Or - what I did on my holidays, part-the-second....
To read part-the-first before you get into this set of photos (lots of 'em) and drivel, scroll down two postings or click here.
Ah yes, it turned out to be a good job that we'd taken a trip to the shops on the first day. The second was definitely a going-nowhere day. I drew back the curtain to look at the patio...
...hmm, no patio. Lots of wet white stuff instead. Best put another log on the fire.
Not being ones to let a day go by without at least looking at the outside world, Mrs The Millbrooker and I decided to have a good hearty breakfast (thank you to the Scots who I believe own the rights to the word "porridge") before venturing out to take a look at the familiar countryside in its new and unfamiliar guise.
I was then sent out hunting and gathering to the local boulangerie for a baguette so we'd have some sort of carbohydrate to accompany dinner later on. I returned with appropriate bread-type object and was snapped in full winter gear immediately after as I took a few photos which might one day prove useful as Christmas cards.
And then it was time to head outwards, and to probably be some time as well - as Captain Oates might have put it, although undoubtedly with greater cause.
There now follows a short interlude featuring three photos of places that might be well known to some (Shazzerooneypoos, Dong and The High Lord of Southwick for example) with snow on them. After this, we'll get back to some vague sort of narrative.
This is the Chapelle Ste Anne (fifteenth century, partially restored) directly outside our pad.
Here's everyone's favourite spot in all of Brittany - Bar l'Alsa-Breizh, conveniently also only a stone's throw from our front door.
And this is Trebrivan's principal church viewed from just behind the Venelle de Bourg.
And so - back to the promised approximation of a narrative.
Mrs The MIllbrooker and I took a circular route that we've done before (as have Shazzerooneypoos, Dong and the High Lord during this year's June holiday). Luckily there was no one silly with us who might write naughty words in the snow and chuckle to himself maniacally without his wife knowing what he was doing. Probably.
We walked out of Trebrivan itself and looked back towards the village over the snow-covered fields.
After a mile and a half or so on the lane leading towards the Carhaix-Guingamp railway, just past some ruined farm buildings...
...is the turn off onto an unmarked farm track. The turn off was there, alright. The track, however, had largely disappeared. And it was snowing again. Hard.
You'll be pleased to note that we, unlike the courageous Captain Oates of Scott's ill-fated expedition, returned home still breathing and none the worse-for-wear after our intrepid wanderings. In fact, it seemed like a dashed fine idea to dine on some good old fashioned winter-warming fare; a nice beef stew with loads of root vegetables. Yum.