For much of our working life, if we’d had a particularly relaxing weekend one of us at least didn’t feel at all like going back to work on Monday.
Much of France is like that, and while it does take some time to become accustomed to the undeniable fact that the country is pretty much closed on Monday. This is historically we think, because things were supposed to be open on Saturday but invariably after closing early for lunch on Friday, aren’t. Some businesses to be fair are open for business but to be equally fair, the ones that would be useful to us never tend to be. It's a sort of random thing that means that we only ever plan to do things on Tuesdays or Wednesdays except if that means visiting museums because that's when they close.
Today it was the turn of the buses that tour the battlefields. We had planned more or less to tour that route yesterday but when that didn’t transpire, knowing that the buses don’t run at all on Mondays meant that we would have a day in which we could top up our nowhere near dwindling supplies and generally just hang around happily engaging in meaningless banter with fellow wastrels.
It also meant that there was little distract from the thus far futile effort to find a longer term solution to our wifi woes, as our ageing laptop slowly disintegrates in much the same way that Mr Perkins once did.
Tomorrow we will be tourists again.