On the way I had a pâté and gherkin baguette which was hands down the nicest thing I have ever eaten at a motorway petrol station, and later a meringue from a village baker's which I thought would be nice and light but turned out to be coated in and filled with chocolate cream, oh what a pity.
Around teatime the speedometer on my borrowed scooter packed up, but by now I'm so used to my vehicles falling to bits the instant they cross the Channel that I didn't take much notice.
The hotel directed us to a nearby restaurant which would be our haunt every evening except for Sunday, when it was closed. I'm pretty sure I dined on shark. Why do I know the French for 'shark'? Because it's in Tintin.