The Dovecote

We find ouselves in deepest, darkest France.

Well near Chinon in the Loire valley anyway. The dovecote to Chateau Vauguyon is warm and welcoming. The log fire is hearty, wine heavy and the peace blissful.

The drive here from Calais was not uneventful. We emerged from the train in fine weather, then drove through heavy rain, hail, thunder and lightening and then snow all before we travelled 40 miles.

The snow was heavy at one point, and laying in the adjacent fields.

The drive was further punctuated by the present Mrs Mart inserting jolly old Werthers Originals in to various facial orifices of mine. As the driver, I consider it important that I maintain my visage of the road. Equally she feels that she should also be watching the road, as clearly I cannot be trusted. Therefore freshly unwrapped Werthers get prodded blind, in the rough direction of my mouth, but are equally as likely to be inserted in to ear or up a nostril.

As we drove through a forest near Tours, carefully observing the 90 Rappels speed limit we considered stopping to let the dogs off for a run in the foret. We decided against it when we spied a bruised and battered 4x4 which had clearly just had a collision with a sanglier (wild boar) Bits of the 4x4 were strewn across the rue, the sanglier was walking with a mild limp.