x-alt.fun: events

Normally Pips is the one who likes to stop and look at things and I'm the one who likes just cycling along. But this time I'd said let's stop and Pip had said "it'll be the same as everywhere else". So we stopped. However, it was then Pips who carried on over this pretty little bridge while I stopped and peered over it. I was fascinated by the perfect little garden going down to the river and surprised to see someone with a dustpan a broom sweeping the lawn.

They must be English I thought, and indeed, a moment later, the unmistakeable twang of a south London accent complaining about the weather confirmed I was right.

So, as I was saying, Pips carried on over the bridge and then returned beckoning me frantically. I followed.rn

What a pretty little village, there was a museum, a gite d'Etape, a 12th Century Priory, and a church almost as old. However, what first attracted our attention was the view through a half-closed door into a garden with a tree and a few tables underneath. A place for lunch.

This was the spot. They did a limited menu but what they did do was fantastic. We had a tomato soup made from fresh tomatoes from their garden, spiced in a subtle and most intriguing way and, unfortunately, secret way. Followed by a goat cheese salad, with a carafe of chilled rosé. Hell, even the bread was some of the best we'd tasted.

It was so good we decided to come back for dinner.

Having had our good lunch the next set of jobs, after putting up the tent and doing the washing, was sitting, idly, and in my case vaguely planning the next day's ride and looking at the lie of the land.

A quite comfy task thanks to the clever little strapping affair into which one put the inflated thermarest to create a seat. Modelled here by yours truly.