(apologies for delayed post, nerd had death)
We
stay in situ for the next few days as we are visited by a friend from the UK.
The campsite in La Fleche is ideal for our purposes. We have lecy hookup and
all the facilities one could need. Said friend is travelling over from Wales
(enough said?) His itinerary is quite simple. A flight from Manchester to
Paris, Train from Pairs to Le Mans and then onto La Fleche. Simple.
Actually
no. Dafyyyyd, (not his real name, but one has to protect) leaves Manchester albeit
slightly delayed. Not his fault. However one could assume that being a smart
man of the world and armed with the latest technology in the form of spangly
apple thing a small delay wouldn't prove to be much of a problem. Au contraire!
We've booked a table for dinner for half eight assuming that landing at half
one would give ample time to get to us. Several missed trains later and taking
the most almighty and unnecessary diversion he arrives at le mans only to find
that there are no trains running to La Fleche (more about this later) and has
no option but to get fleeced by local cab driver to take him to La Suze (strict
instructions from us to wait for us at Bar de France, name drop and get treated
like a king). We mount an enormous
rescue mission, zooming to la suze to go and collect, realising as we leave the
campsite that we won't actually be able to get back in due to extreme security
measures in the form of none-shall-pass-after-10pm electric barrier. We find
Dafyyyd looking woebegone on a street corner, bar de france and hotel st louis
both closed. It's tragic. We end up camping up in La Suze for the night,
Dafyyyd is somewhat shocked at his Onzo inaugural stay. Nothing that cafe
correctos in the bar de france don't sort out in the morning.
Tuesday
morning and cafe corrrectos (eek) done all is well with the world. Dafyyyd has
no control over travelling or destinations so we are safe to leave to go back
to La Fleche without fear of mishap.
After a brief and (as usual) unsuccessful fishing trip we decide to nip
into town and visit the local hostelries. We stumble (literally) into the
welcome of the Henry IV. This is a fine bar. Groovy, nice vibe and open! After
a few libations in the afternoon sun we venture inside the Bar to seek shelter
from the evening chill and bump into none other than Berny Ecclestone. (see
picture below). Rather fitting bearing in mind our proximity to Le Mans. Berny turns
out to be a star turn on the piano (didn't think he was tall enough) and then
entertains us with talk of his car collection. Two of this classic collection
are revealed to be an original xr3i (in red) and a Morgan. Smooth.
Bernie (who drove the fastest milk cart, read XR3i, in the west!)
Dafyyyd
point blank refuses to sleep in the tent and has sort of broken some things in
Onzo, so we retire to the tent, turfed out of our home, tired and resigned. He
redeems himself rather brilliantly and all is totally forgiven when he cooks up
epic feast in the morning, having been to market and secured yummy stuff, whilst
we were still festering under woefully soggy canvas. Thank you sir.
After
a couple of days enjoying the culture and restaurants of La Fleche (shout out
to La Gargantua) and sampling the market, it is time, unfortunately, to say
goodbye to Dafyyyd (we get our bed back, yay!!) who has been holding our hand
through some rather momentous times (more about that later). However, La Fleche,
has other ideas. Whilst being a lovely place to stay for a few days it reveals
its one true flaw when we try to take Dafyyyd to the station to get back home.
Turns out there is no station in La Fleche. This is only ascertained after
asking five different people, yes five, including someone from the tourist office,
who all give us fictional directions to a train station that simply does not
exist, why do they do this?? It’s like a foreign person asking someone in the
UK how to navigate London and being told that there’s no London Underground: it’s
a myth. Misinformation enorme. Sigh.
Public
information warning: General public, take note, La Fleche does not, repeat does
not, have a train station (it has a bus
station, but busses don’t count, let’s face it)
Once
we’ve established that there is no station we have to get massive zoom on
halfway across the country in order for Dafyyd to make his Eurostar. Anyway,
not his fault and three hours later he’s safely on his way. Miracles do happen. And on the upside Noush gets to see the holy grail that is Le Mans circuit, albeit in the distance...
Spot the Dunlop Bridge anyone?
We
eventually make it back to La Fleche, exhausted. It’s a bed-by-nine kind of
day. Thank you Dafyyyd for coming to play and happy birthday for tomorrow, we
love you, but for the love of God next time hire a chauffeur. Or buy a
helicopter. Something. Anything.
Erection
Fail 1
Due
to sleeping in the tent and incorrect erection (stay with me here) we incur collateral
damage to the lap top. In summary rain seeps in, swamps the lappy and it dies. This
is bad news. After dropping off Dafyyyd at Le Mans we drop into Leclerc to look
at purchasing a new device. All goes well. We choose the new machine (cheap we
think for an HP), pay for it and go to leave. All is well with the world apart
from Wayne Rooney Thug dude (WRTD) who guards the exit door (none shall pass).
It turns out that in this particular store you have to have your purchases checked
on exit. So, we hand over the receipt to WRTD and it transpires we are not
allowed to leave with the new purchase. What does it mean? Bearing in mind that
we have purchased said lappy not five metres away from where WRTD is stationed,
this all seems a bit excessive. He looks at the receipt, back to the box, back
to the receipt and makes French shrugging motions and mutters things like “Boff”.
Things are not going smoothly. Jon starts to make noises about how this is so
bloody, typically French, whereupon charming French woman (who is stuck in the
queue behind us) decides to step in and sort it out. She (all of 5”2) fronts up
to WRTD and in no uncertain terms tells him exactly how to do his job, points
out where he’s going wrong and basically tells him to pull his finger out. He,
thankfully, promptly does so. Without her we might have been there for days. We
thank her (and hope she didn’t take that comment about the “bloody useless
jobsworth French” to heart) and leave sharpish. She gives us a wry shrug and
proceeds to take WRTD to task. Thank god for strong, interfering, lovely French
women. Merci!
La
Fleche has been awesome, highly recommended to everyone (unless you want to
catch a train or a fish!), it feels much like home. Tomorrow sees us heading
towards Brittany and the coast, exciting business opportunity on the horizon and
then a weekend in the sun. C’est bon.
Kisses to Dafyyyd (whose coat is that jacket hanging up on the floor?!!) and happy birthday, thanks for coming to play xx
