Soon heading south.
Towards Sanary Sur Mer via Roscoff on Brittany Ferries. Later we plan to go to Chioggia, near Venice then back to Var in the French Alps.
All bookings made, insurance and paperwork double checked. M.O.T. sorted and a brake light replaced. Replaced the Lodoxol gear oil and differential oil and replaced standard drain plugs with magnetic ones . Bled the brakes and engine oil changed. Renewed the air filter.
Helen refuses to take the tent, but accommodation is now booked. I like to drive with a flexible itinerary, but Helen prefers to know the precise route and sleep in a comfortable bed.
Now Sophie is a mum and Helen and me the proud grandpa and ma. Leon Joseph is doing well, Sophia and Max even manage to get some sleep.
Spring has sprung beautifully on our doorstep and this primrose wood is just ten minutes away. I begin to wonder if we might not be quite mad to dash away, when all seems so rosy in our little garden.
An earlier post here includes a piece by Alan Bennett who depicted Primrose Hill. He does not have the primrose all to himself though. Devon is awash with primroses at present, but these belong to Lord Courtenay whose ancestry includes pirates of the pillaging kind (privateers). I am afraid my ancestry includes links to a lesser variety of high seas bravado, smugglers of the south west approaches; whereas the Courtenays had their coffers royally rewarded, my ancestors' allegiance lay towards the church which bled the common man. The Tapper name figures on a brass band around a pillar of Dawlish Parish Church and in the lead of its tower roof.
Now where was I ? ... Oh yes; rambling on about primroses!
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