Swallows

As I write, we're an hour and ten minutes out from Ashford, having stopped at Lille to change train crews.  A complimentary breakfast (croissant, OJ, yoghurt was served while we were in the tunnel.  The train is pretty thinly populated, and the hostess immediately offered to move us to better seats in a block of four with a table.  The train goes over 1200 km from London to Marseille, with stops at Ashford, Lyon and Avignon, where we get off.  The train is one of the 1993 sets, but has been quite nicely refitted since then.  The WC is amusingly decorated with fake tiles, and a winking Mona Lisa on the wall behind the loo...  [Later: the one in the next carriage was decorated with a picture of a cast iron Thomas Crapper cistern complete with 'pull and let go' handle, and a street sign reading Privy Lane WC1.]

Picking up the narrative after lunch, I find myself wondering why we ever do the journey any other way.  The ride through the Burgundy countryside is really pleasant, and the fact that lunch was really rather good reinforces the feeling.  The staff on board are friendly and helpful: on my declining wine because I'd to drive later, the hostess pressed a baby bottle on me for later.

[Saturday]. The hire car is a Jeep Renegade.  I've never tried an Ami 6, so this is definitely the ugliest vehicle I've ever driven.  The clutch is viceless, but it has two gears too many and 'sneeze-factor' steering that makes it difficult to keep to a straight line.  The A9 was pretty horrid, but we got home safely enough.  All is well, except that strong winds have ripped the telephone wiring out of the box beneath the bedroom window, thus cutting service to the ground and first floors.  The router has therefore had to go up into the studio, which leads to rather hit-and-miss wifie on the ground floor.  Mobile reception inside the house is also hopeless, so our communications are a bit limited.  I'll ask around in the village this morning to see if there's a reliable techy nearby.

Having been well (if indigestibly) fed on the train, we were left with three rounds of sandwiches.  Supper was therefore toasted sandwiches - leftover chicken and Nürnberg sausages - with supermarket frozen rösti.  Sensible eating begins today.  Maybe.

We've been up to the market town this morning to get a fresh bottle of gas for the heater, only to find that the one we couldn't connect satisfactorily last year hooked up easily enough and lit.  Oh well, we have a spare now.  The wild flowers by the roadside ares gorgeous at this time of year: poppies, startling lime green euphorbias, aphyllante de Montpellier, broom, irises, judas trees and countless others.  Quite a full colour palette.

As we returned from the village market this morning we were greeted by neighbour Jean-Hugues, with 'Ah, les hirondelles sont de retour!'.  We've been called worse.