Cuckoo

It's like a cuckoo chick this boat, and the little Renault Twingo is it's host. Trip after trip it makes laden to the eyeballs, and the boat just sits there waiting for more. We picked up the bikes as planned, dismantled them to get them around the fois gras and Perrier, and when we stopped to think about it (after 8:00 on our arrival back at Lagarde) we'd travelled nearly 300 kilometres again.

We have declared ourselves ready, (though we're not,) to take off into the wide blue yonder.

We have most things on our various lists, from heaters to bike tyre repair kits, we've even got a stove top espresso pot, but something important is missing. If we knew what it was we'd have bought it of course, but we'll find out as soon as we leave.

Tomorrow is what we in the uncivilised world call Bastille Day, and the marina is set for a serious bit of partying.

If I had access to the internet, this would have been posted tonight, but I don't so it wasn't. A visit to SFR's office in Metz, a mere 80k's away resulted in it working perfectly while we were there.

Golly I'm glad I'm too tired to be frustrated.