YOUR correspondent is just back from a week of pottering around in the Dordogne. “Bergerac?” asked the sports editor. “No, they just had dubbed re-runs of Dempsey & Makepeace,” came the response of utter nincompoopery.
Cycling through the quiet countryside of the Nouvelle-Aquitaine, with a baguette under my oxter and the wind in my, er, Croque Monsieur, I felt as alluringly French as a gently smouldering Gauloises cigarette abandoned next to a rumpled bed. The crushing reality, of course, was that I looked more like Officer Crabtree from ’Allo ’Allo as I shoogled, plootered and bumbled about with comical incompetence. Oh well, it’s nice to get away now and again.
