My fellow dragonfly spotting e-contact lives outside the Parc Naturel Régional de la Brenne but uses it to run the occasional dragonfly tour. So, he’s very familiar with the park and some of its more fruitful locations. He actually uses the holiday village at Bellebouche, which is where we are camped, as one of the bases for the tours. Since he’d have to pay to get in, we’d arranged to meet at 10:00 AM outside the entrance.

Most of our Odo hunting has been around a couple of small étangs immediately behind the campsite. We’d wandered around part of the much larger étang de Bellebouche itself without adding anything to our tally. After meeting each other for the first time, we sped off to a green chemin [track] to the south of the large lake in search of a specific quarry known to be there, the highly prized Yellow-spotted Emerald (Somatochlora flavomaculata) – highly prized by me, at least.

After advancing slowly spotting several of the usual suspects for a while, hawk-eyed Francine noticed a dragon “hung-up” on one of the bushes beside the track. It did not look familiar to us. Excited though she was, mercifully she raised her camera and snapped it twice before it sped off – and before I could get a shot. We were not the only ones excited, our guide seemed quite excited, too. This was not our intended quarry but was another Emerald, an Orange-spotted Emerald (Oxygastra curtisii), which he did not know was in this location. Fortunately, the “orange spots” of this delightfully marked character are down the dorsal side of the abdomen and show up well in Francine’s shot.

Very shortly afterwards, we came across another dragon criss-crossing the track hunting for food. Binoculars showed it to be the very thing we’d come looking for, a Yellow-spotted Emerald. Unlike the Orange-spotted, it didn’t seem keen on settling to display its markings clearly. We frustratedly snapped away whilst it was in flight but the little darlings move so fast and unpredictably that getting anything of quality proved impossible. We saw several others further along the track but the day had warmed and it was the same story, all movement and no settling. Here’s a pretty poor best, just to give an idea. Again fortunately, in this character’s case the “yellow spots” are down the side of the abdomen so an in-flight shot would be fine (if it were sharp!).

We called in to the Maison du Parc as a useful lunch stop, including an excellent chocolate ice-cream. The lake here was absolutely teaming with mating pairs of Dainty Damselflies (Coenagrion scitulum).

Our last port of call was to a small, newly opened reserve called Terres de Picadon. The main culprits here were Small Red Damselflies (Ceriagrion tenellum), flitting about in the company of four types of Emerald Damselfly. The excitemnet, however, came as we were almost back at the car park. Here, over a small pond, a Southern Migrant Hawker (Aeshna affinis) was patrolling and occasionally hovering. Once again, we went into desperation mode trying to grab flight shots. Just as we’d just about had enough, it unexpectedly hung-up on a bush. Francine was best placed to get the static side shot.

It was great to finally meet a fellow enthusiast who had previously been known only by an email address. Spotting three new species in one day was a bonus. Thanks a bunch!

As we’ve learned on a couple of occasions, when you lose friends that have been around you during a visit somewhere, they leave and you tend to feel like Billy Nomates – you might as well leave yourself and go somewhere new. Since Mike & Linda had left for Cognac, we were off today, too.

For a couple of years I’ve been exchanging information about dragonflies via email with an expat living over here in France. Before starting our trip, I’d floated the idea with him that we might actually meet face to face, for a change. This week he was supposedly free, lives near the Parc Naturel Regionial de la Brenne, and had offered to meet us. So, as part of our journey back north, we’ve planned to return to La Brenne to meet my e-contact. Before our meeting tomorrow (Tuesday), after a breeze of a journey we pitched up at lunchtime today to entertain ourselves for the afternoon.

The étang de Bellebouche is one of our more prolific Odonata sites, currently registering 19 species. Most of those occur round two small fishing lakes just behind the campsite itself so, after a relaxing lunch, we set off to see what we could find.

During our one-night stop on our way south, I’d seen a suspected new species for us, a Southern Emerald Damselfly (Lestes barbarus) and one of my missing females, a White-tailed Skimmer (Orthetrum albistylum). My first capture of the afternoon wander looked like a better positioned female White-tailed Skimmer but, upon closer examination, this was no lady, it was a teneral male before developing the characteristic blue pruinosity. Happy camper!

