The morning was a bit breezy and we took advantage of the Westerly wind to cycle to Dover. Or so we thought….the path along the back of the beach ended in a pile of concrete chunks about a mile before Dover…probably blown up to protect Dover from an influx of geeky motorhomers. So we headed back and feasted on a mixed salad; beans, cheese on toast, elderly prawns and hummus.
The younger members of the party dozed in the early afternoon and then we walked to Folkestone along the cliffs, via a golf course. The dogs must be getting fitter; they got the wind in their hair (what's left of it after Nia clipped them) and buzzed around the golf course like unguided missiles, and almost upended a couple of Folkestoneites, who luckily had a sense of humour. At Folkestone we had a drink in a bar overlooking the harbour and the four legged ones lay on the pavement, looking sweet, and were much admired by the passing throng. After a walk back along the cliff path and woods we dined on coq au vin, courtesy of the Marks and Spencer gone off shop, supplemented with a few tattoos. Tatties. This auto spelling corrector is a bit overenthusiastic.
France is calling maintenant. Nous départons demain matin.
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