On Monday Hugh and I returned from my family holiday in Normandy, North France. The ferry from Newhaven (where the most frequent sight was various middle-aged men dressed like youth workers picking up dog ends from sewage puddles) took four hours and I managed to spend a tenth of my budget on the gammiest "Full English" breakfast I have ever ingested. We touched down in Dieppe and drove for three hours (with toilet breaks) to Lonlay L'Abbeye, a cute valley village an hour south of Caen. It has a beautiful cathedral, a biscuit factory and a bi-weekly market. The cobbled lanes smelt of wine and cheese, the houses of fine oak and history.
But we weren't staying in Lonlay L'Abbeye. Another five kilometre drive, this time back on ourselves, brought us to La Mare, a settlement of about five farmhouses tucked away atop a hill, surrounded by fields and cows and fields. Despite the remoteness, the gite was beautiful and we kept ourselves amused with long aimless walks and copius units of alcohol (usually in reverse order).
I will divulge further into what we did when i get my photos back and inevitably have my memory jogged, but for now why don't you have a cheeky listen to our podcast-y type things we did. One sober, one drunk, and one tired, all jokes.
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