Sweet Molly Malone

Sweet Molly Malone ( nee Hogan) is a cute little cocker poodle who lives in Dinan, an ancient, medieval village in the heart of Brittany. Unlike her namesake, she doesn't spend her days selling cockles and mussels on the streets of Dublin, but lives a rather fortunate, indulgent life, charming all who meet her with her sweet, friendly, nature.
Each day, Molly watches all the passing traffic from her doorway on the Rue de la Petit Fort, a steep, cobblestoned road which winds it way downhill from the old walled town to the port below on the river Rance.
Himself and I were lucky enough to meet Molly 6 months ago when she was just a wee puppy. Now here we were back again at the invitation of Molly's owners, Ross and Robyn.
Six months ago the street was a bustling, crowded, thoroughfare, filled with tourists soaking up and partaking in the culinary delights and the wonderful sights of this historical town. Today, it's quieter but no less atmospheric being shrouded in the depths of winter.
For Molly, however, this means she has to contend with a lot less attention than she received at the height of summer, but she takes it all in her petit stride making the most of the compliments and pats she gets from the infrequent passer- bys.
She was given a little extra excitement the other day after an abundant downfall of snow in the town. A new experience for Molly and also a pretty rare occurrence for the children of the town, made so much better as they were given the day off school.
Molly was excited to see them as they turned the winding hillside road into a tobogganing slalem ride. She was a little unsure of the snow herself as she had never experienced snow, digging in it is not quite the same as dirt, crunchier and colder. But after a little exploring and a few laps of the garden she decided it was much more pleasant lying on a soft lap inside the warm house.

We left Molly for a few days to explore the chateaux of the Loire Valley. The region is dotted with them as each little village has its own chateau. The Loire valley is also well known for its caves. Some of the caves contain prehistoric paintings, others have been used for wine storage and growing mushrooms and these days they are mostly used for accommodation. Himself had booked us in for 2 nights into a cave in a picturesque village called, Amboise. He assured me that it was 4 star with all the comforts one would expect of a hotel of that calibre.

We had a very relaxing trip down from Dinan to Amboise. Himself now an experienced driver on French roads managed to negotiate the roundabouts with confidence. I 'd lost count of the numerous roundabouts that we had driven through before we managed to find our way out of Dinan - you guessed it the satnav had decided to take a day off!
Of course I also wasn't too perturbed at running across 6 lanes of motorway traffic to a tollbooth to pay a very irate French Madame, just because the lane we were in didn't accept our card. Though the motorists in the cars behind us did appear to be slightly agitated.
So by the time we arrived at the cave hotel I was so relaxed, I was nearly comatose.

We were shown to our room by a very chic mademoiselle in stilettos, who pointed out that the cave had its own heated swimming pool and as we were the only guests that night, we could have it all to ourselves . The very thing, I thought for me to unwind even further.

Later that night I made my way down to pool. Chris had decided a swim wasn't for him! So it was just me and I closed the big heavy timber doors behind me ensuring my privacy. Necessary because I had no swimmers.
The cave was dimly lit with hidden lights reflecting up on the wall above me. The rock was white and the ceiling shimmered in the low light like marble. I spied a foam noodle lying in the corner and lowered myself into the pool using it as a flotation device. The water was warm and as I laid back and floated in the water, the heat swirled up over me. I thought that I hadn't felt this warm since last August.
Looking up to the luminous ceiling I noticed some black shadows where the light didn't penetrate. I wondered fleetingly whether anything else was in the cave, bats, spiders or perhaps even spirits from bygone days. Convincing myself I was here alone I settled back on the noodle, letting the cares of the day float away. On one whole wall of the cave was a screen and projected on to it was a movie of underwater life, whales, turtles and fish floated by me in this underwater cavern. Lulled by the heat and captivated by the panorama before me, I didn't notice the hotel owner coming in with a complimentary glass of french champagne. I don't know who had the bigger shock him or me!

We returned a few days later to the very comfortable gite in Dinon. Australia Day was spent enjoying a seafood lunch at Cancours on the coast and playing 500 into the wee small hours of the morning while consuming numerous amounts of burgundy reds.
I highly recommend this fabulous gite , Robyn and Ross are such gracious and generous hosts and the gite was such a beautiful place to stay. Robyn's email is hogan.robyn@orange.fr for anyone who wants to experience a unique slice of Brittany and I've included both some winter and autumn photos of the area.

On the road again...

