Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag,
And smile, smile, smile
We have fallen into a routine. We get up, buy a baguette, have breakfast, pack up, start walking, have lunch, arrive at a gite, have a shower, wash our stuff, find somewhere to eat, go to bed, get up, have breakfast, pack up...
Patrick is always launching into "It's a long way to Tipperary" without warning. Apparently, his parents had a record of Vera Lyn singing old war songs.
We set out this morning into a cold wind. The wild oats along the side of the road were bending almost horizontally towards us. The wind kept spinning the map that hangs around my neck into a hundred twists until it strangled and tangled with the cords of my glasses and Tilly hat. As always, when we arrived at the first village, we hoped for a bar open. No luck. At the second, yes, but the coffee was lousy. Then we had lunch in a bus shelter. Sixteen kilometres to go. It rained a little, on and off. On with the pack cover and rain jacket and off again. We trudged on.
We arrived in Bourges at five o'clock, our longest day yet. We ended up in a youth hostel a few hours later. It's often harder to find a place to sleep in a big town than a small village.
The cathedral at Bourges is the largest I have ever seen.
Damn you, Chas! Now you've got me singing "It's a long way to Tipperary"...followed by inserting a phrase of my own: "keep up, you buggers!"
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