265. Fun and games at San Sebastian..

31st March. We opened a bottle of Egiategia Dena Dela white wine - a present from a friend - at lunchtime.. What's so special about it, I hear you ask? Well, it's aged under the sea at Ciboure, across the bay from Saint-Jean-de-Luz. More here.

It was OK, though quite acidic (he said, damning it with faint praise) but I must admit that I'm struggling trying to imagine what the benefit of underwater ageing could be.
Nutty, our ever-hungry cocker spaniel, was delighted by the arrival of Summer time - as it meant that he didn't have to wait so long for his breakfast. As he only eats twice a day, this was a major, and very welcome, change to his daily routine.

30th March. We've just started rehearsing Mozart's Ave Verum Corpus for our upcoming concert in June. It's a sublime piece and some of the harmonies make me shiver. Enjoy the Choir of King's College, Cambridge.

 

Meanwhile, back in the world of politics, here's Dr Alice Weidel - the leader of Germany's Alternative for Germany (AfD) party) - making much sense in the Bundestag the other day:

I should add that while I agree with Dr Weidel's remarks in this context, that shouldn't be taken as my blanket approval of AfD's other policies. The media is labelling AfD as a far right/extreme right party and that's enough to ring alarm bells everywhere - but especially in Germany.

Railing against architect Peter Eisenman’s Holocaust memorial next to Berlin’s Brandenburg Gate, the AfD delegate Björn Höcke last year said that “we Germans are the only people in the world that have planted a monument of shame in the heart of their capital”. My reply to that would be that Germany is one of the very few countries in the world that needed one.

Moving on.

If Brexit had gone to plan, this morning we would have woken up as citizens of a free and independent country - content to stroll on the "broad sunlit uplands" while our MPs scratched their heads, trying to remember how to govern it. After all, it's been 43 years since they last had the opportunity! It's impossible to make any sensible predictions about what the future holds until Parliament finds a way out of the convoluted mess that we are in.

I think the EU must share part of the blame though - its negotiating team had clearly been directed to make things as difficult as possible for the UK. I, for one, would like to see an itemised statement of our account that could possibly justify the swingeing £39bn divorce bill the EU is intent on imposing on the UK.

To give you an indication of the size of this sum, it's enough to buy 481 brand new Boeing 737-800 airliners (similar to these right) at US $106m or £81m each. Yes, that's right - four hundred and eighty one of them. Is the EU including a figure for "hurt feelings" in this bill? What on earth has the UK been agreeing to fund?

In March 2017, the House of Lords’ European Union committee reported that generous payments might be “impossible” to avoid, for example to ensure future access to the single market. But it went on to say: “We conclude that if agreement is not reached, all EU law — including provisions concerning ongoing financial contributions . . . will cease to apply and the UK would be subject to no enforceable obligation to make any financial contribution at all.”

It should be borne in mind that the UK entered this organisation freely and of its own will following a democratic referendum. Throughout our membership we have been a net contributor. We now wish to leave following another democratic referendum (only the third national referendum in the UK's history). So - my question is: why do our EU "Friends and Partners" feel the need for a punitive settlement? What exactly are we being punished for?

28th March. While I was fighting my way just now through the snarled-up traffic in Bayonne due to the road works (necessary for the introduction of the all-electric Tram'bus in September), I was contemplating (as you do) the current state of European politics. 

I'm no Little Englander - I enjoy very much living in this blessed corner of France and I love the diversity and cultural riches that Europe has to offer - but that's as far as it goes. While I'm at ease with feeling "European" (whatever that means), I abhor the European Union that the EEC morphed into while we weren't looking. 

Where to start? There's the democratic deficit and the vaulting ambition (the "ever-closer union" mantra) to become the United States of Europe - conveniently forgetting that one of the key founding principles of the USA was, and still is, defined by Abraham Lincoln as "Government of the people, by the people and for the people". I love Europe but not this particular expression of Europe (the EU) - where its leaders are appointed, instead of being elected by the electorate; where policy emerges fully-formed from Franco-German summits or from behind closed doors in the unelected Commission; a Europe where Germany is making hay (a 48bn€ surplus in the first six months of 2018) thanks to their membership of the eurozone - and where the European Parliament is simply a sad joke - a shop window designed to foster the impression that the EU is democratic. It could just as easily be replaced by a rubber stamp. 

Stuck in traffic, my mind drifted on to the Eurozone and it occurred to me that at one end of the economic spectrum sits Germany, getting richer by the second - a country whose currency should, in all truth, be revalued - while at the other end of the spectrum lie the PIGS - aka Portugal, Italy, Greece and Spain - whose economies would benefit greatly from a currency devaluation. And therein lies the problem with the euro.. there won't be any revaluation or devaluation.. so that means Germany will get richer and richer - while the PIGS get poorer and poorer. This cannot continue. These are the pie-in-the-sky (one joint too many) economics of the eurozone - a single currency artificially applied - unasked for - to a group of countries with dissimilar economies for purely political reasons - driven by an insanely irrational desire to emulate and overtake the United States of America. Taken in isolation, this is a highly laudable goal - but given that there's no common language, plus the lack of shared values and history of political culture, the lack of oversight and accountability, the absence of the democratic principle that is fundamental to the United States of America, it is doomed to failure. The sooner the wheels fall off the EU wagon the better as far as I'm concerned. I feel better for that!

The problem is that as long as Germany is awash with euros, I don't see that the impetus for structural reform of the EU will come from them. Why would it? It certainly won't come from France - as the EU is France's love child and it appeals to their mindset - with its centralised control and run by technocrats (graduates of their Grandes Ecoles) - it is France writ large. Who else, apart from these two countries, has the clout to call a halt to this experiment in social engineering? I think "events" will cause the EU house of cards to come tumbling down one day - I don't see reform coming from within.   

Beautiful, cloudless morning down at the Plage des Cavaliers beach earlier.. sunny but still with that early season freshness. Very few people about. The beach has been cleared of all the detritus washed up during the winter. That's the lighthouse at Biarritz just left of centre - click to enlarge:

UK expats in France concerned about the continued provision of health care post-Brexit should take note of this written statement made in the House of Commons by Stephen Hammond (the Minister of Health), dated 19th March 2019. More here. I've just written to my MP.

