Where's Bertie? His wheels have not turned since yesterday.
Weather: Sunny morning, a few clouds this afternoon then back to wall-to-wall sunshine for sunset.
Aside from the ignoramus who drove along the road blaring his horn at 2.20 this morning (a common occurence in the UK, far less so anywhere else we have been), and a speeding vehicle that buffetted Bertie at 7, a quiet enough night was had, thus our first decision this morning was to stay another night.
That afforded us a leisurely get-up, which we followed with a run along the beachside promenade...
Not a bad location for a run
...followed by having our usual elevenses fare for breakfast:
Having almost failed over the last week to find enough time in the day to get on with my current crochet project, the middle part of the day saw me playing catch up on my granny squares, multi-tasking with an audiobook.
This afternoon there was another fit of activity as we walked into the town of Arcachon, which is a couple of miles away. The architecture on the approach wasn't striking as being typically French, and the centre didn't particularly grab us either, although we did hit it at afternoon-break time, so everywhere was quiet.
One of the more striking bits of the town of Arcachon. We looked in the windows of a couple of estate agents - the high prices suggested that it's a popular place.
I should have made the effort to find a different return route, so that we saw more of our surroundings, but that didn't occur to me until we were half way back, so it was a simple retracing of our steps. We're getting quite familiar with the beachside promenade now - it must be time to move on to pastures new.
Behind the gnarled tree, sitting on a bench is a woman with a pigeon on her lap, eating out of her hand. For a while she seemed to be in a trance, before she suddenly gave her attention to the pigeon on her lap explaining that the food wasn't all for him and that he had to share with those on the ground. She threw a few crumbs onto the floor, then drifted away again and the one on her lap continued its feast.
Weather: Sunny morning, a few clouds this afternoon then back to wall-to-wall sunshine for sunset.
Aside from the ignoramus who drove along the road blaring his horn at 2.20 this morning (a common occurence in the UK, far less so anywhere else we have been), and a speeding vehicle that buffetted Bertie at 7, a quiet enough night was had, thus our first decision this morning was to stay another night.
That afforded us a leisurely get-up, which we followed with a run along the beachside promenade...
Not a bad location for a run
...followed by having our usual elevenses fare for breakfast:
Having almost failed over the last week to find enough time in the day to get on with my current crochet project, the middle part of the day saw me playing catch up on my granny squares, multi-tasking with an audiobook.
This afternoon there was another fit of activity as we walked into the town of Arcachon, which is a couple of miles away. The architecture on the approach wasn't striking as being typically French, and the centre didn't particularly grab us either, although we did hit it at afternoon-break time, so everywhere was quiet.
One of the more striking bits of the town of Arcachon. We looked in the windows of a couple of estate agents - the high prices suggested that it's a popular place.
I should have made the effort to find a different return route, so that we saw more of our surroundings, but that didn't occur to me until we were half way back, so it was a simple retracing of our steps. We're getting quite familiar with the beachside promenade now - it must be time to move on to pastures new.
Behind the gnarled tree, sitting on a bench is a woman with a pigeon on her lap, eating out of her hand. For a while she seemed to be in a trance, before she suddenly gave her attention to the pigeon on her lap explaining that the food wasn't all for him and that he had to share with those on the ground. She threw a few crumbs onto the floor, then drifted away again and the one on her lap continued its feast.
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