two weeks to go

Two weeks to go. We’re meeting friends and will travel to the Pointe Du Raz area of Brittany. That’s the most westerly point of France. To cross the channel, we’re taking a ferry from Dover to land in the most easterly port of the country, Dunkirk. That gives us several days to wend our way along the coastal route through Normandy.

So I, in my appalling ignorance, asked why we’re going due east to end up more or less south-west at the far end of the spectrum – that’s surely taking extremities to the extreme. The answer is found in ferry tariffs. Norfolk Line will carry us, and our motor home, for little more than the cost of a new hat. Their competitors will charge a full wedding trousseau including silk ribbons and Calvin Klein underwear. The decision was made; we’ll go under-dressed and spend the savings on seafood, red wine and cheese. It’s an old age wedding; who needs frills?

Our intention is to walk around the coastal fringes of the region known as Cornouaille. With our friends’ pronunciation, the area sounds to me suspiciously like Cornwall. It will be a very short joint holiday if they’ve misunderstood our intentions. Around the edge of Cornouaille is a long distance footpath skirting granite cliffs, white-sand inlets and plangent Atlantic waves. Between us, and maybe even together, we’ll tackle as many of these wind-hewn tracks as practicable.

That’s if time and weather permit. We’ll walk as far as you like on a warm sunny day. However, the only lashings we like are of wine, so if rain persists, we’ll fall back on a selection of DVDs, good books and cosy interiors. It’ll be just like our usual holidays on the west coast of Scotland only without midgies.

All we need to do now is buy currency. We’re leaving that as late as possible. Rates of exchange seem to be moving in our favour. No doubt another crisis will hit just before we leave and the pound will drop into the Atlantic again. But the really good news is that with a little luck, we’ll be away while all those ugly and execrable politicians find new ways to throw mud at each other in support of their twisted and corrupted notion of democracy.

Mais c’est la vie.

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