Last Night

You know, I did take the girls down to the beach on our last evening at Le Truc Vert, only to find that the sky was almost completely covered in cloud. Sadly no shooting (or any other type) stars.

As we topped the dune en route to the beach, we did see the most spectacular sunset, which, for a moment, looked as if something was on fire out to sea. It was a beautiful sight, through a small crack in the clouds.

We ended up sitting and chatting on the dunes, watching the tide roll in. We didn't stay long enough to see high tide, because that was at 23:18.

And so we left the next morning, heading North. We did find Gacé, pitched up and plugged in! On our last night of camping we had our electricity! The sights of Gacé were as nothing to having a fully charged laptop.

And you know what? We're already planning our trip back to Le Truc Vert next year!

Wax on, Wax off

Allow me, if you will, to wind up the holiday blog this year by waxing lyrical about my car. Some of you will no doubt be aware that earlier this year I was unable to justify spending another sou on my adored Subaru Imprezza. Thus it was with great regret that I found myself saying a very sad (I think the last time I cried real tears for a car was when I had to sell the red Celica just before Lottie arrived) goodbye to the Scooby.

For the first time in my life I decided on a proper "Mum" car - you know the sort of thing? Really sensible, with LOADS of boot space. Well, as usual, a compromise was made. Having decided that I rather like the shape of the Citroen Xsara Picasso, I thought I'd look for one of those, but having revved one of the 1.6 diesel engines and decided immediately that it was totally gutless, I resolved to have nothing less than the 2 litre turbo D engine in my own car. OK, gotta be said, it's also pretty gutless - if you're trying to sneak past a Ferrari on the back roads between here and Fleet! The rest of the time it's a pleasure to drive.

This, though, wasn't completely apparent until I started packing for the holiday. Now, last year we had the Scooby with the large Thule topbox, and not a hell of a lot of space round the girls legs. This year, having no roof rails the top box was ignored, and I was worried that the girls would end up with even less space round their legs. But no! To my delighted surprise, the boot is so big we had very little in the rear footwells, and unlike many of the other foreign cars we passed on the road, we could actually see out of the rear window. We did remove the middle seat in the back, replacing it with our "kitchen box", and piled all our pillows (you cannot possibly go Glamping without your own feather pillow - don't be silly!) on top. Everything packed in so well that we almost had room to spare. Almost - come on, we're 4 girls!

But the thing about the "mum" car is the fuel consumption. In the Scooby I'd pay about £40 for a tank, and I'd be able to go anywhere between 212 miles and 278 (achieved the year the clutch died, as we drove carefully out of the Alps with said clutch slipping). On the other hand, the Citroen can make 500 miles before needing a refill - and all for around £50 per tank!

Oh! Oh, and the cruise control. I wont mention the AC, because everyone has air nowadays, but the cruise was a lot more useful than I'd ever have believed. We didn't exceed the speed limit at all during the whole holiday - a different story from last year as we raced like lunatics from pillar to post (and got busted while doing so!) We got onto the motorway, pressed the button, and stuck to 129 kph for as long as we could. I'm not saying that being the only driver isn't still pretty tiring, but it was just one thing I didn't have to concentrate on during the journey.

OK - I didn't want a sensible mum car - I wanted something with a big, brutish engine, which would corner like a Lambourghini and look like a modern Maserati, but I'll admit that it's not a bad old car.

Designer underpants

One thing which has been annoying me over the last week or so has been the designer underpants. You know how, in England at least, the boys will wear their trousers pulled right down as low as they can get them without them slipping round their knees? Well here, on the beach, they all wear these long swim shorts, but for some reason (probably a man thing), they wear their designer pants under the swim shorts, with the shorts pulled down just enough to show the waistband of the pants with the accompanying labels. There are many I don't recognise (but have been reliably informed are, in fact, European designer names), but I've also seen my fair share of Calvin Kleins (made popular, no doubt, back in the 80's in Back to the Future). I'm afraid my response to this is to mutter under my breath "Pull up your bloody trousers!", followed swiftly by "And GET OFF MY LAWN!", while waving my imaginary walking stick.