I had been unsure about my Southern Emerald Damselfly because the pterostigma, the coloured spots on the leading edge of the forewing towards the outer edge, were uncoloured; they should have been bicoloured, split about 50/50. That was early in the season, though, and I suspected it was teneral [recently emerged]. This afternoon I was pleased to find examples of mature individuals looking the same except for the fact that their pterostigma looked right. My doubts disappeared.

Now we’re looking forward to seeing what my e-contact might be able to show us tomorrow.

Many years ago, I mused about the fact that there was one law in England that you had no way of knowing that you were breaking – the drink driving law. It’s legal to have <80mg/ltr of alcohol in one’s blood stream and still drive. However, we Brits were specifically disallowed the ability to test our blood alcohol level. If you murder someone, you know you’re breaking the law – it’s an absolute. Break into a house and run off with someone else’s TV and stereo and you know you’re committing an offence. That’s an absolute. If you drink a little, however, there’s no way to tell whether you’re allowed to drive or not. Of course, one could adopt the zero drink approach (as required, I think, in Norway – or is it Sweden?) but that makes a nonsense of our allowing an acohol level of <80mg/ltr. Why are we not allowed to purchase breath test equipment? It makes no sense.

Today is an interesting day in France. From today it is compulsory for all cars to carry an alcootest [breathalyzer], hence my B-Day terminology. Our driving organizations recommend carrying two so that, if you have to use one, you still have one fulfilling the legal requirement. For a few weeks, when out shopping we wandered around looking to purchase said alcootests and eventually got some in a newsagent inside an hypermarché. We’ve got four. Ready! Whilst this might have been seen as a nuisance requirement, how sensible it is. In France now, not only can you test your alcohol level but you must be able to. Much more sensible than stupid old Britain where you are forced to guess. Bravo France!

Anyway, with friends Mike and Linda having left us for a blues festival at Cognac, we were left to face B-Day on our own. We decided on another trip to the coast, this time to investigate Fouras, just south of La Rochelle. We took the bikes, parked up and pedalled about, though it was a close run thing since Mr Bozo, Franco, forgot to pack Guillaume’s step to gain the height required to retrieve and replace the cycles. Sometimes, being Twizzle [sorry America, reference to a very old English childrens’ TV show] would be really useful. Somehow, I stretched myself enough to manage.

Just off the coast of Fouras is the Île d’Aix where Napoleon was imprisoned for a while. A ferry runs regular services from Fouras to the island but we just watched and said, “ooh, ah!”, not being that kind of tourists.

This is seafood country where the good ol’ French grow excellent moules de bouchot. The bouchots are wooden stakes upon which the mussels are grown. Much more interesting than a trip to Napoleon’s erstwhile prison was a traditional moules et frîtes lunch. After a look around the town, including its bustling Sunday market, we chose a waterside restaurant advertising our desired meal and sat down to a very enjoyable, if somewhat naughty, feast. I must point out the following. Look at the chips/French fries/frîtes in this picture. In stark contrast to the limp, flaccid, soggy items served up by our chosen lunch restaurant (la Guingette) at Argens-Minervois on the canal du Midi a few weeks ago, this restaurant did not need a lesson in cooking chips. These frîtes left nothing to be desired; they were fluffy on the inside, crisp and golden on the outside and not at all oily – perfect!

I limited myself to two small glasses of white wine so as not to use one of our alcootests. Francine drank the remainder. I kept expecting swarms of gendarmes to be stopping cars checking that they had their alcootest equipment but it didn’t seem to happen – yet. 🙂

In other words, “a disastrous spring?”

We arrived here in the Marais Poitevin, just inland from La Rochelle about half way down France’s west coast, on Monday. On Tuesday we went on a very pleasant, mostly sunny 15mls/24kms promenade à velo [bicycle ride] through the marsh with resident friends Mike and Linda in search of an orchid field they’d found about a month ago. Eventually we found it but the field was now occupied by a small herd of rather attractive reclining cows; it was decidedly orchid-free. Flitting about a few sunny patches beside some of the smaller water channels en route, I noticed a few damselflies but none in high numbers.

