wet feet and no megalith

Back. Late – ferry strikes at Roscoff announced on Thursday just as we were about to embark, having queued for some time. Lots of disgruntled English people shouting at Brittany Ferries on their mobiles. Hot hot hot – so instead of stressing about Things To Do we thought we'd view it as an unexpected extension of our holiday. We went off to find a beach on the Finisterre coast, plus a B&B and a meal. Found the latter two then it went cold and grey and rainy. So on Friday morning we walked around a wonderful sandy peninsula barefoot anyway looking for a megalithic passage grave ('allée couverte') which is now partly immersed in the tide – despite a very low spring tide we didn't find it, but enjoyed the shore and the seabirds and the wind. We queued again at said ferry terminal 24 hours later (no one was able to give us advance info). 3.30 embarkation time came and went. 4.30 departure time came and went. Lots of disgruntled English people, etc... Then suddenly at 5.30 the gates opened and we sailed out at 6.30 last night.

Bit of a hitch this end – TM had lost the house key; our neighbours, who have the spare, are away. We had to break in to our own house; it is very dark here in the early hours to see to find a long ladder and extend it to an upstairs window. Got to bed at 2 am.

And now, 350 emails later, a mass of post and laundry, and three days of intensive workshops out on the moor and coasts of Devon and Cornwall (beginning tomorrow morning) to prepare I'm all done in.

The holiday was great, by the way. No doubt I'll bore you silly with ecstasies about the Lot later next week.

And due to a cancellation there is one place left on my Islands of the Heart writing retreat next year on Iona; and Sharon's and my course in Scotland, Singing over the Bones, is full but we have a waiting list...