However, it's almost impossible to remain grumpy when there is so much surf and sand around. The sun has now got well into it's stride, to the point where, yesterday, we went quite late to the beach, and left only when the life guards decided they'd had enough for the day. We still have no idea what time we came back. The girls met and played with a sweet young French boy on the beach, who promised (along with his parents) that he'd be there this afternoon too, so they can play again.

Last night, as usual, we all came down to the reception to use the wifi (although it's better in the morning, because there's no one stealing my bandwidth), only to find the cheesiest band possible playing. As we walked past, they were offering us Frank & Nancy Sinatra's Something Stupid, and continued on with a fair few of the Boney M back catalog. Sadly, just as they started playing some Rock & Roll, Lizzy decided she was tired, so we went off to bed, hearing the strains of Parisienne Walkways as we settled down in bed. Maybe they weren't that cheesy after all!!

I've promised the girls that this evening, being our last at the beach, we'll dress warmly, and as it's just getting dark we'll head across to the beach and do a little star gazing. Maybe we'll see a shooting star.

The Pit of Despair and how to claw your way out of it.

Yesterday morning started very badly, with a horrible headache, and uncontrollable crying. And that was just me. The black fist of depression had closed around my heart, rendering the world in shades of black and, well, black. Inconsolable, I was offered cuddles, paracetomol and codeine, tea and many other little fripperies to try to break the curse upon my soul. Sadly nothing worked (although the paracetomol & codeine did fix the head), and by lunchtime I was as sick of myself as everyone else was, and vowed to try anything to cheer up.

We decided to head to the beach. We were a little earlier than usual, and low tide hadn't yet arrived. The surf was quiescent to a certain degree, although the plague-yellow flag was still flying as a warning. Immediately my spirits soared, and dumping the drinks bag, the rollmats and all my companions, I strode towards the water. That's the cure for depression. Surf. This time I didn't have to fight my way through the crashing waves, but was lifted gently skywards as they rose before breaking behind me. I was so far out at one point that I got an angry whistle from a life guard, who insisted I swim back to the crowd of eager porpoises. The feeling of swimming front crawl up a just-about-to-break wave and crashing through the top as the white foam forms is amazing. Within minutes the last strands of darkness had left my tortured soul, and I was able to see the sunlight, feel the waves and get water in my ears!

We seem to be getting into a pleasant routine with the beach visits. We spend the morning doing other things (sometimes just lurking in the shade to keep cool), and when 3pm comes round, we scurry round getting ready for our trips to the beach. I think we've already spent more time on the beach this year than we did for the whole of our trip last year. Apart from the second day when we didn't get down to the beach, we've been down there every day.

Having promised Charlotte that we'd eat Steak and Chips at some point in the holiday, I decided that last night was as good a time as any, so we headed down to the restaurant in the camp site - they were offering a special for the evening - steak frites for 10.50. Sadly the steak was a nasty tough cut, and was not beaten to within an inch of it's life as is usual in a French kitchen. It was also fried in so much grease that there was a pool of fat on top of the meat when it arrived at the table. Lottie and I, who'd decided to have this, were rather disappointed, and I wished I'd gone for the moules. In fact, many of the a la carte options looked a whole lot better than our steak. Remember last year when I didn't recommend the pizza in the other restaurant here, well I can't really recommend this restaurant either. The chips were good! I think it's probably time to stop flogging that dead horse, and find a different restaurant close by and go for that instead.

It's my turn to sit in the facilities and charge the laptops, but after that I'm going back to the tent and we'll put on a load of washing - damn! The mundane things we do some days. Just rest assured that this afternoon we'll be on the beach, using that surf to brighten our drab and wretched lives...

Riptides and Ripped Lifeguards

There was much excitement yesterday (Friday) on the beach. But let me, gentle reader, start slowly, whetting your appetite with the first course, before allowing you to dive head-first into the roiling maelstrom of the main course. Then I'll bring you gently down to earth with the dessert.

