FRENCH LEAVE

Driving through France this summer has been a rare pleasure, especially now that we've acquired a modern air-conditioned car.
Our lovely old seventeen year old camper-van has gone to a good home and we now own a far from new, but for us state-of-the-art, hatchback.
The roads in France are a joy to drive and it's a relief to be away from the everyday frustration of motoring in Guernsey: a depressing experience even on a good day, as the island's obsession with car ownership pushes it ever closer to gridlock.   
Here's a poem from our French travels.

 













LE DEJEUNER SUR L’HERBE

A July day in southern France.
The picnic was a simple one:
cheese, ham and crusty fresh-baked bread,
a little wine to wash it down.

Post-lunch, we fell into a trance.
Our holiday had just begun.
We dozed, our paperbacks unread
I sought the sun, you slept facedown.

Waking, I chanced an upward glance.
Above us swallows wheeled and spun
as though they were unwinding thread
from an incredible blue gown.