As we edge closer to actually leaving the EU (maybe!), here's a site that's been set up by HM Govt specifically to address concerns that UK expats in France may have. You can choose to be notified by email as and when changes occur via this link. The French Govt has also kindly set up a Brexit web site aimed at British expats in France - that should go some way towards allaying concerns people may have. Of course, some key actions may only be put in place if both parties sign up to bilateral agreement on health care.

27th March. David Davis, the former Brexit Secretary, cuts through all the House of Commons flim-flam here with his assessment of the Brexit process and how the Commons is out of step with the very people they are elected to represent. 

22nd March. The slow motion train crash that is Brexit shuffled forward an inch yesterday - only to take a step 2.54 centimetres backwards.

Brexit: On Time, Delayed or Cancelled?

In June, it will be 3 years since the Referendum - we were reminded just the other day that a thousand days have passed since that vote. WWII only lasted 6 years. The country is riven down the middle by the question - with strong opinions held by supporters of both Leave and Remain camps. Furthermore, within a highly factionalised Parliament, as well as the usual tribal conflicts between the main parties, there's a complete spectrum of opinion within each of them. This even extends to Mrs May's Cabinet. It must also be borne in mind that Mrs May was herself a Remainer when she took on the challenge of one of the most toxic Prime Ministerial in-trays in living memory.

When all this is put in the context of a minority government, it's hardly surprising that the solution - if there is one - has been lost somewhere in the noise. I don't think it will be possible for her to achieve a consensus with this dog's breakfast of a "deal". The EU's negotiating stance has, rightly or wrongly, been uncompromising, showing little willingness to accommodate a country that voted democratically (that word again) to leave the Union. Unraveling the myriad number of political, economic, commercial and social developments that have taken place in the past 46 years, with all the associated legislation, and steering the good ship UK safely through the uncharted waters to ensure that the UK could separate cleanly from the EU was always going to be a challenge - and so it has proved. Unfortunately, our "Great Helmsman" was a Remainer and my view is that she went to Brussels as a supplicant - asking for favours. I think she and her team should have been more hard-nosed from the outset - but that's simply not her style.

"Cometh the hour" has been followed many times in our history by "Cometh the Man". Unfortunately this appears to be one of those times when statesmen riding to the rescue are in short supply - on both sides of the House. I think Mrs May has gone as far as she can go and the time is fast approaching when we should be casting around for a suitable replacement - but this is where I draw a blank.

I'm sure all those who are still interested in the outcome are rapidly losing the will to live. I'm fast approaching a terminal condition known as all "Brexited-out"! I want to hear news on the radio - not the endless speculation that we've had to endure for so long. Melanie Phillips' views are always worth listening to - and Matthew Eason has written a good piece here on how the UK's Brexit strategy imploded - if the UK's appalling mishandling of the negotiations from Day 1 could be described as 'strategy'. Sigh..

21st March. We were out at our neighbours late yesterday afternoon and as "l'heure bleue" approached, a bottle of 12 year old Glenkinchie was produced. I have to say it's a long time since I enjoyed a single malt as much as I did this one. I'll have to see if I can find a bottle of it across the border in the whisky quarries! How come it's taken me so long to discover Glenkinchie? If it's a rainy day where you are and you're stuck for something to do, google "Glenkinchie" and read the reviews.. The opinions of the internet's whisky gurus appears to be divided on the subject. I would say: try it for yourself. In reading some of the salty comments, I don't recognise their descriptions of Glenkinchie 12 year old as the same dram that I tried yesterday.

First day of Spring today.. (at last!). Does anyone remember this one?

17th March. It was the final day of the Guinness 6 Nations rugby tournament yesterday and true to form, there were shocks in store. 

First, we started at the Stadio Olimpico, Rome, for a nervy contest between Italy and France to see who'd be propping up the table. I was rather hoping for a win for la squadra azzurra to give them some hope that they were closing the gap between them and the rest - but it wasn't to be. The Italians went very close in the final minutes when a try was disallowed. France won 25-14.  

Wales took the Grand Slam in front of their 80,000-odd adoring fans in Cardiff - with many more left outside - by beating Ireland, last year's champions, who were strangely ineffective. Ireland scored at the death ('saving the furniture' as the French have it) to make the final score 25-7. Over the tournament, Wales shared the unenviable tag of being, with Wooden Spoon winners Italy, the joint lowest try scorers with a modest 10 tries, conceding 7. 

Congratulations to the Welsh team on pulling off the Grand Slam - but at the risk of sounding less than magnanimous, it's worth examining the final points table. Yes, Wales were unbeaten but to me they played an unattractive brand of what I call 'alehouse' rugby - ferocious tackling, with bodies flying in and the minimum of tries to fire the imagination. They have a mean defence (coached by ex rugby league star Shaun Edwards) but it makes for a dour scrappy game. Personally, I find it unwatchable - an opinion that will see me accused of all manner of bad things. I've always applauded good rugby - regardless of who's playing it - but being absolutely honest, I don't see that the current Welsh squad are anywhere near being worthy successors to those great Welsh teams of the 60s and 70s. Workmanlike yes. Memorable? Not at all. I know at moments like this we're supposed to put our national affiliations to one side and praise the Welsh - but sadly, with their style of rugby, I don't feel able to.  

Then we come to Twickenham and the final match in this year's tournament between England and Scotland. I realise that I've left myself wide-open with my less-than-flattering comments about Wales - but England somehow contrived to draw a pulsating match with Scotland 38-38. England started off scoring at the rate of a point per minute and they went in at half time leading 31-7. Somehow, Scotland brought the score back to parity and then at one point in the closing minutes, they were leading 31-38 - until England levelled the scores in extra time. This was a match that Scotland fully deserved to win and I'm sure they'll be disappointed that they didn't. However, it's worth noting that England won the first half 31-7 - and Scotland won the second half by the exact same score.. Fantastic never-say-die spirit from Scotland ably led by Finn Russell. This result means that they deservedly retain the Calcutta Cup.. rugby's oldest sporting trophy.   

Here's something for all those people in Ireland and elsewhere who are feeling a bit 'down in the gob' after the rugby this weekend. Pour yourself a drop of the cratur and listen to this:               

Bob Frost

14th March. I've just heard that Bob Frost (96) died this morning. He was one of the very last surviving WWII evaders who made it home back to England with the help of the Comet Line. He'd been a 19 year old tail gunner in a Vickers Wellington Mk III of 150 Squadron when his aircraft was hit by flak during an operation to bomb the sprawling Krupps foundries at Essen in the Ruhr (known as Happy Valley) on 16/17th September 1942. Against all odds, he survived the immediate effects and was able to parachute out from his crippled bomber. Landing in fields near Kapellen in Flemish-speaking Brabant, he was fortunate to be picked up quickly by Comet Line helpers. He crossed the Pyrenees on 9th October before leaving Gibraltar on 24th October, arriving at Portreath in Cornwall, England the following morning.

