You can forget Croque Monsieur, it’s all about being Monsieur Croque!
I’m not really one for making a fashion statement, but after recently acquiring a very comfortable pair of up-market Croque branded flip flops, I came over all iconic and jumped into my first real pair. With alien look-alike feet I ventured out from Beastie to take in a camp site stroll and get the feel of them . . . .
. . . . only to be discovered later relaxing in a typical French outdoor location
A two night stop on this pretty family owned site, gives us the chance to take the canal side ride into Peronne, where we intend to visit the war museum. A summery cuckoo call welcomes us onto his patch, as a grey heron, neck tucked tidily away, approaches. Centre line, like Wallis’s Lancaster, he swoops down in search of his target, comes up at the last second, then about turns before making another unsuccessful sortie.
Madame Shazby, bouncing hell for leather as the soaring temperature was still not reaching the heady heights she needed before wrestling herself free of her fleece.
Every town and village here shares a similar tale of destruction and death and Peronne is no exception. You can but gasp at the scale of sacrifice and suffering. The importance of culture beats deeply within each French person’s soul and we find that it’s cultivated at an early age as we see many children and students out for the day visiting these museums.