Tours, in more ways than one!

OK so I started with a cough, but don’t be alarmed it’s not Covid, it’s that French blue cheese that started the involuntary reflex action. But once I came to terms with its effects I found it very tasty, washed down with a suitable Sauvignon Blanc as recommended by the lovely lady in the cheese shop.

The accommodation I’m staying in is different, No.13 Rue Rouget de Lisle, in a small village east of Tours, convenient really as Reg is off to Tours tomorrow as he has an appointment at the motorcycle hospital, but more of that later.

When I rolled up at my stopover for the night in the narrow cobbled back street I thought I must have this wrong! Double checked the address on my phone and rang the landlady, no it’s right. To say landlady is maybe giving the wrong impression, more of a land girl, but then when you’re my age most others are either boys or girls (without delving into such terms as gender neutral etc), just call me old school.

So back to my residence, think ye olde worlde, typically French, 39 steps plus. It’s a difficult place to describe really but I’ll give it a go. I have to duck to go through the pale blue No.13 door which leads into a stone walled alleyway, which after about 20 metres brings me to a small open courtyard. Sylvie tells me to mind my head and feet as we make a right turn up wooden steps then right again to a wooden door which in turn leads to stone steps up a narrow passageway to the first floor where there are two doors, obviously neither of which are mine. We the turn right again to climb a wooden spiral staircase to my apartment. Yes it’s an apartment, some may say a penthouse, I would say attic room converted. However, if I had a cat (of nine tails) I’d be able to swing it without touching any of the walls, not that size is important, but I do have a lounge, kitchen, bedroom, dining area and en suite.

The most significant of these is the kitchen, it allows me to skip yet another restaurant meal and stand with my nose pressed against the window of the cheese shop. Once the two permitted shoppers had departed I entered, and at that moment it struck me that I’d this truly was a genuine French cheese shop! OMG, the smell was distinctly as you can probably imagine, like a dead rat or your mate’s mouldy socks! But French cheese shops are not for the faint hearted, I laugh in the face of such things, so not wishing to show any English weakness I ordered three variations of their finest, a blue, a Brie and a F Knows What! Some crackers and a bottle of white, the clearer the drink the clearer you think as the saying goes.

Back at my pied-à-terre I rattled off a few video calls and messages, washed down with my recent purchases.

Now enough about me and more about the steed who has brought me 5,000 miles along the roads of England, Spain, Portugal and France. For some bizarre reason I thought that I needed to use the brakes, but when I put my foot on Reg’s rear brake pedal it went a long way down and had no effect whatsoever. Fortunately the front brake is independent and does most of the work anyway so no worries, but the upshot is he is now off the road, as obviously I am. We are getting collected at 8.45am tomorrow to be taken to Tours where hopefully he’l be fixed by lunchtime. Watch this space………..