Will we ever learn how to empty the unmentionable??? Poo fail!
Embarrassment leads to us scarpering out of a town we can’t even remember the
name of. Blushing faces quickly cooled
by Bar sur Aube, the prettiest of little towns, river running through it,
lovely quaint houses, old and pleasant feel, and no opportunities for getting
involved with van plumbing in site. Bliss.
I thought it odd, whilst at poo fail that a family of French folks
in a spangly expensive camper were parked right next to the shit emptying
device (that we couldn’t use) eating lunch. Why? The whole of France to eat
lunch and they chose there, or in hindsight the ‘hole’ of France, one can only
wonder. Num num num.
Chaumont – don’t go here. Not only did we get epically lost in a
town the size of say Moreton in the
marsh for what felt like hours (I jest not) it was unfortunately populated by
the land of the three fingered glove. I can only think people who were sent
down in places like Luton have been sent to live here. (only surprised we
didn’t see Gordon Brown gurning in a Café blaming everything on Maggie). The
local campsite was an oasis that we sought refuge in for the night and very
pleasant it was.
A day tarnished by Brown in more way than one.
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