These past two weeks we've been travelling in the north east of England, York, Whitby, Melton Mowbray, Bury St Edmunds and Cambridge. Apart from spending time sightseeing I've been chasing up on my family history.
York Cathedral impressive as it is, is even more so, because in 1317, a relative of mine, one William of Melton, (Melton being my maiden name) was made the archbishop of York. I instantly felt a connection to the place after seeing his name up on the wall.
York itself is a beautiful town full of lots of old Tudor buildings that lean at crazy angles to each other. There are town walls, great little cobbled lanes and a cafe called Betty's, which is an institution renowned for morning and afternoon teas.
The week before we arrived the Ouse River had broken its banks and the footpaths alongside the river were covered in mud. However that hadn't deterred the crowds and the place was bustling. I thought England was doing it tough, that's not the impression you get when you see the massive number of shoppers crowding the narrow streets. Remembering my 'no shopping' promise a few weeks back I tried to restrict myself just to window shopping. It will remain a secret as to whether my promise with the almighty was kept.
We stayed in a very comfortable little flat just outside the town walls. Walking to town was easy and a great way to see the sights.
During the week we were lucky enough to get 3 days of brilliant blue skies and fine weather. Unbelievable! For weeks the sky had been either grey or white, so it was a rare treat and not to be wasted.
We drove up over the Yorkshire moors to Whitby. A seaside town, birthplace of Captain Cook, Steve Hennell and it also has an historic abbey. I loved Whitby, it was so picturesque and had an impressive cliff top walk which loomed above a massive drop to the rocks below.
Recently we had heard of a similar place in England where the cliffside had fallen away leaving homes dangling perilously close to the edge. I was tempted to walk along with one hand on the fence, only problem it was electrified!
On the way home we saw a fabulous sunset over the moors, a fitting end to a perfect day.
It was with regret that we left our comfortable little flat and turned the Fiesta south towards Melton Mowbray. No relatives to be found here only pork pies, pork pies in all shapes, sizes and combinations. I tried the one with apple and Chris went for the traditional, all I can say is that they're trouble, if you're watching your waistline.
Bury St Edmunds was the next stop on the family history trail. My great grandad had left here as a boy in 1852. The family were headed for Adelaide but missed the boat and ended up in Brisbane. They were assured that Adelaide was only a day's walk from Brisbane, especially if you started early and had a hearty breakfast! Suffice to say they never did make it to Adelaide.
I'm not sure of the reasons why the family decided to emigrate, though one could have a guess that times weren't too good back then. Today Bury St Edmund is a very nice, gracious town, boasting of one of the smallest pubs in England, the Nutshell and the beautiful Abbey Gardens.
We had a drink in the Nutshell and it was standing room only with 10 people, I'm told the record was 124 plus a Jack Russell. It's very quaint inside with loads of memorabilia on the walls and money plastered over the ceiling as well as a dead cat and a rat hanging down. There are times when poor eyesight is a real advantage.
The abbey gardens contain the ruins of a 10 century Benedictine monastery, which at one time pilgrims visited to pray at the shrine of St Edmund, who was buried there. I'll leave you to guess why the town was so named. It's also famous because it was where all the influential lords of England agreed to get the King to sign the Magna Carta.
Our next stop was Cambridge and as you can see from the photos it was snowing. Kings college and the chapel looked spectacular. The snowflakes were big and starting to fall thick and fast, we decided it was time to move on further south.
Himself managed driving through the falling snow along the M1 as if it was second nature. The weather had turned icy, with forecasts of worse to come. Minus temperatures overnight and day temperatures only reaching 0 degrees.
Up to now the weather had been incredibly mild and mistakenly I had thought being in the UK during winter was a piece of cake. So much so, that I'd even given some of Himself's thermals to the caretaker at the York flat, to free up bag space, for extra purchases, well he hadn't been wearing them!
Right now I'm hoping and praying for milder weather to return, before Himself notices his thermals are no longer in the bag and starts complaining of it being chilly down south.

A Magical Mystery Tour

It was our last day to spend with Alison and Regan before they returned to Australia. Liverpool is the home of so many famous singers, so the choices had to include 'The Beatles ' exhibition and a ferry ride across the Mersey River, in memory of that song by Jerry and the Pacemakers.

The Beatles exhibition was fantastic and we could have spent a lot longer than the two and a half hours that we did. It was informative and interactive as you can see by the photos. Chris got up on stage in the Cavern club and did a rendition of 'She loves me, yeah, yeah, yeah, and I joined John and Yoko for their love in!!!

Then we were off for the ferry ride across the Mersey. Each time the ferry leaves the dock it plays 'that song'. The sun was shining as we left the dock and I managed to get some great photos of the city. We were very stoic and stayed outside for as long as we could before heading inside for some warmth and shelter from the wind.

Liverpool is different from what I expected, they have revamped the waterfront and there are some magnificent parks and beautiful old buildings which are being restored. There are still large tracts of industrial land but its tempered with the new restorations, which give the city a softer edge.

After the morning's activity we went to the old Pump House for lunch where we shared a platter of mini burgers and chips. It was decided that Alison and I would go for an afternoon walk through a park nearby our hotel while Himself and Regan would pick up the hire car needed for the drive to Gatwick tomorrow.

Our walk in Sefton Park was relaxing, the park was like a mini Central Park, NY, waterfalls, streams, grottoes and bridges interspersed with beautiful vistas of green spaces alternating with groves of trees.

Later, we were having a leisurely afternoon cuppa when a distraught Regan burst in on us saying that he had lost Himself. The plan had been for Himself to wait in the Fiesta outside the hire car building and to follow Regan home, as Regan had been given the satnav

However when Regan had driven out of the building, the Fiesta was nowhere to be seen. Thoughts of Himself lost in Liverpool with no phone, no map, ipad or satnav sent shivers down my spine. And being Himself, he had no idea of the name of the hotel or the street where we were staying.
There was nothing we could do but sit and wait and hope he would return.

Not long later that evening we discovered Himself in the hotel bar partaking of a calming ale - where else would you expect to find him?

He explained that while waiting a vauxhall pulled up behind him and flashed his lights. He knew that Regan was to pick up a vauxhall. The car then pulled out in front, and it being dark and himself seeing a male driver, he instinctively followed.
He began to sense a problem when the car in front descended into the Mersey Tunnel, but as all drivers know there's no turning back once entering a tunnel.
Thankfully.....
Himself has been blessed with a wonderful sense of direction and luckily was able to find his way back.

He now has the satisfaction of knowing that he has been on his own MAGICAL MYSTERY TOUR and survived to tell the tale!