How we found a very pretty little town on the banks of a BIG river (but we don’t want to live there), and how the Flying Dutchman hit the rocks  …

Among the properties we’ve been sent details of on e-mail (of which we’ve been sent ….. belt up, pedants!) was a ‘very pretty little house’ with a large garden and a swimming pool, well within budget to buy that AND a small place in Cumbria, near a town called L’Isle Jourdain on the River Vienne. We e-mailed the agent but without waiting for a reply went to look at the area anyway. The town was very attractive, with wonderful views over the river (though we were there on one of the less sunny days):

          

                       

                      

The river’s been dammed just above the town – presumably to control the flow – and you can see the outflow from the holding lake on the last photo. One of the town’s attractions (for some) is that you can go bungee jumping from the viaduct!

We found the local office of the agent handling the ‘pretty little house’ but although it was within opening hours there was no-one there. So we went looking for the village in question. THEN we realised why such a des. res. was so ‘inexpensive’; that village was one dead grot-spot if ever we saw one! No shop of any kind (well, nor has Bolton now), no sign of a community centre, neglected farms, and scenery to die to get away from! Nothing like the nearby town at all …. never mind!

Back at ‘home’, our corner pitch is ‘protected’ by three sizeable rocks, intended to stop casual caravan drivers from cutting the corner and chewing up the grass.

Yesterday afternoon we were ‘at home’ doing homely stuff when a newly-arrived Dutch couple in a large 4X4 towing a big caravan which he couldn’t manoeuvre took the corner too close – and too fast – and crunched up the nearside wheels of the caravan on the rocks. Without a word to us, he got out, moved two of the rocks further onto our pitch and got back into the 4X4. I could understand the Dutch well enough to know that she said, when they were clear, ‘Aren’t you going to put them back?’, to which he replied something like ‘They can stay where they are’. I just walked round the corner and stared at him while he made several unsuccessful attempts to manoeuvre his van onto their own pitch. Then I put the rocks back myself.They only stayed one night.

  It rained heavily last night (Friday/Saturday 29th/30th) and there was a lot of water pooling on the tent roof and the tunnel – in fact it was difficult to open the van door this morning with the weight of water against it! But it doesn’t seem to have done any harm. We’ve stayed at base all day but the weather faired up and we walked down the hill to the river, which is the Clain (rhymes with ‘jardin’). We were able to walk a little way along the riverbank and take some photos:

         

        

          

Sorrow! The boating staff seem to have gone kitching! (‘Ghost Train’ fans only, that one!) The trees around here are full of mistletoe:

Meanwhile, little Moglet, or Wee St. Georges (the address here is St. Georges Les Baillargeaux – no advice on pronunciation!) has settled down on our pitch and thinks he lives here. It’s our fault, giving him titbits at first, then buying kitten food for him. He’s much more tame now and tolerates a bit of stroking – as well as chewing shoe laces and playing with loose toggles on the tent.