was suspiciously non-committal as to the likelihood of rain. But he WAS a bit harassed, doing breakfast (excellent selection of jams) by himself and seeing his two young sons off to school.The walking today was essentially "flat with undulations" - a great deal of it alongside roads in paths established by the crops. We were in serious farming country, mainly arable, mainly cereals. The folk we had seen being shepherded via a minibus before Moissac seemed to arrive from nowhere to do this stretch on foot - and some of them carrying scallop shells! We arrived in St Antoine in precisely the two hours the guide book specified. It is a quiet place with a large traditional gite d'etape, six beds to a room. The local chateau was a hospital in the middle ages set up to treat people suffering from "St Antony's Fire" otherwise known as ergotism, i.e.gangrene caused by eating cereals contaminated with fungus.
The Deprtement of Gers adopts colourful enamelled baslises
and these led within an hour to Flamerans and then another hour to Miradoux where sadly the promised cafe was shut. So we sat on a bench as the Saturday Farmers Market packed up for a brief rest and drink of water, refilled our bottles and pressed on for lunch at Caslet Arrony. Some walkers would be staying in the pilgrims' "Refuge" there but all we wanted was the promised picnic site for a late lunch. Unfortunately the village was 'en fete' around the be-ribboned war memorial and their communal meal was making use of the picnic tables. So as we were not invited we walked through and lunched in a field by the road. It was fine - including nice tomatoes and oranges. You do have to try hard in France to keep up your quota of fresh fruit 'n veg.Then on by paths between fields and roads. 10k to go. In an hour it started to rain as we followed wooded paths - it would all be SO much more enjoyable in the sun. We got ever wetter as we were only wearing capes - because of the warmth! - so trousers got soggy. Sue in particular seemed to find the final miles tough but battled on bravely and in fact we all suffered one way or another. Clare appreciated the distraction of my 15 minute cheering recitation of the 'Cremation of Sam McGee' as we marched through mud. But Lectoure was slow to approach. Ben had been instructed to text Cup Final goals (Man U) but not even any diversion there!
We finally "swam" uphill to Lectoure past extensive cemeteries. The Hotel de Bastard well signposted and reached down narrow picturesque back streets - a solid stone block with fortified gates. The young lady at reception (it is a respectable sort of place) was less than pleased to watch us drip on the mat but she resolutely overcame her dismay to go through a lengthy procedure of putting pairs of wet boots and capes into and out of numbered black bags to go in the dry/boiler room. We were then instructed in the correct use of the 'electric windows' before being finally dispatched to the second floor. Our bags had arrived "at 10am" but is was a long haul to take them up the fine old oak staircase. Our room was small but adequate, in the eaves, with a skylight - electric- from which we could just see part of the church spire! But a bath!! While we washed and changed and nursed our feet we saw on a badly tuned TV Man U lose by a late goal in extra time. Ben, as a neutral, subsequently reported a poor match. Nevertheless we gathered in the bar, which was cosy, as Clare had promised some months ago to buy Champagne whether Man U won or not. So that was nice. Then in for supper.
The hotel was full with many serious French weekenders. A striking aristocratic gentle man with pink trousers, a very large nose and a very young wife insisted on holding the door open for us all but his refined equilibrium was obviously disturbed by the state into which we had allowed our feet to deteriorate. Three dining rooms with high ceilings and big windows. A full team of staff included an efficient maitre d', a harassed jobbing waiter with all the skills but little charm, a work-experience wine-pourer in a dinner jacket, and a perky young lady with a short skirt and lots of energy. Our meal included an amuse bouche (liver on a stick plus something else deep fried), a slice of chunky terrine in aspic with a herby vinegar sauce, a nice piece of cod with black pepper crust on a disc of risotto. Some had cheese and the desert was an elaborate fruity souffle with Armagnac and a red fruit sauce. The rest of the room were taking their food, and manners, seriously and towards 9.30, last orders, the bus brigade trouped in all clean and dry to celebrate the end of their holiday.
