Saturday 4 October 2003--I dragged myself out of bed at 8:00 and dressed without showering in order to get to Mont
Saint-Michel as early as possible. Found my car where I'd left it. Under a tree. A tree that had been full of roosting starlings
at twilight's last gleaming. My car was covered with shit. The droppings were so thoroughly and evenly placed, it looks like an art
installation. Jackson Pollock's White Period.
...After my visit, back in the car park, my shit-laden vehicle was drawing as much attention as Mont Saint-Michel itself. If
I could have charged for photos, I'd have been rolling in it. Money, that is.
* * * * * * * * *
Saturday 4 October 2014--Miserable rainy morning...back to bed after breakfast. By midday, it's merely drizzly, so I put on
my waterproofs and head up the beach toward Bamburgh. Stop just short of the castle, about three miles from Seahouses, at which
point the sky begins to clear from the west. By the time I get back, it's a lovely sunny afternoon.
I have an early dinner at one of the chippies--there are at least three in Seahouses--rather than try to scrounge a table
somewhere on a Saturday evening. Have a shower and a rest back at the B&B, and then enjoy a few pints at the Olde Ship.
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