After the ride, as we were returning to Guillaume, I spotted Gerard, a local we’d been introduced to on previous visits. Gerard punts barque-loads of tourists on trips through the marsh, explaining aspects of the local area as he goes. We had a natter using my stilted French and I suggested, “mauvais printemps” [bad spring] to him. “Catastrophe!”, he replied emphatically, translation being superfluous. I suspect he was referring to the lack of tourists spending money on barque trips but I was beginning to think it was applicable to the wildlife populations, too.

For the last two days, Francine and I have pedalled round a bit more of the marsh looking at some of our previously observed Odonata locations and what we’ve seen – or rather, not seen – left me somewhat shocked. Several of the areas where we had spent some time observing Odos during previous years were apparently deserted. Other hot-spots had a few Odos but nowhere near the numbers that I have come to expect.

France, particularly the northern half of France, has been subjected to the very same terrible spring weather that has been afflicting the UK. When some good weather turns up, it doesn’t stick around for very long and there has been a lot of overcast skies, considerable rain and a lot of colder than expected days. Temperatures have been up and down like a yoyo; on Wednesday here it hit a sweltering 36°C/97°F but Thursday topped out at just 21°C/70°F. None of this instability and cool is very good for insects in general and low insect populations have a knock-on effect on all insectivores. I’m staggered, though, by the apparent reduction in dragonflies. When we come here it is usually on the way south (late May/early June) and now we are a few weeks later, dropping in on the way back north. Late June/early July, though, should be pretty much the height of the Odonata season.

In the south, Fanjeaux was very low on dragonflies, though I’ve largely blamed the fish-farming for that reduction. Now, however, we are seeing it here in the north, too. Maybe Fanjeaux is suffering from two separate effects.

Having been so impressed by the life relatively teeming at les tourbières de Vendoire last weekend, with everywhere else apparently suffering, I’m wondering how spectacular les tourbières might be in a good year.

About 18 months ago, one of my UK dragonfly enthusiast contacts helped me out (not for the first time and certainly not the last) with the identification of a (to me) confusing specimen in France. At the same time, he offered to provide me with some information regarding interesting French locations for Odonata when I returned home. He’s a busy chap and the details didn’t turn up. He didn’t forget, though. Last week, having remembered for a second time, an email arrived with some new location suggestions together with what less-than-common species might be found there.

One of the sites mentioned was the Ile d’Oléron where, apparently, there are populations of the so-called Dark Spreadwing (Lestes macrostigma). This curious damselfly has a preference for brackish habitats and, according to the distribution map, occurs in scattered small populations. We are now up at the Marais Poitevin, just inland from La Rochelle, visiting friends Mike and Linda – not a million miles from the Ile d’Oléron. Today was forecast to be hot (34°C/93°F) and sunny; a somewhat cooling coastal breeze and a hunt for an uncommon Odo might be just the ticket. We took Mike and Linda along for a day out and a seafood lunch.

Navigation Officer Francine got us to the Ile d’Oléron in about 90 minutes. The route took us through an ironing-board-flat coastal marsh area south of Rochefort. For some reason, though dead flat, we find this area intriguing. So do hundreds of pairs of White Storks (Ciconia ciconia), who nest there. White Storks like to nest well above the ground and many of the locals erect platforms on posts specifically for their benefit. Some of the Storks seem to prefer a more exciting lifestyle, though, and shun the architect-designed platforms for those provided by high voltage electricity pylons. Francine snapped this shot as we drove by. (Readers should note the French have failed to provide anywhere safe to stop along this main road, hence the on-the-run snap.)

My dragonfly information mentioned specifically the minor roads between Arceau, Boyardville and St-Pierre-d’Oléron. After a coffee at a cafe run by the most unhelpful cafe owner in France (we should have voted with our feet and walked away – how some people manage to stay in business eludes me), we headed straight for Arceau. A small fishing lake in town yielded a Winter Damselfly (Sympecma fusca) and a couple of other more common suspects but not our main quarry. However, we stopped at the roadside beside the first ditch leaving town and … bingo! Linda and Francine were immediately onto a tandem pair of Dark Spreadwings. Further along the road we found a couple of ponds with a mother lode of the beautiful creatures. That cooling coastal breeze crossing the island also made photographic conditions rather difficult but, along with many discards, we did manage to secure some recognisable shots and were great to see.