We started our day with a trip to the Super U (more bacon sandwiches were required), and the market outside, where I bought a new beach bag, my original bag having failed to materialise on packing last week. This year I chose a more refined blue and black than last year's circus of a bag.

And so we're set for the afternoon...

After a lunch of the aforementioned bacon sandwiches (and a rest - you shouldn't go in swimming for, what, half an hour after?) I prepared the new bag for our trip to the beach. I had to wear a t-shirt because my back was still smarting from the previous day's exposure, so I chose my new favourite, the pink. It's got writing all down the front, but since I can't be bothered to read it, I was thinking of adding a "tl;dr" at the bottom! When wet this shirt is a lurid, flourescent pink. Not, you understand, that I had any kind of precognition in choosing to wear this at that time...

On arrival at the beach we discovered that the usual swimming boundaries had moved a little further south. This was actually quite nice, as the normal fearsome southern current seemed to be absent. Emma actually decided to come and play in the surf with me, which was great fun, as we discovered the best ways to deal with the crashing waves. I like to turn my back to the wave and spreadeagle myself while launching up and backwards. We pushed foreward towards the raggedy edge of people attempting to get past the (I thought) over zealous life guards keeping us from going too far into the sea.

It wasn't long before we were both exhausted by our battle against the waves - also Emma wanted to sunbathe. However, 5 minutes in the sun convinced me that I really wanted to be back in the sea, fighting for survival against the elements.

And so I returned. And here, dear reader, should you be of a delicate disposition, you must avert your eyes. Persuade your hardier friend to read on for you, and alert you to when the story becomes more palatable. For this is where the horror creeps in. This, my friend, is where the screaming begins! Little did I know when I chose the t-shirt, scant 30 minutes earlier, that this would be a life or death decision. That the vivid colour would save my life!

I entered the water with no trepidation. Excitement was my only emotion. I pushed through the water, squealing like a girl whenever a cold wave broke over my newly heated body, aiming for the open sea, along with all the other keen people. I was prepared to take on the lifeguards in my quest for freedom and the west.

Suddenly the undertow caught me - dragging me inexorably towards the south. For a moment I fought against the pull, thinking to use the next incoming wave to free myself from the unseen fingers clutching my whole body, but it was not to be. Every new wave forcing me further from the safety of the swimming limits. For a moment more I swam against the current, attempting to retain my place relative to the beach, but I was defeated, and decided to give up my quest for the waves. Turning towards the shore, I struck out with my strongest front crawl, noticing with my last remaining wits that a lifeguard had started out to save someone. My feet finally gained some sand, but still swimming as if my life depended upon it, I reached the shore - and found my hand grasped by the strong hand of the lifeguard, my saviour!

What was really sad was that on recounting my perilous escape from the very jaws of death, Lottie's question "Was the guard hunky?" had to remain unanswered - in my befuddled state I been unable to notice such details.

It is safe, once more, to read again. We spent a lovely evening with a charming young man from England called Chris (cute as a basketful of kittens :D), whose misfortune in becoming crippled just before his holiday was our delight, giving us a good excuse to chat with him. We nursed our single drinks late into the evening, chatting amiably on numerous topics.

And there, fair reader, I must leave you for the moment, as the market at Cap Ferret is calling. Turns out I'm still girly enough to enjoy a good market!

Storms and Surf

We've had 2 consecutive nights of monumental storms, which has been quite scary. Lottie is scared of the thunder and lightening, and I'm scared that we've not pitched the tent properly, and it's going to blow away and end up in the Alps before we can wake properly. Which is why I sleep lightly, and wake at the first bolt of lightening! This isn't very healthy, and I've been sleeping late in the morning.

