Keranot

I am still struggling with my Hudl camera - or rather cameras. (Do I really need two?) Caroline forgot her glasses, so had to bike back down "our" lane to fetch them, giving me this opportunity to have another try.

Incidentally, one of our perennial gripes about going on holiday was how feeble the bulbs were in other people's bedside lights. Now, thanks to tablets, it's no longer a problem.

Were there a best kept hamlet competition in Leon, Keranot would never make the short list. It consists of some half dozen houses at the end of a no through road, the steep route down to the mill now impassable except on foot. As the sign indicates, cars need to make a detour. We walked down the other evening, discovering amongst the trees a secret garden wedged between the Koad Toulzac'h river and the mill race. M. Louis Lapous still mills, but not wheat: only oats. His creme d'avoine seems widely known around Finistere. (No more room in our panniers though!)

Specs recovered, we cycled off to Saint-Thegonnec for lunch with friends who live on the coast. Upon entering the Restaurant du Commerce, its car park replete with white vans, I felt some 40 pairs of workmen's eyes trained on the four of us.