Odo-ed out and stomachs beginning to demand attention, we continued to Boyardville and found a pleasant local seafood restaurant before heading back to the mainland to call in at Brouage, mainly for Mike and Linda’s benefit, who hadn’t seen this intriguing village sporting completely intact mid-17C fortifications, bang in the middle of the marsh. It was originally a coastal military base but the sea has now retreated. It was getting a little too hot (36°C/97°F) to do very much touristy stuff, though, and we soon headed back home with the car’s air-conditioning struggling to keep up.

All in all, a grand day out – except for the cafe. Take my advice and, if you’re ever in the neighbourhood, steer well clear of a cafe called “Le Croix du Sud” at the harbour in le Chateau-d’Oleron. 😉

Les tourbières de Vendoire lie in the Périgord vert region, north-west of the gastronomically famous town of Périgueux – truffle country. La tourbe is French for peat and les tourbières are peat diggings. Those near the village of Vendoire were worked until the 1950s but the old diggings are now flooded and maintained as a nature reserve. It doesn’t appear to have a very high profile but I learned of its existence from a BDS [British Dragonfly Society] publication which mentioned, I think, that it supported in excess of 40 species. Big magnet! On  our way back north from the Languedoc to visit friends in the Marais Poitevin, stopping off for a first visit seemed a good plan.

Francine found a campsite listed under Vendoire itself so we made for that. Signing wasn’t great and the country lanes were very narrow, especially towing Guillaume, but, after a couple of missed/wrong turns and pretty much going round a complete circle, we finally arrived at the campsite. Since we had no back-up site, we were pleased to see that the place looked absolutely delightful as we drove in through the entrance at about 4:00 PM. The young lady running the site was also delightful. This is well off the main tourist track; there were a few weekenders in cabins but otherwise we had the place to ourselves. Alone in the middle of nowhere – perfect!

Once Guillaume was settled, we had time for a little late afternoon orientation by going to find les tourbières themselves. Our site was at a crossroads and a sign to les tourbières pointed down the lane passed the site entrance. We climbed back in our car, turned left out of the campsite, drove about 100m/yds to a slight bend in the road and after another 100m/yds the road dead-ended in the car park for les tourbières. We felt like chumps for driving but nothing had indicated distance. Our campsite was basically right outside the entrance to the nature reserve itself. Sometimes we find areas of France that we want to/enjoy visiting but finding suitable (i.e. acceptable) campsites can be a challenge. Here with were with the perfect combination of an interesting, quiet location with a splendid little campsite on its doorstep.

We parked after our 200m/yds journey, opened the doors and immediately spotted four species of Odo (three damsels, one unidentified dragon – moved too fast) flitting around the bushes behind the car. Promising! Immediately in front of the car park was a beautiful looking modestly sized spot of habit for Odos with emergent vegetation a-plenty. To the right was another small pond with a lot of floating pond weed; just the sort of thing that Fanjeaux is now sadly lacking. We spent about 90 minutes at these two pools and came away with a total species count of 17. 17 species in an hour and a half – very impressive!

Today we returned for a morning session. At the entrance a tantalizing Emerald Dragonfly zoomed about without ever settling. I’ll keep my suspicions to myself – it remains unidentified. Inside the reserve, there are a dozen or so bodies of water bordered by two flowing streams,with sentiers [footpaths] including some boardwalks winding around them. We covered what we could in a couple of hours, then returned to Guillaume for lunch. In an afternoon session, we found our way around almost everything we hadn’t managed to get to in the morning. I was gobsmacked – in a day and a half, we had tallied 27 identified species plus one mystery guest – I’m just sure it wasn’t one of the others. These included two species completely new to me: a mating pair of Southern Skimmers (Orthetrum brunneum) and a Yellow Clubtail (Gomphus simillimus).

I couldn’t believe our luck with the weather; the weekend was perfect for Odos and me. The weather certainly showed off this place to very good advantage – I love it, it’s brilliant!

