Much relief to arrive, somewhat marred by the fact that I realise that the keys to the carefully packed box on top of the car are not in fact on my key ring, but are (probably) on the key ring hanger at home. I go into panic mode, but Sandy is very good, and sensibly suggests that we go to bed and look for a solution in the morning.
I am the sort of person who plans for weeks when I am expecting a visit, cooking casseroles etc. and leaving them in the freezer. So, to have a small house party (our friends Peter and Sheila, whom we met in Sicily, are due at 'tea time' the following day) when the only meal I have prepared is in the inaccessible box, whilst the gas cooker isn't working because the gas bottle is running out, is a test of my sang froid to say the least.
However, it feels lovely to wake up the following day deep in the French countryside and in glorious weather. The latter is not common in this part of (northern) Brittany, so the countryside has that special glow that lush landscapes have in the sun, the marvellous confluence of green and blue.
We go off to Super U, where Sandy busies herself getting salads and cold meats whilst I manage to get my box lock picked by a helpful garage which is even more helpfully in close proximity to Super U.
Great relief to be able to access box, now it remains to change the bottle on the cooker. I manage to prize the gas bottle away from the tap linking it to the oven, a minor victory for someone as impractical as myself, and find somewhere open (the local all-purpose plumber and ironmonger has unhelpfully decided to close over the weekend all July and August) where I can exchange the dead bottle for a full one. I don't quite manage to get the gas cooker working, although Peter helps out by pressing a green button, and we are good to go for our evening meal of lasagne, which is delicious and much appreciated.
Sunday is Bastille day, and after a nice late start and a langorous breakfast we wander down to the village of St Germain en Cogles, to see how they are celebrating this momentous day in French history - with a vide grenier it turns out.
I should explain that my house is in a small hamlet, called La Revenuais, about half a mile from the aforesaid village. St Germain is part of a group of villages in the area known as Coglais, which boasts not only lovely French villages with hanging baskets etc. but also wooded hillsides, lakes and castles - see http://www.coglais.com/Tourisme.
It's in an area known as the Brittany Marches, which means borderline Brittany: now, a string of pleasant medieval towns (or towns with médiéval centres) runs from St Malo and Mont St Michel down to Rennes; then (i.e. in the Middle Ages) it was a territory which put up a life and death struggle against anyone who tried to invade, and capture, the sovereignty of Brittany. Geographically, it's close to Normandy; drive a few miles along the A84 and you are in Manche, a departement which definitely belongs to lower Normandy.
We enjoy a pleasant walk in the woods above the village, although I think that both I, handling the mad Honda, and Sheila, who is still suffering from the after effects of an accident to her hip a few years ago, find it quite a strain and are glad to get back to the 'bourg', and to the local bar for a nice lunch of sausage wrapped in pancake, and chips. After which we wearily walk home and enjoy a nice siesta. Later in the afternoon, I manage to provide entertainment for the whole hamlet when my dogs both manage to escape over a low stone wall onto the farm. I have a large audience who all seem to be enjoying my futile attempts to catch the hounds - a real contrast to England, where people are very touchy about their property.
On Monday, I give people a choice between the Parc Floral de la Haute Bretagne and the Château de Fougeres - no contest, as the former will be (and is) in all its glory. It consists of a number of differently themed gardens - bamboo, mediterranean, Italian, Chinese, with plenty of water features and a great number of different plants. In the evening, we have a lovely meal at a restaurant in Fougeres, St Laurent, right in the centre, very French with red check table cloth and excellent food. I have something which I am told is like a boeuf bourginogne, advertised as something to do with a taureau (bull). It's certainly delicious.
The following day is departure day for my friends, off to their busy lives in the UK. Although in some ways I am looking forward to the solitude, having had quite a sociable time over the last few weeks, being here on my own represents something of a challenge as I know very few people, and my next visitors don't arrive for about a month. I wander round the pretty town of Avranches, where we have had lunch, then drive back and join my dogs and start to tidy the house.
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