Sadly, there are fewer and fewer of these wartime evaders left - and Bob was one of the very last. Some 55,573 aircrew of RAF's Bomber Command were killed during WWII and now Bob has left us to rejoin his old crew mates. RIP Bob. It was a real privilege to know you.

13th March. Melanie Phillips' blog can always be relied upon for a thoughtful view of the current B****t negotiations between the UK and the EU. Here's what she writes towards the end of her piece:

"Meanwhile, remember those dire forecasts of lorry paralysis across the Channel caused by the sudden imposition of no-deal border controls? Well guess what – French Customs has designed “an innovative technological solution – the ‘smart border’”. It says: 

“In the frame of the re-establishment of the border between the United Kingdom and the European Union, French Customs has developed an information system allowing businesses to automate the border crossing by HGV. This innovative solution will be applicable at all points of entry/exit to/from Calais region and more broadly of Channel-North Sea. It is based on 3 principles: 

• The early completion of customs procedures before arriving at the border by giving the bar code of the customs declaration to the driver. 
• The identification of the mean of transport and the bar code of customs declaration of transported goods. 
• The automatic sending of the crossing notifications to the customs declarant to avoid stopping the HGV”. 

Hang on: weren’t we all told the Irish border issue was insoluble because the idea of a smart technological border was impossible? If there can be a smart technological border at Calais, why can’t there be one at the Irish border? And if there can be a smart technological Irish border, then what in heaven’s name was the Irish backstop issue all about?"

12th March. As I was walking back from town this morning, it occurred to me  that the French language, as taught in the UK in the sixties, was not much use (I'm being generous) for everyday living. For example, I well remember the first time I went for a haircut here - and I hardly understood a word the coiffeuse said to me when I sat down in the chair. I got the drift though.. but then I realised I had no idea how to phrase my reply - "Can you thin out the top and leave the sides fairly long please?" I didn't know the French for a 'parting' either. (Maybe I should have paid more attention at school instead of staring out of the window!) If you're waiting to move to France, now's the time to improve your French. I left it until we arrived here and, given the love affair that France has with its own language, I was surprised to find that there weren't more French language courses aimed at foreigners.

11th March. I discovered Nostalgie Best of 60s radio (Anglo-French pop) on our internet radio the other day. It's easy listening and ideal for those who (like, er, me!) had their musical tastes formed in those far-off days.

We were out in the outback just to the north east of Peyrehorade (right) yesterday for lunch with friends D & L. They bought their relatively isolated farmhouse about 3-4 years ago and since then they've carried out a lot of work in bringing it all up to date. L used to have an interior design business in northern France and now that, for all intents and purposes, the house is finished, it's a testament to her discerning eye.

Tastefully furnished with an eclectic mix of French country furniture, a few Art Deco pieces and a couple of very comfortable couches, its beams painted a pale grey and a grey stone floor, the relaxed open plan living area would not have looked out of place in any of those French country living magazines. There was a display case in an alcove containing what appeared to be Fabergé eggs but I was assured that they were lookalikes! If genuine, just one would have been more than enough to guarantee a (very) comfortable retirement!

The log fire was crackling in their massive open hearth and we sat around it while the dogs did what dogs do (aka the eternal battle for dominance). To take our minds off the yapping, she served us a wonderful and novel apéro - known as "soupe au champagne" (champagne, a dash/splash of Cointreau, some lime juice and cane sugar syrup) that was very more-ish - it really hit the spot. (how to make it here) We enjoyed this while trying to hold back from eating all the tasty nibbles she'd made - before we moved to the table. Once there, it just got better and better.

Afterwards, we moved back in front of the fire and I taught them a card game (Clag) that I'd learnt in the military. Great fun! I think we'll be playing more of this highly addictive game with them. 

Tête de veau

Apparently, there's a really good traditional market every Wednesday at Peyrehorade, with produce from three departments, lying as it does at the intersection of Les Landes, the Béarn and the Pyrénées-Atlantiques. We must get out there again one day - it's only 40 minutes away. There's also a restaurant there that gets good reviews - "Au Bon Coin Les Pieds de Cochon". It features authentic country cooking from the region and it appears to be the kind of restaurant that we like. You'll find it here. While it's true that the à la carte menu features a few dishes I'm not crazy about - such as pied de cochon (pig's trotter) and tripes - and one that gives me nightmares: tête de veau (calf's head) - there are also some of my favourites: omelette à la morue (salt cod omelette), the terrine of foie gras - or the hero-sized 1.2kg (42oz) côte de boeuf (bone in prime rib) for two. Here's a review from Sud-Ouest. I've added it to our "must visit" list.

Ireland duly dispatched France 26-14 in Dublin scoring 4 good tries against a porous French defence before les Bleus finally replied with two late tries at the death. (I haven't had time to watch it yet): 

10th March. No surprises thus far from this weekend's 6 Nations rugby - Wales were expected to win at Murrayfield and duly did so (11-18) - but watch for Finn Russell's astonishing sleight of hand as he makes a lightning quick reverse pass at 1:26 that led to a Scottish try.. That would have had Bill McLaren purring! And rightly so. I've watched the ½ speed replay (click on the "Settings" button at the bottom right of the YouTube window) of that pass several times and I'm still not exactly sure how he managed to do what he did. Players with that speed of thought plus the ability to execute are rare these days. 

Meanwhile at Twickenham, England took on Italy and ran in 8 tries to win 57-14 - a result that, according to the French TV summariser, owed much to English 'pragmatism' - whatever the heck that meant in this context. (Phlegmatic and pragmatic - I( can be guaranteed that any French commentator will come out with these two words within the opening minutes of any match featuring England.) 
OK, I hear the critics say yes, but it was only Italy - but look at the results against the Azzurri's earlier opponents: Italy lost away to Scotland 33-20, then lost at home to Wales 15-26 before losing again at home to Ireland (last year's champions) 16-26. Look at the margins they lost by: 13pts, 11pts and 10pts - nothing to be ashamed of there.