However, after a very late start, we went off shopping, and after bacon sandwiches for lunch (oh, how wonderful) we decided that a quick trip to the beach would be in order. I thought I probably wouldn't go in the water, so didn't bother to put on my swimming suit. However, one look at the monumental surf and I was drooling. I scurried back to the camp site, leaving Emma looking after the girls on the beach, and raced into swimming kit and contact lenses (that was odd - I'd managed to store them in the wrong slots, and although the prescription is the same, the astigmatism correction is completely different, and made me think my eyes were crossing!). The surf was brilliant - it's quite tiring trying to stand up with the waves crashing down on you. Apparently while I was away, someone had to be rescued, which doesn't really surprise me.

I was only in the water up to my chest for about 3/4 hour, but that was quite enough - I had to empty nearly a beachful of sand from my swimming costume when we got back!

I've got to go and cook supper now!

Raining!

This morning you would not believe the rush to get to the beach. Everyone, spurred on by Emma's enthusiasm, rose and dressed quickly, stopping only to apply sun factor as liberally as possible. Here's a warning for you - some sun factor lotions go all thick and nasty after a year, and you can't get them to apply easily. I don't know if I got burned because it had lost it's efficacy, or because of the fact that I spent most of the morning in the water, but my back is a bit sore this afternoon. But the surf is AWESOME!! I'd dried off, and was heating up nicely when I decided to go back into the water. Of course, it's just like starting again, as you tiptoe over the waves, trying not to get yourself splashed until you're used to it. Which is why I can't decide if it was good or bad that a young chap chose exactly that moment to come in my direction - it was either get crushed and soaked, or leap to the side and just get soaked. With choices like those, and no time to make them, I leapt nimbly to one side, crashing down into the very wave he was surfing. Well, I suppose it saved on squealing like a girl at every splash...

So, after the crushing disappointment of not being able to get any electricity, we were able to find a converter, so we can plug things in at the facilities. Of course this requires that someone sit with the equipment, as the chap from the next door tent informed us that someone actually stole his phone when it was plugged in before. He did get it back, but I can imagine that an eee pc would be quite a lure for a light-fingered camper.

The afternoon was very hot, so we relaxed in the shade with books, planning our assault on the supermarket. It had already become apparent that chairs were going to be needed for the girls, as we had had to move both children on at least once after our showers. So along with the power adaptor, after sun (aaah) and more food, we also bought a couple of camping chairs for the girls.

To my surprise, it's just rained very heavily - it didn't last long, which is good, but was quite heavy. The wind whipped up, the clouds moved in, the thunder roared, and the lightening flashed - all before we'd had a drop of rain! Then the rain started, large drops, from nothing to chucking it down in very short order. Since it's quite late now, we're not going back out of the tent, but we're starting to settle down for the night.

No Electricity

We've arrived on the west coast of France, where the weather is really hot! One really sad thing is that we're a week later than we were last year, so pitches are few and far between. You know that Gallic look you get, a cross between hopelessness and "I really couldn't care, but I'm pretending for the sake of... Well, I don't even know why I'm pretending." That's the look we got on asking if we could stay a lengthy 10 nights. And electricity? The lady started asking how many adults and children, answering my questions before I could, and when it came to the question "Electricity?" she answered No before I could respond. Ho hum - turns out you really do need to book in advance if you want to be powered up. Thankfully the computer was charged sufficiently to connect to the wifi at the check in desk, and arrange the same blogging method as last year.

Thus, I'm mailing my blogs in again.

Our pitch is a little corner, smaller than last time, but rather less chance of anyone asking us to double up. The camp site is even more packed than it was last year.

And having found the free wifi last year, it came as no surprise to find people browsing the web as we arrived at the check in. It's not an uncommon sight to see someone on a bicycle with a laptop under their arm, cycling to or from the area of connectivity. I'm secretly pleased that I'm not the only sad git who feels the need to connect all the time. However, for someone used to NTL's finest speeds, it's almost unbearable to try to connect with the speeds available down there.

Tomorrow we're planning on getting down to the beach, and we'll also try to find a converter so that we can charge SOME of our stuff in the toilets! I made few contingency plans for not getting electricity (yes, feeling rather like a prat right now, as it happens), so we need to think of something.

Lizzy's new hairdo