Here I am at last, back from France, and if you ask me about my summer, please don’t mention the bung…bit like mentioning the war in our house at the moment, but seeing as it’s now been mentioned…

Perhaps I could be very artful and tell the story from the bung’s point of view, though I’m not sure the consequences would be suitable for children, even though the narrative idea sounds kind of…well…childish… Oh well, isn’t it true that we adults do sometimes behave in a manner inappropriate to our age? But then, who the heck’s judging…. Probably my adult children, I imagine, when they read this.

It began with arrival in a dark, dark wood near Saint Laurent Sur Sèvre, place of pilgrimage and odd English people who go walking in the rain…

Yes. I said rain. First day out, land of pilgrimage or not……we got so wet it seemed like the choice was either to join the missionaries….

…or to venture further south in search of sun…and it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done that…so off to St Pons, it is. Interesting place, bung or no bung…After all there is a dungeon which almost spells bung…

We did have a great meal in the square, listening to live music…but then it was back to the tent, and not only had we no bung, which meant sleeping on the ground, but also some people had arrived and decided to park their caravan within an inch or two of our tent, even though the campsite was almost empty. Children and strangers coughing are not on my list of lullabies. Anyone know why people do such things?

Anyway,  the poor lonely little bung spent a long night in a bag somewhere in the bowels of the car, while…well…I won’t go on…needless to say, there was little sleep had that night… and the following day we headed off for Jonzac…

…an interesting town, though not all the inhabitants are pretty…

The main thing was that we managed to find a mobile home to rent for a few days and we also made sure to take all equipment necessary, we even looked for the best weather proof hunting backpack sales before leaving our home. We found a mobile home at a great site called Camping les Castors

The site was very French, great pool and close to the town. There were also some lovely walks around, plus the sun was shining. Things were definitely looking up. Apart from  the poor bung who was languishing somewhere…

There were some great concerts in the hall next to the mairie, and also some interesting art about. Then it was time to set off for our house-sit…

A week of dogs, cats, chickens and a great swimming pool, plus a chance to explore Chef Boutonne (meaning source of the river Boutonne, not the chef with the button) and Melle. Go if you can. Interesting place!

Then, having managed not to accidentally murder any of the aforementioned animals, it was off to just north of Pornic, where we found a great one-star campsite, cheap, basic and wonderfully clean and friendly with the most fantastic restaurant just round the corner…

There were however some poignant reminders of war…the rocky teeth designed to put off invaders…

…numerous pill boxes…

and reminders of the blockships and deaths of various navy personnel during the second world war. Difficult to move on from when you’re aware there’s still the same old stuff going on all over the world…

However, on the brighter side, there was an interesting tradition of fishing…

…fantastic engineering…

…fine calibrated sun dials in case we really needed to know the time…

…all the moules you can eat…

…and fabulous sunsets…

    …oh, and in case you were wondering, this was all courtesy of a fully sprung airbed…yes, the prodigal bung had returned and all was forgiven. Well, nearly…