That old familiar fog. Sunday 28th April - Paris to Saint-Pierre-sur-Dives

Yesterday evening, barely forty-six hours since we were last lying in a bed, the bits of us which had arrived collapsed into our airport hotel not at all concerned that it felt as though vital parts of our brains were still somewhere in transit nor that the bits that weren’t were wandering around aimlessly in opposite directions.

This morning that familiar feeling returned, it’s a bit as though we needed tuning in the manner of an old valve radio with a dial which wasn’t  quite on station.  Breakfast helped, and a few large coffees had the voices in our heads slurring a little less, but it’s always a bit disconcerting to drive that hire car out of the lot for the first time.

For those unfamiliar with the CDG-T1 carpark. It’s a bit like negotiating a computer game where the highest degree of difficulty starts at the beginning, and each level becomes progressively easier.  It’s probably designed to make entering Paris’ Sunday traffic in one piece seem like a reward, and in a way it is.  The balance of our drive to Normandy seemed unremarkable except that if there was anywhere to find lunch along the way its presence escaped us entirely.    

None the less we arrived safely at journey’s end, into the outstretched arms of Jacques and Maggie, hungry, somewhat tired and very happy.