Monday 3rd July 2017


We arrived back in Port Haliguen on Friday, but today feels like the first day of our holiday. Pete was full of cough and cold when we left home, so I drove across southern England, and then across northern France. Friday was spent provisioning and unbending limbs spent too long at the wheel. Saturday I succumbed to the cough/cold, but it was mucky weather anyway. Yesterday (Sunday), through a slightly detached state we still managed 15,000 steps, with a willfull Labrador with her heart set on the beach, completely disregarding any attempts to train her.

Monday morning rolled around, with Pete responding to the early morning call of a dog in need of toileting. Both returned and fell asleep, meaning that the day in fact didn’t start all that early. It was a disrespectful 11:00 before we were showered, and ready for… not sailing. All me. Brain and body disconnected, and a painful left lung, the one that doesn’t stretch so well when it comes to coughing. Remembering that Kate had told me that Carnac was a place of two halves, partly like Newquay, and partly fascinating old-town charms and a forest of standing stones. 3,000 of them, apparently. I only checked the pilot book when we got back, and it made me laugh. There is a 25 minute audio/visual experience that tells you that ‘they’ have no idea why the stones are there, and that they are very old (older than Stone Henge). The stones are dotted across various sites, and the most intriguing are those in parallel lines… the second site we visited, the stones were also ordered in height order. But why? There is an ‘alignment’ (technical term) on Dartmoor, near the Dartmoor Inn, equally beguiling, and this individual could ponder on it for hours… a particular activity suited to a head cold. There is something of the clammy hand from the past that reaches out, as place, man and ancient history collide.

An alignment.. perhaps processional, perhaps of ritualistic significance, perhaps they marked old market pitches, or perhaps they were started as a kind of joke…

What also makes a day feel like a holiday, is a good lunch, and today’s was superb. When you select a place based on a large, white statue of a bulldog, you have to question the wisdom of the choice, but this was wonderful. A bowl of water for Bessie, and two courses of properly home made food. My choices, a terrine of monkfish and salmon and a juicy paella. Pete had a trio of fish pates and duck. All washed down with a pichet of rose, and finished with a shot of smooth espresso.

Bessie was on disobedience rectification training (aka walking to heel), with pleasing results. She knows what is required of her, but there is something about the proximity to the sea that scrambles her brain. As a reward/test of the training, we took her to her beach. She really is the luckiest of puppies.

Boat supper talking long into the evening about ‘what next’, not as in plans for Tuesday, but the next chapter. We will decide in the coming weeks whether we will give Whinchat up – the go anywhere boat isn’t. That is a sad travesty for a sailing boat. 

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