Heading for the Breton Shore

It's Saturday. It's the first real opportunity I've had to sit and contemplate releasing some more nonsense into the ether. 

It's been a busy few days since Mrs the Millbrooker, Jah Cousteau and I sailed back over the turbulent waters of La Manche aboard the horrid plastic tub the Armorique and arrived safely back in our wee corner of the world.

And so, I guess it's time to share a few holiday memories with those of you who can stay awake through such drivellings.

I travelled outward all on my ownsome to our hidey-hole in Brittany, and that was quite an adventure, but I made it via the ferry, a bus from Roscoff to Morlaix, a TGV train from Morlaix to Guingamp and finally a bus replacement service for what should have been a train from Guingamp to Carnoet-Locarn. From whence 'tis but a spit to Trebrivan.

Mrs The Millbrooker met me there and whisked me the few kilometres up the road to meet up with Grandma Dong the Legend, Shazzerooneypoos and Jah Cousteau who had all been there for a week doing decorating things.

Here's the merry decorating party pictured long before my arrival enjoying an evening's drinking after a days hard slog.

And here's Grandma Dong the Legend making fine use of his hose, spurting manfully all over the facade of Le Bout de Sac.

I arrived at lunch time, and the decorating party was about to be broken up as Dong and Shazzerooneypoos were due to head homeward. So it seemed only right to speed towards Mael-Carhaix for a slap up luncheon at the little restaurant there which serves fabulously large meals at stupidly low prices.

All too soon, the little Lush Lewis and Dong had to be chauffeured to Roscoff for their homeward trip and so we said "cheerio" and "bon voyage" to our generous paint-splattered friends who had given of their time freely to help us with making our holiday home a bit nicer to be in.

And then the holiday bit began. But I don't want to spoil you good people with too much drivelling all at once, so I'll leave that for another day.