We have often not failed to notice the tranquility of Sunday mornings in rural France. Everything is closed, every shop, every shutter, every eyelid we suspect, and apart from the door to the odd boulangerie filled with people intent on procuring their supply of bread for Sunday lunch there is almost no sign of human habitation.
We've also made a note of how, at precisely four PM, the whole of France seems to walk out of the doors that comprise it's parts and simply wanders en-masse around the nearest thing worth wandering around.
And so it was, that with lunch not quite complete, we, four Australians and a couple of generations of French families wandered by the serpent's lair, vicariously enjoying our risk taking, and wondering if anyone had actually been deterred from trespassing despite the warnings.
Surprisingly perhaps, we escaped unscathed, and we all arrived home safely laden with a few tonne of strawberries from Jacqui's patch, in time for a very long dinner indeed.
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