in a semi circle around the area I was sitting. I sat there for a whole hour surrounded by these guys, too tired to self propel like a bat out of hell and too scared to flinch. H came back beaming and teasing about me having a magnetic personality. As soon as he arrived they disappeared as regally as they’d appeared leaving me feeling very unregal despite my initials (E.R.)
Now there really IS something about the French isn’t there? For example, every city or town in France just has to have a water feature or fountains.Mon Dieu! -does it put strain on the bladder at times, and is it my filthy mind or do these even look phallic ? -or possibly you cannot tell in a still shot because I can tell you that those columns of water were pulsating up and down in the most rhythmically suggestive way.
Of course every picture tells a story but the story in this case is what happened afterwards. We were driving towards Carnac in pouring rain when we crossed a bridge with a view so I shouted out, “Stop the car – there’s a view to be shot!” I almost got shot myself at that point……shot down in flames, because I made it quite clear that I wasn’t getting out of the car in that rain.
I can’t let this opportunity pass without showing the world one of the things I really, really enjoy doing. I just love flashing in public places. I don’t pretend to be a good photographer because I tend to point and shoot in the hope that my very old digital camera can cope with the handshake and provide me with a half decent shot……
We crossed the bridge and parked at the side of the road, a few hundred yards away. Huw got out and ran asthmatically back over the bridge leaving me in a hot stuffy car. I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in the heat and…...well they fine people for locking hot bitches in cars don’t they? so I moved over to the driving seat to open the door in a safe place and sat there with door open and rain dripping in.
I’d committed a heinous crime, or so it seemed when Huw got back to the car because I’d had not only the audacity to sit in his driving seat but I’d also allowed the rain in.
Just one of the pix he took…..
I could bore the knickerbocker glories off everyone at this rate so here’s one last shot taken on the journey home of Pont Normandie as we crossed it just gone 8 am on a sunny morning.18 deg.C it says on that sign. Yes! The sun shone as we returned to the British heatwave.