Pootling westwards

Sadly it’s time to think about heading home (back to work on Monday boooo) so today we headed west,  vaguely back in the airport direction. I politely asked the Garmin which way it would like to go and it suggested going up into the hills,  so I made it redundant and resorted to the old fashioned navigational methods.

My route was 63 miles and ‘only’ 2473 feet of climbing - Cambridgeshire is going to feel very flat after this trip!

The poor tree trunks are very achy (let’s not mention my bum!) so a pain au raisin was definitely needed today.

Bob is filthy and in need of some TLC and my cycling shoes are so wrecked they may stay in a French bin - the cleats are so bad that I failed to unclip in a village today and now have a rookie error style graze on my knee.

We are now in Lourmarin in the Grand Luberon region.

Continuing the Peter Mayle theme, this is where he died in January this year, apparently he had no plans to return to Britain as he got older “Why be vaguely happy in England when you can be very happy in Provence?” 

In one of his last interviews, Mayles was asked about dying,  “I loathe funerals, and would prefer not to have one. Instead, I’d like to put aside enough in my will for a lavish lunch for a few friends. I’ve often thought the best time to die would be after a long lunch - just before the bill arrives.” Food for thought!

Meanwhile back in the rather funky hotel...

We are sitting on our tiny patio making the most of afternoon sunshine instead of the usual storms, listening to a rather drunk group of French people by the pool singing along to dodgy French pop music - utterly tuneless and very entertaining.

Evening walkies into the village was rather picturesque, almost designed for tourist photos.