By the time we had walked up the hill and poked around a bit, the supermarket was open for business, so just in case we become marooned on a desert island between here and Paris which is now but a breath more than one hundred kilometres distant, we dropped in for among other things, ten spare electric toothbrush heads, three bottles of injector cleaner, some bedwetting pads for Mr Perkins, a dish drying rack, and some bananas.
This delay meant that we were barely back at base before ten, the magic hour when civilised cruising people are but beginning to stir from their slumber, which enabled us to say a "proper" farewell to Eric and Linda before once again taking our place on the monster waterslide to Paris.
Admittedly the excitement of travelling at what we think is near breakneck speed is tempered a teensy bit when we actually look at the figure blinking at us on the GPS, but today even after being held up for an hour while police divers tried to locate a sunken car, we managed to travel an incredible best ever, personal unlikely to be repeated record of fifty kilometres, at an average speed of more then eight per hour!
When we berthed this evening, we checked our schedule, and realised that today we had consumed three days of it! We may never again travel fifty kilometres or drive for six hours consecutively, but the moment it seems easier to keep going than to try to stop somewhere in the near rapids, which for some inexplicable reason seem to accelerate near every dock in every village.
All that aside, we can hear the sirens of the city beckoning, luring us to their wails, so who knows what tomorrow may bring.
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