This next comment will probably cause outrage in the Valleys but I have to agree with Italy's head coach, Conor O’Shea, who after the match yesterday praised the resilience of his side on an afternoon when they lost three centres and finished with a prop in the back row. He said, “They could have thrown in the towel but kept getting stuck in against a powerful side who, in my opinion, are the best in the Six Nations”. Yes, the Welsh boys sit at the top of the table and the Grand Slam is theirs to lose, but next weekend, they entertain Ireland at Cardiff - then we'll see.   

5th March. Here's one of those cinematic scenes where the images and the soundtrack merge into a coherent whole. The late Jeanne Moreau in Louis Malle's 1958 New Wave film "Lift to the Scaffold" (Ascenseur pour l'échafaud) wanders the night-time streets of Paris (always best in black and white)  looking for her lover as the Miles Davis Quintet picks up her mood perfectly:                                 

3rd March. The Spanish authorities gave their blessing to this bizarre high risk strategy a day or two ago when a fire fighting Canadair amphibian dropped in over the rooftops at San Sebastian and landed in La Concha to pick up water:

I believe many of us have dreams that mostly stay on the back burner - there's no harm in that. For many years, mine was to sell up in the UK and move down to the Pay Basque where we could enjoy on a daily basis what we'd previously only known for 2 weeks every year. Realising that particular dream was (and still is!) every bit as enjoyable as I'd hoped.

However, that's not the end of it. I've another long-standing dream - namely, of owning a sixties Porsche 912 - like the one (below) - and this dream has been parked on the back burner for years as well - but, unlike my other dream, I think that's where it will stay. Has there ever been a better body shape than this - clean, sober, functional, no wings or stripes, no "attitude"? It's just a beautifully balanced and timeless shape. It would be perfect for exploring the lanes that criss-cross the back country of the Pays Basque and the mountain passes of the Pyrenees - sigh! (all donations gratefully accepted!☺) How many other cars that are 50+ years old look this good?

Here's another one.

249. Micheline Dumon Ugeux - "Michou"

30th November. This slideshow of the Pays Basque in November is too good not to share.. Ascain was the village we used to come to every summer.

29th November. You're probably more familiar with Thelonious Monk's performance of his "Round Midnight" (that's since become a jazz standard) - but in case this breathy interpretation of it by Chet Baker's trumpet passed you by - have a listen. It gets my vote. See what you think:

28th November. A friend in the US has just sent me this picture of her lakeside cabin up in Maine.. It defines idyllic to me!

"Michou"

25th November. Back home after a few days away in and around Uzès (in the Gard) for the funeral of Micheline Dumon Ugeux (aka "Michou" or "Lily"), a genuine heroine of the Comet Line evasion network during WWII. She died on 16th November aged 96. She was awarded the George Medal (below) for her work in helping 250 shot-down Allied airmen return safely to England from occupied France.

We had the honour and privilege of meeting her three years ago and we spent a few happy hours together over lunch at her favourite restaurant in a village near her home. Every now and again, in talking of those dark days, her eyes would flash and show again that she still had that determination and strength of character that helped her to accomplish so much and to survive the war.

The beautiful old village church was packed for the funeral and her coffin was decorated with a Belgian flag, the Comet standard and a cushion with all her medals. A great lady from that greatest of all generations. RIP "Michou" †.

I made this short video-montage of some of the Comet Line's key figures a few years ago and "Michou" appears in it twice. (More on the Comet Line here)

19th November. You'll have to talk among yourselves for a few days - I'll be away at a funeral in Provence.

18th November. Stop press: Just spotted the result from north of Hadrian's Wall - Scotland 17 New Zealand 22. Now that would have been a sweet win if the Jocks could have managed it..

Rugby can be cruel sometimes, and occasionally fortune favours one side at the expense of another. The England-Australia match today was one of those days when the tide of victory was decided by the finest of margins in favour of England and by the finest of margins against the Wallabies. On another day, the green and golds would have won and Michael Hooper, the Wallabies tireless captain, would have deservedly been named Man of the Match. We've all had those days when the decisions unaccountably have gone against your team and it's hard to take. It could so easily have been a 13-13 draw or a win.. instead of an improbable 30-6 home win. C'est comme ça..  
On the day when Scotland face New Zealand at rugby at Murrayfield, I think a quote attributed to the Duke of Wellington is appropriate:

"I don't know what effect these men will have on the enemy, but by God, they terrify me." - especially when accompanied by this. Good luck lads!

I came across an excellent think-piece by Prof Sir Roger Scruton in yesterday's Times about the motivation that drove a majority of the voters in last year's referendum on the UK's membership of the EU to vote Leave.

He argued that "for many ordinary citizens, however, the question was not about economics at all. It was about identity and sovereignty. For such people, matters were at stake that the politicians had systematically marginalised, and which were more important to them than all the economic and geopolitical arguments. Their question was not: what will make us better off, but rather: who are we, where are we, what holds us together in a shared political order and on whom have we conferred the right to govern us? It is not only the British who are faced with these questions: they are the political questions of our time, and all across Europe people are beginning to ask them. Moreover, they are not questions that can be settled by economic arguments, since they must be answered before any such arguments make sense."

He included this (slightly) tongue-in-cheek gem:

"The philosopher Leszek Kolakowski summarised the difference among legal cultures as follows: in Britain everything is permitted unless it is forbidden; in Germany everything is forbidden unless it is permitted; in France everything is permitted, even if it is forbidden; and in Russia everything is forbidden, even if it is permitted. Kolakowski exaggerates, of course; but the differences here are real, and part of what has made our membership of the EU so challenging to successive British governments. Law, for us, is common law, the property of the individual and our protection against anybody who tries to boss us about, including representatives of our government."

Read the entire article here. It's 5 pages but well worth reading..

I suggested to Madame a couple of days ago that the fundamental difference between the UK and France is the concept of trust vs the lack of it. She reminded me that as France is essentially a revolutionary country, the French State views its citizens as untrustworthy - therefore they must always carry ID and if driving, the vehicle registration document and driving licence (it's an offence not to). Plus, as my recent encounter with the Civil Service demonstrated in connection with my request for French nationality, they required enough documentation to sink a small-to-medium size ship to support what should have been a fairly routine request. It is recommended that all important papers are kept in box files for 10 years. It is a common sight on French TV news to see a complainant sitting at their dining table with a box file and years-worth of papers in front of them. Ready for a surprise? Here's how long documents should be kept.