We’ve been ensconced here for three weeks now, almost long enough to take root and it’s beginning to feel like home. To be perfectly honest, because we like the place so much and are so familiar with it, it feels like home almost immediately. However, our length of time here has allowed us to study (and I use the word study loosely) the wildlife of the campsite’s lake since being stocked with enormous Grass Carp and being used as a fish farm (for raising decorative Koi Carp), and compare it to previous years.

When we first arrived, the floating mechanical fish feeding device, introduced last year, was absent and we rather hoped that a change of heart had been felt and that it would remain absent. Regrettably not, it returned a while ago. So, whatever trend last year’s crop of Koi Carp set, it will more than likely continue. Here’s a shot of the lake just to give some idea of size, since I have no idea how to estimate such a thing.

We can’t comment on an array of wildlife without commenting on this year’s weather conditions. To put it simply, they’ve been very poor. Even this far south, we’ve never experienced a long settled spell of dry, warm conditions; perhaps two days at a time but then temperatures have dropped, wind has risen and rain has fallen. Not great conditions, particularly for insect life wanting good conditions in which to emerge, feed and reproduce. These relatively appalling early summer conditions follow hot on the heels of a decidedly pathetic spring so many wildlife populations have probably been adversely affected simply by the conditions. Many species are certainly emerging later than usual. That having been said …

Water fowl. We are used to their being a varied population of water birds breeding on the lake: Mallard, Coots and Little Grebe have previously been present in decent numbers. Last year there were four Grey Herons feeding around the lake. This year the lake supported two small families of Mallard (which we hardly ever saw). A day or two ago two Grey Herons appeared but I haven’t seen them since. Mallards and Grebes are naturally herbivores and there simply isn’t any herb left. I believe Coots may have a more varied diet but concentrate on vegetation. Herons, of course, take fish and frogs.

Frogs. The lake has been inundated with frogs on previous years, the incessant chorus of which could be heard all night long (in the correct weather conditions). For us and many of our fellow regular visitors, it’s one of the charms of the place, though we must admit that some campers have left because of the noise. This made the owners keen on a frog control programme which, being French, this eating them. The frogs are still here and singing but are noticeably reduced in numbers. In addition to the water frogs, there used to be a vibrant population of tree frogs. The tree frog population has crashed almost unbelievably – we’ve heard the distinctive, rasping croak of just a handful, quite literally, and have seen none. Fanjeaux has suffered two consecutive unusually severe winters and we wonder if this is to some extent responsible for the tree frog decline. However, most notable this year and of particular concern is this: we have not seen one single tadpole nor small (young) frog of either species. I imagine that the dense population of fish may have vacuumed up all the frog spawn and that the remaining reduced population will not be getting replaced.

Dragonflies. Previously, we have seen 18 species of dragonfly here, though that includes species at both ends of the dragonfly season. The damselflies have been present in great numbers with several mixed groups of 40+ pairs each seen ovipositing on floating rafts of herb at one time. This year, though we’ve seen 12 species in total, their individual numbers appear greatly reduced. The reduction is most noticeable where damselflies are concerned, simply because they were present in much greater numbers to begin with. The dragonflies, the “big boys”, tend to be more territorial and present in smaller numbers anyway. Of greatest concern is that there now seem to be five species (four damselflies, 1 dragonfly) completely missing; species which I believe should now have emerged. The missing damsels and dragon are particular dependent on/fond of the now absent vegetation. I must admit, however, that we have not seen damselflies in great numbers anywhere yet during this year of pathetic weather conditions, and those conditions may be partly to blame here, too. I believe, though, that this population crash/eradication must surely be largely due to fish predation together with a paucity of oviposition sites.

So, our hosts and their campsite are probably still the best in France but what had developed into an excellent and varied wildlife habitat is changing dramatically. Still, Luc is a farmer and the lake is here for a reason: irrigation. It is, of course, one of the main attractions for fellow campers, though most of them are content to stare at the water as a very pleasant landscape, which it undoubtedly still is, rather than as a rich ecosystem. On a personal level, though, I really do not like the transformation into intensive fish farm. Nor do several of my fellow campers sharing my enthusiasm for nature.

