Summer Delights

There have, of late, been no entries in this electronic journal of mine. I did intend to write more of Morocco but as I intend to return, thought discretion the better part of valour.

Instead, as ever, I have been enjoying my second retirement and travelling the world in an attempt to see as much as I can before global warming turns it into another Venus.

Now I have never been especially fond of the French as a nation. Their penchant for running away, surrendering and trying to stir trouble up in the Empire put them quite beyond the pale. I find I must qualify this however as by and large this unpleasantness is confined to the governing classes and not to the French peasantry.

These days I find a solo motorcycle rather beyond me and while I still wrestle a Tiger Moth into the air when the Air Ministry is not looking I do miss the open helmet, wind in your face experience that was the Vincent Black Shadow. Thus it was that the Memsahiib persuaded me to buy a large motorcycle with a side car attached. I was taken aback by the initial cost but quickly rediscovered the joys of rapid acceleration and a lovely mellifluous exhaust note. I confess I have never been a fan of the American motorcycle but this particular vehicle, being attached to a side car was never going to have its handling characteristics tested to the limit. But where to try this newly discovered delight out properly? The answer of course was La Belle France.

The Memsahib absolutely refused to sit in the side car and instead bestrode the pillion in a pair of very fetching leather trousers. I spurned these in favour of Levi jeans, a brand I know to be nearly as tough as cowhide and a damn sight more comfortable. Problem with getting old is some parts need cossetting.

Always one for a new experience I opted for the Channel Tunnel. I was unsure whether this would be a good move but in the event it worked splendidly with a smooth, quick, trouble free crossing to France.

I love French roads. They have so little traffic. Naturally we kept off the motorways and stayed on the Departement roads. These are lovely with a good surface and only light traffic. Of course, one must keep an eye out for the gendarmerie as they have ferocious powers of on the spot justice - and they will accept American Express as payment for your fine. Apart from this minor irritation however the French motorist is a model polite and considerate road user. who flashes a warning of any speed traps lying ahead.

The other delight of France of course is the Logis system. Only the French could devise a star rating where the hotel is soley judged on its menu. If you can get hold of a little green Logis de France book you are guaranteed a culinary tour de force. Certainly my jeans felt a little tighter at the end of the trip.

Possibly the highlight of this particular adventure was sitting with some merry French peasants on the banks of the Loire, quaffing very homespun red win wine and watching the sun sink in glorious splendour beneath the horizon, lighting the whole sky with fabulous reds and golds. The locals seemed to really take to us, probably the memsahib's leather trousers don't you know but we sat and watched a fascinating social melodrama unfold, which culminated in a sallow faced youth declaring passionate love for Clothilde and being told to sod off by her father and uncle. Such an expressive language French. Eventually the bar closed and the locals stumbled to their cars and mopeds and lurched off into the night, though not before giving me a very bristly set of kisses on each cheek - and stroking the memsahib's hair - it is long, soft and blonde and very strokeable. We walked back to our logis marvelling at the sunset, the alcohol capacity of the average French man and woman and the total absence of any gendarmerie armed with breath testing kit.