I awoke latish after a good night’s sleep. It’s funny but I sleep well here and find that I really relax. Mind you after driving through the night then we should sleep well. Mrs P though was very sleepy, so I left her in bed and gave the place a good clean, dusting and cleaning the windows and weeding the patio and flower boxes and soon it was all how we like it.
Mrs P stirred and we had breakfast in the loggia, in our dressing gowns – serial, fruit juice and tea. The sun was up and the temperature perfect. Exhausted by all this action we read a bit and I began my little blog. Eventually though we caved to normality and showered and dressed.
It was lunch time so we decided to drive round to Marines des Cogolins close by and find somewhere for lunch. A new restaurant had opened and was looking popular so we gave that a shot.
I’m not the most imaginative of guys when it comes to food. The plat du Jour had choices, so I went for fish soup then loup (fish) with rice and finally tarte aux pommes for dessert. Peanut more modestly just had chicken Provençal. I washed mine down with a carafe of rose wine, while Peanut had orangina. She was miffed to get a can and not the iconic bottle!
The weather was lovely, we were harbour side enjoying a lovely view, the service and food were good. I had been saying to my work chums before the holiday that I was looking forward to getting squiffy over lunch and well, clearly I have wasted no time!
After lunch Peanut insisted on dipping her feet in the sea. Not quite swimming weather, I was content to take the photographic evidence!
Next we had a mind to pop into St Tropez but Peanut fancied another snooze, so we headed home via the local garden centre where we got some new cushions for the table. I had a square pattern on my bum after breakfast this morning sans cushion!
We didn’t venture out again. Peanut started and finished Kate Fitzroy’s Perfume of Provence while I tackled her follow on book. Lovely escape books and just what we need sometimes. On the one hand life is wonderful, I’m in the south of France with Mrs P and on the other I veer from one minor crisis to the next. Watery eyes, runny nose, sore feet, sore hands, an upset tummy. They queue through the day for an audience with me and sometimes it can be hard to shoo them away with an imperious wave of the hand.
Bed beckoned us both and we slept the sleep of the content.