Hmm. Meme, you say.
See the thing with LJ memes is, I generally don't partake. I am not trying to be a sourpuss or anything, I just know in my heart of hearts that that way lies madness, since they are a) designed to self-propagate, b) infinite in supply. By definition then, they are agents of our own demise; an unending viral cycle which, once entered into,
( Read more... )
A faultless trip. Red Fred duly farewelled in Shanklin, 30 mins wait, the little train to Ryde, 30 mins wait, the Fast Cat to Plymouth and finally - after 3 ½ hours wait -- on to the ‘Bretagne’, the Britanny Ferry which was to bring me to France.
And what a surprise! I had expected a ship on the lines of the one which brought me from Jersey. Not so! No container-cum-ferry this one, but a regular luxury liner! More restaurants, bars and shops per square foot than QE2 of my seadays. I was almost intimidated. However, I was not there to shop or eat, but to voyage and sleep and, after a soothing Guinness or three, that’s what I did, awakening just in time for a shower, a shave and a bit of a queue, before disembarking comfortably in St Malo.
Brian was at the ferry to meet me, and to lead me to our hotel, the Bristol Union, in the heart of ‘old’ St Malo. We ate a very hearty ‘Continental’ breakfast in Paris: Bet your Paris Holiday on the U.S. Economy… inclusive of the cheese and sausage which I’d always connected with Austria rather than France but which I guess are just ‘EEC’ nowadays, and of the croissants which no-one but the French seem to make properly. After which, we set out, under grey skies and spits of rain, for a wander around the ‘old’ St Malo. I say ‘old’, of course, because this famous ancient ‘city of the corsairs’ was 80 percent destroyed in the last war. It’s been gloriously reconstructed (the post office is a gem!), to bring back much of the character of the wrecked city, but only occasionally do you come on a bit with the right ancient ‘feel’. I wonder how many times I was wrong.
Reply
Leave a comment