The heat spell is turning into a wave really. Day after day of temperatures in the high thirties make for unpleasant afternoons even on the water, so we are continuing our pattern of getting underway early, finding a spot for lunch in the shade of a tree, preferably beside a weir or barrage where the clear water babbling in the background will at least make us think it is a little cooler.
When we arrived in Beasançon yesterday we'd hit the magic forty number on board, so we sought refuge in the deeply shaded chasms of the city. One of us, for reasons that are never clear to the other had decided it was time to have her hair "tidied up".
It's hard to describe this process other than to say it involves walking into a hair dressing salon, preferably one with no customers in it and a sign on the door assuring us that it is air conditioned within, while making a movement with one's index and middle fingers approximating the action of a pair of scissors, at the same time raising one's eyebrows in enquiry.
This invariably leads to an enthusiastic and uncanny understanding of what is required and an invitation to sit in front of a mirror, followed by an offer of a seat for the monsieur for the next maybe thirty minutes. The latter offer is just as invariably declined politely in favour of a wander round town with an ice-cream in hand while he awaits there-emergence of his spouse who he knows will be puffing up her hair with one hand while debating with herself whether the cut was satisfactory or not.
It always is.