Supermarket sweep

I crawled out of bed and made my way on all-fours to my local boulangerie for fresh bread and croissants for breakfast. Afterwards, we set off to find a supermarket that was open on a Sunday to buy assorted goodies to export to the UK, and some delicacies for lunch. We arrived five minutes before it was closing, and dashed around like maniacs plucking things off shelves while an officious little French chap chased us around with a broom.

It was a fine day for a drive in the country, so following one of my well documented cycle routes we pootled along country lanes to Cours-de-Pile and Verdon and ended up in Mouleydier where we took a stroll along a little footpath beside the Dordogne, peering into the many manmade caves which seem to tunnel beneath the riverside town. We began a fruitless search for petrol, and even the 24hr stations spat our credit cards out with venomous disgust.

Back home we dined on a smorgasbord of local delights, and all too soon it was time to return to the airport for the departure of my splendid guests. An ignorant Frenchman did his best to impede out journey by blocking us into a parking space and then sit in his vehicle watching our frustrated attempts to manoeuvre the car out – pig-headed bastard. We then got stuck behind a tractor.

A few drinks in the bar, and they were off. I waved at the plane as it took off into the early evening rainy grey sky.

Back home all was quiet, and I took a long soak in the bath before spending a few hours trying to finish chapter three of this book I am supposedly writing. It's a corker.