Ile De Re: Ice Cream Wars (Monday 19/06/2017).

The air of disappointment was palpable.

Having cycled a less than respectable post croissant distance to La Couarde Sur Mare, we discovered that Ile De Re’s premier ice cream purveyor, La Martiniere had shamelessly neglected to open an outlet there.

Perhaps then, it was no surprise when a huddle of well heeled retirees began to form an orderly queue beside the children’s three wheeler, in every expectation, one presumes, that Alex and Sophie were the new enfants terrible of the island's mobile artisanal ice-cream community.

Sadly not; naughty...but not quite terrible.

After further coffee and croissant at the critically acclaimed/cryptically named 'Hotel' next to the Hotel De Ville, the air of disappointment became slightly less palpable and rather more menacing as Alex and Sophie deliberately threw their weight to the low side inducing me to balloon around the corner, and skittle a group of hapless tourists like osteoporotic tenpins.

Butter wouldn't melt......

With indignant, but thankfully receding shouts, still ringing in my ears, we returned across the oyster beds to Loix, nursing a Croc shaped hole in Alex’s footwear ensemble. Carrefor unashamedly retailed a particularly natty pair of the Paw Patrol variety for an eminently reasonable €7, for which the swanky boutiques of Couarde demanded something approaching the purchase price of a fashionable Parisien pied-a-terre.

Lunch and dinner consisted of a healthy concoction of vegetables (cheese) and fruit (wine), this being the inexplicably limited range of goods that Tom was able to find on sale at the local supermarché. Perhaps our victualing may have been marginally inhibited by the time that I spent lying in the freezer cabinet.

Scientists discovered temperatures exceeding the heart of our closest star, as we left the supermarket and climbed onto the black leather seats of Tom’s black Audi TT which sadly, had not joined me in the freezer cabinet. To this day, in true Indiana Jones style, the palm of Tom’s left hand bears the imprint of a superheated Audi gear knob.

This not Tom. It might be his hand though...

A swift pause for refreshment at La Presqu 'ile taught us several valuable life lessons while the children rollicked about with a range of nationalities in the play ground.

Firstly, don't take advice from Orangina.

A meal without wine is called breakfast.

Secondly:

Get a hat, get ahead. So four hats must be awesome...

Arriving home, the paddling pool was urgently inflated and filled and as we silently regretted buying the children high-pressure water squinters, Tom produced lamb and apple tart from somewhere about his person and provided for us royally.

Necessity is the mother of invention.

The night jars called as the neighbours diplomatically pulled their shutters closed. Taking the hint, we retired to bed, exhausted by the exertions of the day.