There comes a point in a man's life when, knowing he lives with 4 women, he must accept the fact that it takes several hours to manage to get out of the house and off on any journey. I've yet to come to terms with that. I may one day. But not today.
As we always self-cater (due to 5yo allergies), a big shopping trip is always on the cards for any holiday, and is always an adventure in a different country, exploring their goods, prices, oft madening way the stores are laid out, and having fun. The kids armed with mini-trolleys certainly did. And being our holiday, a few special treats managed to somehow find their way in to the trolley. Nice.
Our trip commenced with the short drive to Erquy which presented us a magnificient view of the land and sea as we cruised along. A beautifully cultured look-out-point gave us the idea place to stop, lose our breath, catch our breath and snap away. The literature I read before said that Erquy had 10 fabulous beaches - I couldn't believe that number, but standing on the point I could see why. The sea had carved out little crescents along the shorline and delievered soft-looking sand to boot. They looked simply amazing.
The drive through the harbour area gave us more views before we settled in what seemed to be the shopping area. I say seemed as there was very little there. All pleasant, charming and very new looking in general, we wandered in a square pattern round the town before returning to the road for more places to view.
Super U arrived soon (no idea what the U is for, super may be), as did tiny trolleys and the fun. For something so dull and mundane, we do have fun in the supermarket.
With the weather set fair, we returned to La Plage where we were to meet the heroine of today's piece.
After our rock climbing expedition and shift to a more open part of the beach were complete, the kids happily played in the water while I wrote messages in the sand. Then re-wrote them as the tide didn't like my spelling and promtply washed them away. Being called in to battle the sea, I kicked off my red beach shoes and headed in.
It. Was. Cold. I was amazed that 5yo lasted as long as she had, and 8yo was still game. We bounced the waves, jumped them, got slapped in the back of the heasd by them, before a shivering 8yo and me strolled back to the top of the beach to towels and warmth.
Just before I was about to do my annual 'dig a hole on the beach' Mrs d4t enquired as to the whereabout of my shoes. Turns out it was a classic case of 'I thought you were looking after them'. Given the spot of sand I'd left them was about 3 foot under, I doubted I'd ever see them again. In steps angry French lady.
I'd spotted her earlier, medium length wiry brown hair, longish olive-coloured top, hurling what sounded like abuse at someone I couldn't see. Standing at water's edge trying to spot my floating shoes, I turned to see them collected together with other items at her feet. I galloped over to collect them, and as I picked them up she turned and asked if they were mine. Her mood softened, she smiled and said something else I didn't understand. I thanked her and walked away, thinking of her spotting them and moving them up the beach with all her own stuff. How very nice of her. By the time I got back to our spot her anger had returned and she was carting stuff up the beach and hurling harsh words. She was hot though. Hot when she was angry. Recently a friend described someone as being hot when they were really mad. I had no idea what that meant, having never seen it. But I kind of know what they meant now, so I'll be cheeky and borrow their term for her, Dragon Lady.
Thank you, Dragon Lady, for saving my shoes.
Our after-dinner stroll/scooter was as pleasant as ever and Mrs d4t even managed to trick the kids she'd got stuck in a springy ride at the small playground on our route to the beach. She wasn't stuck. Honest.