Dog, I and lad road trip

He's not a lad anymore (25) but our road trips started when he was - around eight or so.

We had a free day so perused the map for a short while pinpointing a town we knew nothing about, not too far away but with some potential interesting stops along the way - probably not the usual things folk stop for: castles, famous monuments, prettiest villages of France, etc; rather, abandoned quarries, desolate unused railway stations, abandoned railway lines, and lakes, in case it was still warm enough to swim.

The town chosen was Bressuire, between Poitiers and Nantes. We stopped to give the dog an airing at an actually very pretty and interesting village called Curçay sur Dive atop a hill with panoramic views of the Anjou and Torraine landscape. The most interesting part was a small field at the top of the village where many species of vine had been planted in rows with accompanying notices describing the types of vine, age, original region, wine produced etc.

 

Dog aired, we moved on to Bressuire via Thouars - a town I think I have blogged about before which is a strange melange of faded grandeur and desolate concrete infested buildings/vast car parks. I don't think we gave it and its rolling countryside enough chance and will return to re-explore.

First impressions of the Bressuire were ones of the same faded grandeur and eclectic mix of post war/70s/80s buildings but with a more thriving atmosphere than Thouars - the main street being full of fairly up market chain shops. Soon, architectural detail, faded or otherwise, disappeared in significance as lunchtime arrived. Having decided against a picnic, we'd assumed we'd find a nice old fashioned bistro with cheap menu - sadly not. There seemed to either be plasticky, over-lit bars or a choice of two very expensive restaurants towards which well-dressed people were heading. One was fully booked anyway and the other, 28 euros for two courses - prices have certainly gone up . . . that used to be a relatively expensive evening eatery experience. I stopped trying to find an excuse for why we should go ahead and treat ourselves as the mental sum became around 70 euros for lunch - and the dog wasn't even included in  said treat.

The bakeries were shut. I had a banana and some cashew nuts in the car. Then we noticed a kebab place. The right choice, 8 euros a head with some spare meat for the dog, and the most smily restaurant owner I can recall.

Dog preferring wheely suitcase path

Fuelled, we decided on a walk to the factory area near the station, pulled mainly by the site of a bizarre blobular - new word - metal water tower. The station has had much revamping with new areas of planting, benches, sculptures etc, slightly spoiled by the glowering form of a vast abattoir at the top of the hill. We passed by feeling guilty about the kebab and then followed a path back down the hill and into a lovely and contrasting area of meadowland with winding brook and young willow trees. The town and region have spent much on this area, re-digging the river into its wandering shape and thus recreating previous wetlands and helping biodiversity, and probably feeling guilty in turn about kebabs and all the other stuff that starts its product life from the scary abattoir. 

The path continued into the grounds of the impressive and in parts crumbling castle/chateau that looks over the town. More money spent on gardens, metal structures and potagers of unusual vegetables and fruits. The grounds were lovely, enhanced further by a troop of handsome black goats (gated away from the edible stuff). We passed through the entrance gates and back into the melange of over-the-years architecture and searched out a cup of tea in the previous fully-reserved brasserie overlooking the very magnificent town church.

it was time to return to household chores and angry neglected chickens. I had saved them a pitta bread though, so all would be forgiven.

1984

                                  

I was walking past our new local kebab shop earlier on and happened to look in the window. I suppose I expected to see, adorning the wall, a large, badly executed painting of some ancient monument with the azure med in the distance, nope - a giant black T.V screen. There is no bar or café in our town now without one of these. It's impossible to sit having a hot choc with a friend without gawping, mouth open at somebody going on about yogurt or the weather.
What is it about screens. My ex's parents always had their huge T.V on in the front room, so conversation was always reduced to: so . . . gosh Bruce Forsyth is looking so old these days. It's impossible not to look, to follow whatever garbage is being broadcast.
Remember this guy? from the good ol' 80s. I once went to the most stupid restaurant ever: the video café in central London and that's where I first saw him. There were screens everywhere, his face staring at you while you tried to remember how to read so you could order something to eat. I can't recall what I ate or who I was with, just Max Headroom. He was addictive in a slightly sinister way; I think I must have watched all the shows.
I like this comment from Mr Baggins on youtube.

Max Headroom is deeply disturbing. I always felt like he's a terrifying vision of what people thought the future would be like - totally synthetic and devoid of emotion. And there was always something about his character - there's a hint of insanity just below the surface of an otherwise shallow person. Can't tell if he was supposed to be a lovable eccentric and they just really missed the mark or if it was intentional, but either way it freaks me out.

About the same time I read 1984 for the millionth time. It seemed that the screens were indeed taking over; Big Brother telling you what you should be doing - advertising generally I suppose, then and now: Hey you, stop eating that, eat this, don't look like a dork - wedges are out, don't you know your hair should be a glossy auburn mane - because you're worth it, this toothpaste will make you a sex object, who needs sex when you've got this bar of chocolate . . .

How many screens of various kinds are in your house/car/bag? Scary!
'The Art of Noise' (video featuring Max Headroom that I had posted, and has now disappeared) were one of the things I did like about the 80's. Must go and dig out their albums while Mark isn't here . . .