The River Gironde

We left Pamproux this morning under grey skies and wondered if the storms set to hit the UK would catch us. Fortunately they didn’t as we headed south towards Bergerac. Although we use the big cities as ‘markers’ for our journey, we have decided to give them a miss generally. The Aires within them only have a few bays and are usually full - as we journeyed south the sun gradually came though and we got warmer and warmer. In fact, we have not had the need for heating today. We made for the city of Port-Ste-Foy-Et-Ponchapt and found a dear little Aire on the River Gironde right beside the ‘Museum of Wine Making’ (regrettably now closed and on the market) and also beside a little church. We had a lovely walk by the river and drank a large mug of coffee each sat on a bench by the river enjoying the warmth - unfortunately it became apparent after an hour or so, we weren’t going to get too much peace and quiet in the area and became a little uncomfortable with our surroundings so, as time went on, made a decision to move on. Not very far and we are now in the town of Pelegrue - once owned by Henry the third no less!!! Wherever you go in France, a large part of their quoted history is the Hundred Years’ War - a little research shows that this was a series of conflicts between England and France over succession to the French throne and indeed lasted for 116 years. We found the Aire by the water - no more than a lay-by but in a really peaceful area. It has a disposal point and fresh water so all we need today. We had a relaxing afternoon sat out with a drink and nibbles by the river where we plotted tomorrow’s journey; before we retired for supper. We really do want to spend a few days in the warm sunshine now before we cross the border into Spain so we are making for Capbreton which has been recommended to us by a french chap camping beside us.

There is a little unsung hero travelling with us, who is being such a love. In fact, we hardly know we’ve got a dog he’s so good. Tom has fallen into his routine without fuss or bother and, considering he lost his little chum not so long ago, amazes us with his adaptability. Tom is 13 now and I remember the day he came into our lives as if it was yesterday. He was no bigger than my cupped hands and, when I picked him up from Bodmin Moor where he was born (the youngest of 10 or 11 pups and the runt to boot!). I put him in the floor well of my car and halfway home to the cottage - about a 35 minute drive, he was sick. Poor little thing. Well, I get out out the car and walk into the garden past our cottage and held Tom up to the window for Alan to see what I had. I just brought him home because it felt right and didn’t ask first. One look at Alan’s face, and I suddenly became a little nervous of what I’d done without consulting him. Anyway in about two minutes we were completely smitten and Tom is a complete and valued member of our family - except for one thing. Typical sheepdog behaviour - he doesn’t like you leaving the pen, so to speak. You are HIS sheep and you ain’t going nowhere! Well, my poor husbands bottom is the area Tom likes to aim for and nip it he would if he could!!!! even in the van this behaviour continues as Alan undresses for bed. There’s this little slow dance between Tom and Alan as he tries to get into bed in one piece. But Tom is in good humour through this strange ‘dance’ - his tail is wagging consistently. It must be such great sport. At home, when Alan goes to work, we have to leave the front door open so Tom can watch him go to his car - you can see Tom’s sides heaving - and then - when the car swallows my husband - he stops! Just like that - he turns,

looks at me and comes happily back in the house. I’m sure an expert would explain it all to us - anyway, thanks Tom for being the best behaved companion and long may you be nipping at our heels - nighty night.