What will the situation be like next year?

One section of the GR7 – Grande Randonnée 7, one of the French long distance footpaths – passes along an edge of the farm on which we are staying. This section of the path looks like a good habitat for wild flowers so, some days ago we went wandering along it in search of floral diversions for Francine. As often seems to be the case, one ends up finding a completely different item of interest. In this case, a butterfly flitted into my view which I didn’t recognize. Something about it said “hairstreak” to me, though not one with which I was familiar. Not having my own camera (we were, after all, looking for flowers), I asked Francine to snap it for me – and a very fine job she did, too. I dived into my butterfly guide and found two similar hairstreak species, the Ilex Hairstreak and False Ilex Hairstreak. Difficult, especially never having seen either! After much agonizing, I decided this was the False Ilex Hairstreak (Nordmannia esculi). Happy camper. 🙂

As is also often the case, once you pick up something new it seems to recur. One afternoon I left Francine shade-bathing for some R&R and went off to check out a nearby lake, the Lac de Balestié. Though my main quarry was dragonflies, the first item that attracted my interest and had me stumbling across the rough undergrowth, was a butterfly. Oddly, it cooperated and I managed to snap it. It looked very similar to my new friend (above). This, though, was darker and the markings were slightly different with the orange spots being outlined in stronger black. This was the (real) Ilex Hairstreak (Nordmannia ilicis). Now, with a comparison, I was more confident about my first identification. Excellent – a matched pair!

Today, we went off on another potential wild Kees (pronounced “case”) chase. He had spotted some white orchids not too far from our campsite. Armed with his description of the destination, off we set looking along a section of road for “a high bank” on which, once we stopped, we would see white flower spikes. Surprisingly, we found it with little trouble. Well done, Kees! There was even somewhere to park, though I inadvertently placed Francine’s passenger door right beside a mud pool from the recent rains. She deftly avoided it and set off in search of white orchids. These delightful flowers – just look at the glittering petals of the close-up – are the Lesser Butterfly Orchid (Platanthera bifolia). Another new orchid for Francine and another very happy camper.

As she was scrambling on the bank and snapping, I had returned to the car to move it slightly, trying to avoid the mud. Another unfamiliar butterfly was flitting about drinking from the moisture of the mud pool beside the car. The underside of the hind-wing was strikingly marked and Francine, orchid shots in the bag, managed to snap it for me. This critter, whose existence I knew nothing about until today, is a Large Chequered Skipper (Heteropteus morpheus).

Luckily, all three of these new butterflies sit with wings closed but it is the underside that is most photogenic. The new Lesser Butterfly Orchids – well, they’re just stunning.

Or, at least, it would have been had we bought a better example of the main ingredient.

After several pleasant, sunny days, this morning dawned dull and overcast. A few spits of rain fell. As a diversion, Francine decided to go and try to find a particular vantage point used by the excellent landscape photographer, David Noton, for one of his Carcassonne shots. There is a great view of Carcassonne from the autoroute running south of it, looking north towards Les Montagnes Noires [the Black Mountains]. However, Mr. Noton’s shot appears to be taken from the north looking south towards the Pyrenees. Off we set in search of his higher ground. To cut a long story short, we never found it; the eminent Mr. Noton’s secret remains safe. Personally, I prefer the tourist view looking north, anyway, not that that’s particularly significant. Regardless, today was definitely not the day for taking photos of one of France’s most impressive sights.

On our way back to Guillaume, we called into a Intermarché to see what lunch we could find. Having recently sated my craving for andouillette, I now felt a hankering for one of France’s classic warm salads (?), a salade tiède de gésiers. Gesiers are gizzards, usually either chicken or duck. Here is another delicious ingredient that we usually either throw away or, at best, use in the making of stock. Mea culpa. When we are lucky enough to buy a bird complete with a set of giblets, the gizzard is included. It’s the bird’s crop which, in life, is filled with grit and used for grinding down vegetable matter that it’s eaten. The gizzard is a very strong muscle. We eat hearts, which are just strong muscles, so let’s give gizzards a try. Why not? If you’ve ever actually tried frying and eating a gizzard, you will know just how exceptionally coarse and tough they are if treated without respect. Crunch – your teeth can barely penetrate it!

