Today I encounter the Atlantic - or as my host corrects me, the English Channel. Instead of feeling triumphant at this milestone, I think of how my nemesis, Mr North Westerly, will use this lack of shelter to throw the kitchen sink at me, water and all. And so it proves to be a long day battling the wind and rain, a last gasp effort to foil my plans to reach the coast in time for my ferry to Ireland. Luckily I have planned for such a devilish manoeuvre and I've plenty of time to reach Cherbourg. To quote the Bard, "come wind and rack, at least I'll die with devil on my back".
In less dramatic terms, I'm late for dinner at Greta's in Morsalines. Greta and Jean Baptiste have a magnificent wooden house near to the beach in Morsalines. They have a two-year old boy, Phileus.
The coziness of the homestead warms me from within and the log fire warm me from without.
Jean Baptiste is a magician and mentalist and has some of the mannerisms of Derren Brown, as he performs his magic tricks and, even more impressively, his "mind reading" performance.
Next day, the family shows me the beautiful coastline in lower Normandy and we even go out on the family boat for a jaunt around the islands.
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