In the UK, there's a presumption that all are innocent until proven guilty - hence no need to routinely carry ID, or a wodge of papers when driving. If stopped by the police and you are invited to produce your driving documents at a police station, you have 5 days in which to comply. For many years, there was no driver photo on a UK driving licence (I think the latest ones do now). The police were normally unarmed as well.. but I think this has changed in recent years for some, not all, police. People are (or were when I left!) generally law-abiding - whereas here, some consider that their needs take priority over everyone else's and so you see people parking in the strangest of places, or driving the wrong way in a one way street - because it suits them.

I can't remember where I heard this but it made me laugh at the time. If ever there was a revolution in England and you were in a howling mob that was told to 'take' a railway station, we'd all buy platform tickets.. And if someone bumps into us, we say "Sorry..". It's the way we are.

15th November. One of the few players in an England shirt who was able to lift the spirits on an otherwise dank November afternoon over the weekend at Twickenham was Bath's Sam Underhill. He tore into the Pumas with a great display of powerful tackling. As the Guardian put it: "Underhill has the upper body of a cartoon superhero, with arms that seem to dangle at acute angles because his oversized muscles push them out away from his frame. His shoulders seem ideally suited for slinging things over: sacks, logs, hostages from pillaged villages, Argentinian runners."

Watch him (in the 7 shirt) in action here for Bath and England:

12th November. Prior to our move here, we wanted to reassure ourselves that the coastal region didn't close its doors and put up its shutters in winter as is the case in some other resort areas. We'd only visited in the summer months (and once at Easter), and so one December, we came down here for the express purpose of seeing if the Basque coast was still alive and well in the 'Low' season.. We needn't have worried!

Down to the beach this morning with the dog under grey skies, low stratus clouds scudding through bringing more or less constant flurries of rain. The sea was right up and roaring constantly. I doubt if we stayed there much longer that 10-15 minutes - Nutty was quite happy to scuttle back to the warmth of the car! There were just a few joggers - otherwise it was deserted. Hard to imagine Christmas is only 6 weeks away.

The sight of people walking where they shouldn't is an all-too-common one these days. The landward end of this jetty is always fenced off in rough weather as occasionally a wave will break right over it. And, of course, there are always those who feel they must walk out on the jetty - thus proving something or other.

I attended a local Remembrance ceremony yesterday.. and I must say that there are more and more attendees with every year that passes. I was asked to lay a wreath on behalf of the association I work with. It's always a very moving occasion there - we had a choir and a couple of local bands - plus all the civic dignitaries and the colourful standards. There's something about the dry rattle of the drums and the clarion call of the trumpets of the "Marseillaise" that never fails to send a shiver through me.

11th November. It's the first weekend of the rugby Autumn Internationals this afternoon.. and if you feel a few earth tremors in the next few hours, you now know why! Italy play Fiji, Scotland meet Samoa, England collide with Argentina, Wales are due for a spanking by Australia, Ireland will be striking sparks off South Africa and in the evening game, France will be looking to restrict New Zealand to less than a 30 point lead. (Good luck with that!)

10th November. This great Neil Diamond song came out of "The Jazz Singer" - and in my view, it's one of the very best ballads - and I almost wrote "to be recorded in recent years" here - but I was surprised to learn that it was recorded back in 1980.. Ouch! 

Extra points if you spotted a few well-known faces in this video (on the eastern side of the Atlantic anyway): British actor James Booth on the right in the control room (he played Private Hook in "Zulu"); then Lucie Arnaz (daughter of Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz); and another British actor Paul Nicholas in the red shirt.

8th November. Madame has been spoiling me today for reasons that we don't need to go into.. For lunch, she made confit de canard with pommes de terre sarladaises.. (sliced potatoes fried in goose fat until crispy golden brown, with garlic and parsley..) You'll find a recipe in English for the potatoes here - but don't forget to sprinkle some coarse sea salt on them at the end. This has to be one of the tastiest recipes known to Mankind. If you've not come across this great dish before, then if you do nothing else, try it..! It couldn't be easier to make - and you'll thank me for it. (video here)

We eased it down with some Saint-Pourçain Cuvée du Bourg rouge.. (right) This is a little known red that is our current favourite and it's far better than it has any right to be. You should be able to find it in your local Carrefour (if in France) or, if not, ask your local wine merchant if he can find a bottle or two for you. (or Google) The white is also good.. and is akin to Sancerre. Both the red and the white are highly recommended. (Notes on Saint-Pourçain here)

Warning: High risk of drooling when watching this video! She omits the garlic.. Personally, I'd include it!
One last thing (and then we'll get back to the Pays Basque!): if you were to ask me who was the greatest racing driver of all time, there would only be one possible contender.. Juan Manuel Fangio - the absolute master of car control.. his four wheel drift technique can be seen here: 

5th November. I've followed motor racing all my life and in my view, the sport has gone down a blind alley in recent years. Races are now won and lost in the pits instead of out on the track, and we have such 'fascinating' technical developments such as DRS (yawn) and complex energy recovery systems  (ERS)(an even bigger yawn); plus safety cars & virtual safety cars; I've lost count of the different tyre types we now have but their useful life is measured in tens of miles, not forgetting the frangible carbon fibre aerodynamic winglets that are guaranteed to "frange" (sic) during the first corner jostling. I also think that the dignity and inherent beauty of the sport has been fatally compromised by the rampant commercialism (drivers and cars all decked out in advertising trivia) that now dominates and, to cap it all, the cars all sound as though they're powered by outboard motors. And I shudder to think how many pages are in the Formula One rule book. This is no Golden Age.

My recommendation for what it's worth: return to non-turbo, non-hybrid engines (think Cosworth V8 of at least 2½ litres) and forget about F1 tipping its hat to political correctness.. How can we pretend that an F1 car is saving energy when its tyres couldn't survive a drive from London to Brighton..? This is Ecclestone's legacy. Time to move on. Back to pure racing.. with tyres that can last a race.. no DRS.. no ERS.. no radios.. a minimum of aerodynamics (no winglets, wings or diffusers: what read-across to road cars is there? Nil..) Let the drivers drive. Gentlemen.. Start your engines!

The Thirties were the Golden Age as far as I'm concerned - plus the decade that followed WWII. I put this short video together of some of the most unforgettable sights and glorious sounds that motor racing has ever witnessed.. (To watch a documentary on Grand Prix racing in the Thirties, click on here and here) Ride with Hermann Lang in 1962 as he powers the 1937 race-winning W125 car with its supercharged straight eight 5.6 litre engine around the old Nürburgring circuit. W125 cars occupied the top four places in the championship by the end of the 1937 season.

