Ha! Fooled you.
Yes, I'm afraid that this is "What I Did On My Holidays Part IV".
It'll be short one, honest.
'Twas our last full day and the idea was to have a slap up in Collorec where we've shared some memorable meals.
After a thirty minute drive, we arrived in Collorec to find the wonderful restaurant closed on a permanent basis. It's a business opportunity for anyone thinking of starting a new life as a lunchtime restaurateur in Brittany.
So we drove on and luncheoned in Huelgoat which was our intended post-prandial destination. We dined in La Chouette Bleue to be precise. For anyone unsure of the meaning of "Chouette Bleue" - check out the big blue thing behind Shazzerooneypoos' head, it should give a clue.
Suitably stuffed to the gills with enormous starters, roasted ham on the bone mains and mousse au chocolat puds (not to mention a dribble or two of wine), we sauntered off toward Huelgoat's main attraction - the tumbling boulder formations and enchanted forest only a few hundred metres from the town centre. Here's The High Lord of Southwick forming the vanguard through the boulder-strewn pathway.
The High Lord, being a Huelgoat virgin, was obliged to lead the way down into La Grotte du Diable (The Devil's Cave)...
...but the rest of us joined him soon enough.
After that, as is the tradition, it was also his duty to make at least a token effort to move La Roche Tremblante. The giant boulder is purported to rock if you can prod / push/ lean on the right spot. In the eight or so years that we've been going to Huelgoat, none of us has ever seen it so much as tremble; optimism reigns supreme, however, and everyone has to give it at least a try.
A gentle potter down the banks of the Silver River and thence back into the forest led us to La Mare aux Sangliers where the opportunities for white cane adventuring (or stupidity) are legion.
The mildly hazardous clambering did allow a shot of those less intrepid (for which read "infinitely more sensible") souls who remained on the bridge side of the pool.
Despite the serried ranks of cameras aimed to get a shot of me missing my footing and inflicting lots of wet and damage on myself during the death-defying leap of the return journey across the boulders, no one managed to catch the triumphant gazelle-like crossing of the void.
A slightly longer than anticipated pootle through the forest up to the Camp d'Artus (a fortified Gaulish settlement from the days of the Roman occupation) saw us lose Dong to a different (and quicker) route to the nearest bar. Dong's absence notwithstanding, we took a peek at the ancient encampment; part of the settlement's defences are formed from naturally occurring boulders. Shazzerooneypoos did some exploring...
Like every good day of holidaying, we ended up in a bar. In this instance, the one right next to La Roche Tremblante; one of Dong's favourite spots.