The Idle Skier is on tour this weekend, in Le Touquet. It’s work, honest and a hundred or so colleagues from the day job are here as well. Well sort of work, I suppose. Never in the course of human history has so much liver damage been inflicted by so few people for so little purpose.
Winston Churchill, whose words I have just plagiarised shamelessly, ate here often, at Le Perard, where the bateau de fruits de mer is the stuff of legend. Order the Macon-Lugny to go with it, should you have the opportunity, but possibly not in the industrial quantities required by the Idle Skier’s co-workers.
Le Touquet is the beach of Paris and although it is a grey Saturday with a stiff breeze, the Parisians are here in strength. The shops and restaurants are full and the town smells of grilling fish and hot sugar.
The riot police are out in strength as well, with helmets, gas masks and shields. I was going to take a photograph for the blog, but an unsmiling lady carrying a sub-machine gun suggested it wasn’t a good idea. So we have a photograph of the small scale Eiffel Tower near the beach instead.