I could (should) be posting my submission for the 52 Project but seriously, if I sit on the photos from our holiday in France any longer it’ll be hardly worth posting them at all. I took so many photographs, far too many. It’s been like wading through treacle to slim them down and then try and pick just a few to share. I’m afraid I’ve failed miserably on the picking just a few part.
We (that’s us four and all four grandparents) spent a wonderful two weeks at the very end of the summer in the Perigord, South West France. We rented a gorgeous house, complete with a beautiful beamed loft where the children had their room. The house sat in a tiny hamlet of perhaps four or five houses, in the middle of nowhere in this idyllic part of the Dordogne Valley. Time appeared to stand still for just a while.
The boys benefitted so much from having all their favourite grown-ups around them. Boy1 in particular seemed to grow into himself while we were there. Staying up just a little too late, buying his first pocket knife, being captivated by the sightseeing we did. Without the pressure of having to return to school hanging over him he seemed to just be comfortable.
The trip wasn’t completely without a hitch. The journey by car was long; really, is it totally necessary to drive right through the centre of Paris to travel South?! The Sat Nav seemed to think so. It made for some pretty hairy driving but we arrived and returned unscathed. And then Boy2 came down with a nasty case of tonsillitis towards the end of our second week. Thankfully, a wonderful chap call Dr Rivière saw us immediately and a course of Amoxicillin worked its wonders. He made quite an impression on our little man in his time of need; he’s been overheard playing Doctors since and he’s always been Dr Rivière. The French health service certainly gets our vote of confidence.
It feels like an age away now but it was one of those holidays that left a lasting impression. I hope we’ll go back to Bruno’s house again sometime.