Great news, I found out that when snails want to be left alone, they turn their face inside out, antennae first. A skill we've been trying to learn: my friend advises starting by getting your nose into your mouth.
Speaking of enclosed face places, here is how you collected oysters in the olden days.
You do this in the étang, which is vast inland marshy basin filled with great things like flamingos, demonstrating our amazing photography skills.
So let's look at the cool skies, and imagine the under-oysters instead.
Speaking of photography, we learnt about cave drawings, well what little there is to know.
The washrooms in France are limited and terrifying. This one, covered in stank, doesn't turn on the light until you lock the door in the pitch-black room, then opens and showers itself automatically after 15 minutes.
Best to plan well in the Boulevard of Thirst.
We went to Rocamadour, and I tried to not make sound effects while Barry was driving as he "does not like that".
We compromised that I was allowed to squeal lightly and singsongishly.
We saw the making of Rocamadour cheese, which you throw whole into lunch salads. Have I mentioned my love of cheese?
And it was just past graping season. They throw the skins back into the fields (for fertilizer, I suppose). Seemed like a good fibre supplement to balance out all the cheese, but I resisted.
They also had Dough house, Cream and Tip of the day, so some great food options.
Finally, I can't resist taking pictures of old, short French doors, so we'll close on that:
