A Swedish friend is fond of telling us that there's there's no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes, and I must admit as I pulled my damp woollen socks on again and put them in my damp walking shoes I am inclined to think that some of my "boating in wet cold conditions" kit is tending towards the bad side. The other of us, or what I could see of her buried under what I think is every garment she owns, is taking no chances. Even the most penetrating damp will only make it through the first fifteen or so layers.
We are of course planning a summer break in Iceland next month, and strange though this may sound, I have only today checked the average June temperatures for that country. Twelve degrees maximums, five degrees minimum, which as it happens is about the same as France at the present time. We should be well acclimatised by then.
Andrew and Trish managed to track us down at exactly lunch o'clock, which provided a few hours of respite to say nothing of drying in a warm restaurant, and a lift to our spirits (not that any lift was necessary), but their appearance did serve to emphasise the delightful pointlessness of the manner in which we have chosen to travel.
We left Lagarde on Sunday, arriving in Charmes after six days of more or less non-stop travel, a little after noon on Thursday.
They too arrived a little after noon on Thursday, but travelling by rented station wagon, and taking all the windy backroads, their journey took close to an hour.
They were warm and dry and listening to music, we were cold and damp and listening to birds, but we wouldn't swap!