Listen to the haunting wail of that V16 BRM as the supercharger kicks in at 3:00..      

  

That 3lbs of warm tofu between our ears works in strange ways doesn't it? While I was out earlier with the pup enjoying a very windy & bracing (almost wintry) walk along the coastal path at Anglet, something or other triggered a dusty memory of this warning in 4 languages I once saw above the window in my train compartment on a 4 day trans-European rail journey in the '60s. I spent much of that time reflecting on it!

It's a microcosm of Europe isn't it? In Italian, it sounds like a warning from an Italian lover (please not to come here after 7pm!) or, at the very least, a rustic pasta dish. The French version should be breathed in one's ear, preferably by a woman resembling Françoise Hardy in her youth, all legs and cheekbones (steady on!) - whereas the German version needs only the sound of a snarling Doberman Pinscher in the background.. The English warning is the only one that's devoid of any linguistic magic capable of occupying a young man's imagination for 4 days! I've been waiting for 50+ years to retrieve one of these phrases from my memory and drop it into conversation with a flourish - but, sadly, the occasion has never arisen.

In Googling for the warning sign, I found one of those old metal destination plaques they used to hang on the sides of the European railway carriages showing the routing. My trip took me to most of the destinations shown above before I continued on to Sarajevo, Skopje, Thessalonika and Athens. When/if asked what I'd like for Christmas or a birthday, I usually have no idea.. However, one of these would be a great reminder of that trip. I'll have to start looking. 

3rd November. Don't tell me you don't learn anything here..! Who knows what a SJW is? This is probably old hat to Guardianistas and NYT readers.. but for those of you who aren't, it means Social Justice Warrior. (Yes, it doesn't mean much to me either) Apparently its first use in a negative context dates back to 2011. (only 6 years behind the times!)

I once wrote a blog post about how it's a common sight to see people walking home here with a fresh crispy baguette, still warm from the oven, and being unable to resist having a not-so-surreptitious nibble of the pointy end. And I said that a small fortune awaits the person who can work out how to make just baguette ends. I've been seeing this baguette (above) lately - it's known as a campaillette sarmentine - or, more simply at the bakers I use, une baguette herriko (this sounds like a local variation). A quick flash of the knife before it goes into the oven and - bingo - you finish up with 4 crispily delicious baguette ends instead of the usual two. Cunning devils!

I've had a reply concerning my request for French nationality that I mailed recently. (I'm seeking dual nationality - I'm not abandoning Ye Olde Englande!) I'm relieved to hear that they have all the documentation they require and now I'm waiting for the police to contact me sometime in the near future to check that I've not been engaged in criminal activities since we arrived here ten years ago (apart from a slack handful of speeding tickets). Once they're satisfied, we then have to go up to the Prefecture in Bordeaux for meetings with various people to demonstrate that I can eat a tripe sandwich as a starter, followed by a great steaming plateful of Tête de veau, garnished with a few slices of Andouillette!! Only joking! And assuming my application is favourably received, the whole package then gets sent up to Paris for the approval of the Ministère de l'Intérieur (equiv to Home Secretary in the UK). And if he approves it, I think that will be the day that we'll have a good reason to revisit La Tupina!

Seeing as it's autumn, here's a great song that's made for the occasion - and instead of the usual syrupy Yves Montand version, here's Jean-Claude Pascal's interpretation:

86. A Walk in the Park*

14th September 2010. I'm back home after a truly amazing weekend spent in the company of some of the most inspirational people I've ever met. A short recap follows in case you missed my earlier posts on the subject of the Comet Line.                          (* = tongue in cheek!)            

"Dédée"

In the wake of the German blitzkreig that smashed through the defences of Holland, Belgium, France in May-June 1940 and forced the evacuation from Dunkirk of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF), Andrée De Jongh, a young Belgian nurse, decided that she had to do something to help the Allied cause. As she herself put it in typically uncompromising fashion:

"When war was declared I knew what needed to be done. There was no hesitation. We could not stop what we had to do although we knew the cost. Even if it was at the expense of our lives, we had to fight until the last breath."

Inspired to action by the deeds of Edith Cavell, "Dédée", as Andrée was better known, created the Comet Line, the purpose of which was to guide shot-down Allied airmen back to the UK to continue fight the war. Its motto was "Pugna Quin Percutias" ("Fight without killing"). The Comet Line comprised some 2,000 dedicated volunteer helpers and a chain of safe houses that stretched from Brussels to Paris and on down through occupied France to Bayonne in the Basque country. Unlike the aircrew who were protected by the provisions of the Geneva Convention, the volunteer helpers enjoyed no such protection and, if/when caught, they and their families fell into the medieval clutches of the Gestapo - followed by the concentration camps under Hitler's infamous Nacht und Nebel directive.

Florentino

Having escorted her small groups of evaders on the express train from Paris to Bayonne, she would join up with the legendary Basque guide Florentino Goikoetxea and together they would lead the airmen over the Pyrenees and into the hands of British diplomatic staff based in 'neutral' Spain. Hundreds of Allied airmen and others were helped by the Comet Line network to escape a bleak future confined in POW camps in the Third Reich.

Florentino was a smuggler by trade and after the war he was invited to Buckingham Palace to receive the King's Medal. While Florentino was waiting to go in to the room where the King was making the presentations, a courtier asked him what his profession was and Florentino replied without a pause, "Import - Export". A man of immense strength, he was not averse to pulling a knife on escapers to 'encourage' them if they said they couldn't take another step forward. Bob Frost (below) recalled how he fell into a hole at night during his escape and Florentino just reached down and pulled him out with one hand.

After a betrayal in January 1943, "Dédée" was arrested, interrogated, tortured and then sent to Germany where she spent 2 years in Ravensbruck and then Mauthausen. She survived the war and spent some 28 years working in leper hospitals in pre-independence Belgian Congo, Cameroon, Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, and finally Senegal. In failing health, she eventually retired to Brussels where she died in 2007 aged 90.

I ask for your understanding for this necessarily abbreviated version of historical events and if I've omitted to mention someone - as I surely must have - I apologise.

The Comet Line is commemorated in many ways - one of which is an annual 'walk' over the exact same route out of France, over the mountains and into Spain and eventual freedom taken by the Comet guides and the evaders. It's organised locally by Jean Dassié.

Prior to the weekend, I'd contacted John Clinch, whose excellent website contains a whole slew of information about the Comet Line and the resistance in Belgium (highly recommended) and we'd arranged to meet at a café in the centre of Saint Jean de Luz on Friday in good time before the first meeting. This was to be a wreath laying at the War Memorial in St Jean de Luz followed by a vin d'honneur at the Town Hall just nearby. We were fortunate to be joined by a wartime Comet helper and three aircrew veterans who'd come down the Line and made it back to the UK.

The veterans

"Nadine"

Here we are at the War Memorial with 3 RAF evaders - from left to right: Bob Frost (Wellington tail gunner) shot down on his 28th mission; George Duffee (Halifax pilot) shot down on his first trip as 2nd Dickey; Andrée Dumont (English translation here) - known by her wartime codename "Nadine" - she courier'd the aircrew from Brussels to Paris. Captured & tortured, sent first to Ravensbruck then to the infamous Mauthausen. Received the OBE in 1946. A real heroine! Gordon Mellor (Halifax navigator) - shot down on his 17th trip. Next is a deputy mayor from St Jean de Luz. Raymond from Rheims (on the extreme right) was in the Resistance and was deported and jailed. He spent a few years in a cell with a couple of RAF aircrew - where he learnt his English.. I felt honoured and privileged to meet all of these Comet helpers and WWII aircrew over the course of the weekend.

Ramiro Arrue painting in the town hall
at St Jean de Luz 

Mr Jean Dassié †

Lucienne Dassié †

(devenue 

Mme André Saboulard) 

After a friendly welcome at the Town Hall where, incidentally, one of our hosts was kind enough to show Nadine and I three magnificent works (one of which above) by the noted Basque artist Ramiro Arrue - we all separated for lunch before travelling up to Bayonne for another wreath-laying ceremony at the grave of the Dassié family. Both Mr and Madame Dassié actively supported the Comet Line along with their daughter Lucienne (aka "Lulu"). However, all three were betrayed and they were arrested by the Gestapo and spent two years in Buchenwald and Ravensbruck respectively. The Germans left young Jean, aged 7, at home on his own.. After the father was released in 1945 he was repatriated to Paris but he died in hospital on the day that he arrived from the ill-treatment he had received in the camps. Madame Dassié died in 1948 due to ill-health resulting from her experiences in the camps. Both "Lulu" and Jean were present for this commemorative weekend.

As it is today*

Then we continued on to nearby Anglet to visit the unassuming Villa Voisin - the safe house where many of the escaping airmen stayed (5 mins from where I write) and where the southern end of the network was controlled by Elvire de Greef (aka "Tante Go"). It doesn't appear to have changed too much - if at all. We then made our way to the War Memorial in Anglet for a further wreath laying there followed by a vin d'honneur in the Town Hall.. Then we all sped off to a local restaurant for the evening. There must have been between 50-60 of us altogether.

* Edited to add: Sadly, the Villa Voisin was demolished in 2016.  

Kattalin Aguirre

At Florentino's grave

The next morning saw the start of the hard work. I arrived early at St Jean de Luz (in the hope of finding a parking space) and walked around the beautiful bay to the cemetery at Ciboure where there was another wreath laying ceremony at the graves of two of Comète's most celebrated members - Kattalin Aguirre and Florentino  Goikoetxea, the Basque man of the mountains.  

On the Saturday, the group split into two - the walkers and those who would travel between RVs by bus.. After breakfast at a beachside cafe nearby, the walkers set off for Urrugne which is where we were going to have lunch.. (provided by the commune) For us, we were glad to be finally moving and it only took us an hour or so to reach Urrugne, a small village en route to the mountains. After a short ceremony by the War Memorial, we walked the short distance down to a local school where a copious lunch of ham, cheese, fruit, bread, cider and wine had been set up in the sunshine. I broke the habit of a lifetime for once and ate sparingly and kept to water. 

 

Bidegain Berri

Then we set off for the mountains.. although there was one final final stop at "Bidegain Berri", the farm in the foothills that was used by the escapers as the jumping-off point and where Dédée was arrested in January '43. This was the farmhouse belonging to brave Frantxia Usandizaga, who sheltered the airmen in the last safe house in France as they waited for nightfall before attempting to cross the mountains. She was betrayed, along with Dédée De Jongh, but unlike her, she didn't return and sadly she died in Ravensbruck a month before the camp was liberated. The house itself had been modernised and appeared anonymous, bearing no witness to the dramatic events that had taken place there so many years before. Yet again we heard speeches extolling the bravery of those who had given their lives in the cause of freedom.

This was the start of the walk proper, and it was time for anyone who could not complete it to get on the coach, as there would be no way back. This is where the pain started.. We set off briskly and gradually the road turned into gravel and grass, then we turned up a steep track that was loosely surfaced and then we were on the mountain. It was difficult to set a rhythm when part of a long snake of other climbers stopping and starting on a crumbly, sometimes muddy, slippy underfoot, uneven, steep rocky surface. It was hot too - according to a fellow walker with a multi-function watch it was 35°C (95°F). And it was humid.. All attempts at conversation ceased now as we tried individually to find our own pace. Each time I reached what I thought was a summit, the mountain opened up to reveal another even steeper climb before me.

My legs became heavier and heavier, I was stumbling, sweat was pouring off me and I could feel my climbing ability reducing with every step. I stopped now and again to ease the burning in my legs but there was no respite from the sun which beat down on us. I did start to think the unthinkable (i.e. going back..). I thought my rowing training would have stood me in good stead but the magnitude of the effort required for this took me by surprise. I thought it would be hard but I just couldn't see myself being able to finish this. I decided not to look ahead and to take it one step at a time. Even then I had to stop every few yards. Luckily some kind soul (I never did catch his name*) stopped with me each time and after a few seconds rest, encouraged me to my feet with an "Allez allez!" (I found him at the finish and thanked him)

* Edited to add it was Brice Esquerre..

I kept telling myself that the airmen who tackled the climb during the war did so in the dark, wearing espadrilles, perhaps weak from enforced inactivity and injury, plus they would have the ever-present fear of capture, which could have meant imprisonment, torture and execution. That they found it a gruelling climb is no surprise - that they were able to complete the walk is a tribute to them and perhaps also to the encouragement offered by Florentino and Dédée. By all accounts, many were tempted to give up. 

