It is another glorious morning here in France , not a cloud in the sky and just a gentle breeze to stir the branches. A fine day to be heading home, and it should be the same tomorrow at least in Dover . But Sunday come thunder and lightning, very, very frightening, indeed. So, best make the most of it this morning.
Yesterday I sent myself back to the hotel at four, not much work on, and then had a quick shower and headed out for the beach, with cameras for a stroll, a beer and some snapping.
The beach is where some 70 years ago, 300,000 allied troops were evacuated in what was the lowest point of the war. Now, the ebach is lined with hotels, bars and restaurants, the beaches filled with families and the waterline packed with kite-surfers, the sky filled with multi-coloured kited dipping and weaving. It was very nice, I have to say.
I chose a bar and ordered a large beer and sat back and watched the world pass by along the beach front. It all seems so bloody continental, and yet less than 40 miles from our house; how can life be so different so close to home? I walked to the Dunkirk Memorial, looked at the wreathes, and pondered that that event made my life possible after my Grandfather was rescued.
I walked back and came to a nice looking place to have dinner; it was seven, a bit early for France , but I was hungry. I had fried camembert followed by a Caesar salad, and then a crème brulee and a coffee. Not bad Mr H, I have to say, not bad.
In the evening light, I walked back to the hotel and lay reading before sleep took me from this world.
More later…..
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