Anne Cartwright

Love to Travel

This was earlier in the year and we were en route for the car ferry back to the UK. We drove up and had a stopover so as to be ready for the early morning boat. We stayed very close to the port of Caen. and as often seems to happen with us, our short stay was interesting.

Our hotel was a Belle Époque pair of villas Henri and Renée one time joined together and made into a hotel. We were greeted warmly by Madame who looked to be around the 80 mark. I am tempted to call her Fifi or Hortense,
such was her resemblance to a French maid from a theatrical comedy. All bleached blond candyfloss hair, tight short skirt and eye shadow. I expected her to whip out a feather duster and break into bawdy song.

Monsieur was something else. Clad in sky-blue denim rhinestone cowboy style, he gave the impression that he was aspiring to becoming an elderly Elvis impersonator. His fat little fingers were covered in paste rings and his hair was dyed jet black. One or two tattoos completed his look.

That said, the place proved to be an excellent choice; clean, quiet and comfortable.

We ate at a place just a couple of minutes away and it was not bad. Lovely decor, reasonable service, but I felt I could have done better myself and left with a slightly cheated feeling. I am not a fish eater so coastal places can prove disappointing for me when it comes to eating out.

Curiously though, we seemed to be surrounded by lots of female couples and had the feeling we may have stumbled upon something slightly alternative!

When we returned to the hotel, (which really must remain anonymous), it was to a light show in the form of rainbow colours projected onto the front of the building. All rather more Brighton than Normandy!

We shall go back, maybe, unless it was all just an illusion and has vanished into the mists of time.


On the water mother and daughter,
Drinking more than either oughter.
Son and dad, Jack the lad,
Eyeing up a girl that's bad.
Bad and bold, much too old,
Living life in bought and sold.

Snouts, pouts and dotty old trouts. 
Sound the alarm for the end of calm.
Tarts, too smarts and silly old farts,
Dressed in tat, simply fat.
Downright rude, shovelling food.
Much too thin. Mean within.

Striped and spotty, crumpled, grotty. Shouting louts. 
Hearty, hale. Beyond the pale.
Push and shove. Where's the love?
Bearded smooth, in the groove.
Toned and game. Old and lame.

Laughing, crying, feel like dying.
Piercing screams killing dreams.
Hate this crowd. All too loud.
No finesse, just distress.
It's only me. All at sea! 


© 2017 Anne Cartwright