The gastronomically wise French make a confit out of gizzards by simmering them long and slow at low heat in fat. This transforms the otherwise inedible bullets into something meltingly tender and delicious. At least, they are delicious when done well. Even Francine likes them. Regrettably, the examples we bought at our Intermarché, though tender enough, lacked a little je ne sais quoi in the seasoning/flavour department. We’ve had much better. Don’t get me wrong, these weren’t bad, just not as good as they should have been.

Shortly after sitting down to our lunch, the rain began and we were forced to retreat under Guillaume’s awning.

Postscript: peels of thunder can now be heard.

We awoke to Guillaume’s roof echoing the sound of the water droplets of our morning shower. There is perversely something vaguely cosy about the sound of rain on a caravan’s roof. After stirring ourselves into lethargic action, our morning shower was followed by the very similar sound of our coffee shower. After another brief pause, our coffee shower was replaced by the sound of our breakfast shower. We scanned the four points of the compass as far as our position allows. Little but solid grey greeted our gaze. It was going to be one of those days.

While Francine tried to rig Guillaume as a drying room for her laundry which had failed to dry yesterday, I went to Villasavary for a paper, mainly for the forecast, and bread. I got the last Aujourd’hui paper but, as the rain began again, discovered that Tuesday was the day for Villasavary’s boulanger to be closed. Definitely one of those days. I forced myself to call in to our local boulanger at Fanjeaux to buy une baguette from one of the seven dwarves [private joke: she’s very grumpy].

When the Jet Stream messes up the European weather, it really does it in style. Basically, most of France looks v. unsettled for the next four days, save for an eventual ray of hope around the Mediterranean. The French forecasters in Aujourd’hui do, at least, have fun with their words; for June 21st (the first day of summer), their caption reads, “Vous avez dit été?” [Did you say summer?].

There was little point sticking around a campsite, the highlights of which were likely to be very grey moments when it wasn’t actually raining, so we packed lunch, including Grumpy’s baguette, and drove east towards the Minervois. The rain relented and eventually small breaks in the cloud appeared allowing Apollo to peek through weakly. We tried what looked like a promising site beside a lake for a pique-nique but apparently we were the only ones who’d had that thought; the area smelt faintly like une toilette and there was but a single concrete table complete with centre well filled with rain water and infested by ants – large ants. We left.

We had much better luck at Argens-Minervois. Here was a pleasing village/small town beside the Canal du Midi. Immediately opposite our parking spot and directement sur les bords du canal [directly on the banks of the canal] was an enticing little restaurant called “la guinguette” [literally, a cafe with music and dancing – mercifully not at lunch time] with a shaded terrace and – and this is the clincher – specializing in cuisses de grenouille flambée au pastis [frogs’ legs flamed in pastis]. Sold! Grumpy’s baguette remained firmly locked in the car, as did the filling intended for Grumpy’s baguette.

Now, it must be said that Francine is, on occasion, a game old stick. However, in the same way that her gameness fails to extend as far as andouillettes [chitterling sausages] and anguilles [eels], neither does it extend to cuisses de grenouille (left). I think it’s the shape of the legs that put her off – they look like a pair of crossed arms trying to give you a cuddle. However, a plateful of mussels (right), this time referred to as mouclade because of the method of preparation, did appeal. We ordered, together with a small bottle (50cl) of Corbières blanc to wash everything down. Very pleasant. Afterwards, we even found a few Odos flitting about the canal and a marina nearby, though they didn’t think much to the overcast weather, either.

Having returned to Guillaume, where the laundry was still not properly dry, my evening shower was greeted by another shower and my writing of this posting was greeted by a rather lengthier shower. Rats!

Footnote: [that’s a joke, BTW – frogs’ legs, footnote] whilst the restaurant may claim to specialize in frogs’ legs, it could certainly use a lesson in the cooking of chips/frîtes/French fries. Those sad, limp, soggy, flaccid, brown items in the photo nestling beside my perfectly fine cuisses de grenouille were, without doubt, the very worst chips/frîtes/French fries I have ever experienced. Quelle domage!