Suddenly we were at the summit and a magnificent panorama stretched out before us with the outline of Fuenterrabia in Spain clearly visible below.. I lay as if pole-axed for a few minutes before getting to my feet again for the descent which was not as easy as it appeared on the slippery rocks and loose surface.. My water bottle was now all but empty and I was unable to swallow an energy bar. The morale in our small group rose sharply when we came across a trickling spring of cold water. A lifesaver..!

The sound of the Bidassoa river was now clearly audible below and our pace quickened as we scrambled down the final hurdle of a steep descent of a slippery rock face. We emerged from the woodland and there before us lay the Bidassoa. What a relief to step into its cool fast flowing waters! Cheered across by the veterans and others, we made it across the slippery river bed and up the other side to be met with cold rough cider and grilled sardines prepared for us by our Spanish Basque helpers..

I was too tired to even eat a sardine which must be some sort of a record for me! The coach taking us back to our hotels that night was very quiet, as we were all too exhausted to speak. We were told the next day would be equally as arduous, but as we would be starting early we would feel stronger. That was it for me.. This was the hardest physical challenge I've ever done and I was really at the end of my tether - rubber legs, the ground moving, pounding in my ears et al. Madame reminded me when I returned home that my doc had told me no climbing with my creaky knees! So, as I'd just paid my rowing subscription for the year, we decided that discretion would be the better part of valour etc so the following day saw me on the bus.

I've 'lifted' this description (from John Clinch's site) of the second day from Anna Moreland who completed it in 2004:

Next morning saw us up before dawn without even time for breakfast and marching off to join the coach which would relay us to the point where we had finished the night before. The giddying ascent started immediately and our calf muscles aching from the day before were soon searing with pain. Again we climbed and climbed in single file, with some paths so steep that we were looking for any handhold just to stop sliding down. Just when it seemed that we were at the very end of endurance we stopped on a grassy knoll. Looking about us in every direction we could see nothing but other mountain peaks, equally majestic, encircled with swirling mists. Their sides were lush and verdant, buzzards soared, the air smelt of spruce, wild mint and mountain thyme, and the view was giddying with no sign of humanity. It felt as if earth had touched the heavens in that one magical spot. I'm sure those like myself who had never done any real climbing must have felt all the effort worthwhile just for those few moments.

We were offered a packet of biscuits by a couple who spoke only Euskera, the language of the Basques, and we ate them gratefully, sharing those magical moments in a companionable silence. We could have stayed there for ages, drinking in the view, but Roger soon had us moving on again as we had deadlines to meet.

Sarobe Farm

The next few hours passed in more painful ascents, crossing a busy road that of course had not been there originally, and then, at last, a gradual descent through the woods towards Sarobe farm. We arrived at about midday to find a farmhouse untouched by the years. It was not hard to imagine the relief the aircrew must have felt as they staggered through the door into the warmth and shelter of a large kitchen where a table would have been laid with food and warm drinks for them, and bowls of salt water would be provided to soak their bleeding and blistered feet. Then they would be shown to a hay loft where they were given blankets and allowed finally to sleep. The farm is still owned by the same family, and their welcome was sincere and touching. Refreshments of their own home made cider and bread and nuts were provided on a long trestle table outside, as we wearily awaited the coach with the veterans, who had been delayed.

Having arrived here by a small bus, I rejoined the walkers at this point.

15,000 litre cider barrels
(3300 gallons)

We set off on the last stage of the freedom trail down a tarmac road under the heat of the midday sun. This was just a hard slog to the finish. Pressing on, we encouraged each other to keep going and eventually we found our buses.. which took us to our cidrerie - which was full of Spanish Basques all talking 20 to the dozen.. We sat at long tables and some very welcome rough cider appeared followed by some powerful local Rioja.. These cidreries (ours was #5 on this list) are popular in the Spanish Basque country.

Food arrived unbidden.. served on one large communal plate between every 2 or 4 people.. an omelette with cod, followed by cod with green peppers and then a cote de boeuf between two. This had been shown a grill - briefly - and, as my father (a graduate of the Blowlamp School of Cooking!) would have said, a good vet could have had it back on its feet in 5 minutes..!

From l to r: Cod omelette, cod & peppers, cote de boeuf, cheese with quince & honey

They race 13 man boats known as traînières in the Spanish Basque country - I've rowed with them a few times at San Sebastian out on the long rolling Atlantic swells (right) and difficult it is too - and it just so happened that the local club to our cidrerie had won the final of "Le Drapeau de la Concha" and they were celebrating in the adjacent dining room. When they heard that our three veterans were in the next dining room, they all poured in. They love singing and an accordion appeared and they started (below) with a song of farewell (one that they used to sing as the fishing boats left) which was for the Veterans - and there wasn't a dry eye in the house.. or a lump-free throat. It was incredibly moving.. and I'd have thought it almost impossible to capture the atmosphere with a camera.. but John Clinch managed it brilliantly with his short video:

They then sang Hegoak, a Basque song (roughly equivalent to Flower of Scotland) that's sung across the Basque country on both sides of the border. Here's a short clip of trainieres at San Sebastian rowing out at speed into the Atlantic and also some youngsters at Saint-Jean-de-Luz:

Our final stop of the day was at Florentino's birthplace in Hernani, a small Spanish Basque village. There, a small memorial to their greatest son had been set up at the roadside and it was here that we assembled - together with Florentino's brother Antonio (an astonishingly sprightly 93!) and his family. After some heartfelt thanks from the 'vets' - which, incidentally, were translated into Basque by Joe, an Irishman living in San Sebastian - about 10 ladies gave an extremely moving rendition of Hegoak.

Everyone there at the Comet weekend had a story to tell. One woman had come all the way from Australia to re-trace her Dad's footsteps. Another daughter came from California. The story of the Comet Line is a very human story and it showed humanity at its best - and at its worst.

Almost finished - as I write, Suzanne Dando, a former British Olympic athlete, is participating in a similar event further east - le Chemin de la Liberté. this involves a 4 day crossing of the Pyrenees at altitudes of up to 8,000ft. I wish her and her team of women every encouragement. Well done ladies!  

15th September 2010. Finally, I went rowing yesterday evening - had an excellent solid outing in an VIII on a beautiful evening. 12km. (running total 165km)



23rd September 2010. Rowing tonight - good sortie in a IV - 13km. (running total 178km)