Saturday 24 June

Woke rather early, so took washing to the bloc and had a shower – my clothes have smelled of all the different places they have been washed – home in England before I set out, my daughter Rachel in Chile, my sister-in-law Heidi in New Jersey, and now boat washing powder. A journey by scent, with my perfume clinging to a pullover.
Jacques and I decide to find a café – and after several wrong turns, we end up at one down a back street. It has been raining, no, p*ssing, all night, and continues today, so we are streaming water as we push through the door. M’sieur the waiter lets us find our own seats – we are the only customers – and help ourselves to menus, then enquires into our requirements. Oh lor’ – when in France – so it’s Croque Monsieur (“That’s a ham sandwich, yes?” asks J, grinning) and crepe au sucre for me (“Ensemble?” murmurs the straightfaced joker of a waiter) and J has 2 crepes. The waiter almost gets enthusiastic when I ask about the flag on the wall – drapeau de Bretagne – Brittany – is he far from home on this wet, wet islet?
J and I have been talking about hiring a taxi for a tour of the island. I have seen a map of a tour in the windscreen of a coach.
“What exactly do you get on a tour?” asks Jacques. We have walked round and round the Centre-Ville, so he thinks we might have done this bit already, and doesn’t want to fork out for a repeat visit.
“Mm, well …” I run the coach map through my head. “There’s the Pointe de Savoyarde. You know, the waypoint we used to get here.” I try to sound encouraging.
“You mean they’ll show us a view of the water?” he smirks. I’m crying over my Croque Monsieur. I try to compose myself. I look at the photos of Brittany life on the walls. It doesn’t work.
“Erm, there’s also a visit to the Cemetery,” I offer, but it’s too much for both of us.