As promised, waiting world: the first instalment of the epic. More to follow. If you can't wait - and your French is up to it - you can catch the day itself over on Eric's blog In the meantime, this is my version, and I'm doing a Charles Dickens:
We are in a hired car. It is dark - late and dark. We have negotiated the road out of Rennes, and before that the horrors of the TGV station in Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. Not that I'm complaining about the French trains - more the officials who refused to alleviate the anxiety of would-be passengers by confirming which part of the train we were to board. Dammit all - we might have ended up in Montpellier or something! But at least we’ve found the Hertz car – in Rennes airport as hoped. Not in Reims. We’ve scored.
But a nos moutons. Edublogger, henceforth known as L’Epoux, has told us that Pordic is a one horse town – only one street – and that our ferme laitier will be a scoosh to find. Not a bit of it. We stop outside a wonderful church and phone mon beau frere. (sorry about all this French – it just sort of slips in). Shortly he appears, circling the square in an unfamiliar car. We follow him as he disappears round a roundabout, over a bridge, and down an ever – narrowing road into the darkness of the Breton countryside. Smell of hay through the air vents. No house lights, no street lights. Trees appear overhead and around us. The darkness is impenetrable. His tail lights swerve round a tall hedge and he vanishes. No – there he is. We’ve arrived. We shall never find this place again. We will be marooned in the Breton countryside for ever.
Will the intrepid wedding guests make it to Le Mairie? Will they ever be seen again? Find out in the next instalment of Les Liasons Etrangers ……
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