Exhausting the joys of Reims it was time to move on. Dijon was the day’s destination and the embarrassment of seeing all along the route cars with much more ambitious packing strategies had us questioning our planning decisions, particularly with regards to my two plastic bag system. We could actually see out of the rear window, one of the few vehicles travelling south, wimp packers us.
At this point I need to introduce a more serious note. All of you who have lived in close proximity to another know how difficult that can be. Relationships become fraught and tension builds. So it is in our confined travelling space. At times you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. What is the cause of this friction? Well there’s not just Mick and Nick in the car there is a third person in this relationship who is destroying the air of serenity that usually pervades. I speak of the woman who hides behind the name of Tom Tom. In the privacy of our travelling capsule she is becoming used to a wide range of dog’s abuse and name calling much of which borders on the obscene as well as being distinctly sexist. In future she shall be termed the B**** (for the crossworders – title of a track on Rolling Stones album ‘Sticky Fingers’). Her assistance doesn’t help at all when facing French city traffic.
However I digress, the journey was smooth and the dinner was good accompanied by a decent bottle of Morgon. Speaking of which, it is good to have a taste of proper Beaujolais after the besmirching of its name by the over hyped craze of a few years ago for Beaujolais Nouveau. Ink in a bottle and not worth the name of wine.
As we were in Dijon Nick decided to order mustard with everything, imagine his face as his first experience rendered him speechless after declaring, “It’s Colman’s”. Coffee and brandies relieved us of the disappointment.
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