Carcassonne, France

This morning the sun filtered through the trees. Leaves of yellow and russet quivered in the breeze from the mistral which in turned chased clouds across the open fields. Shuttered windows of peeling paint, only adding to their charm, opened. Yesterday evening when we arrived at the canal, an elderly local gentleman asked John to sit beside him on the bench seat in front of Marge, exclaiming in French, that we understood, that the view was nice. We couldn't disagree. language is no barrier we've discovered on our travels. John and the man both sat and took in the scene unfolding before them. This was 'real' France. This was the France we loved. This was the France we had cycled many times. Words were not required to enjoy this moment.

A young magpie joined us for breakfast. We couldn't decide if it didn't really know how to fend for itself or not. Its behaviour was most peculiar. It was more interested in pecking at all things plastic, than the crumbs we offered it. It found Angela's notepad particularly tasty. Enough was enough! She's very protective of her words of wisdom and it was shooed away. Mid morning we left the magpie pecking away at the plastic roof vent on the motorhome next to us. Perhaps it was on a mission to make us aware of the harm single use plastics can make. We were only going a short distance today, around an hour to Carcassonne. The sun made a weak attempt to break through as we drove past fields of corduroy. The crops now harvested, the dry arid thirsty soil was churned by the farmers plough in readiness for the planting of a new crop. Although it was Sunday, and normally a good day to travel in France, we were tired and decided Carcassonne would be far enough today. We have stayed on the aire here before.

Two spaces away from Marge is an English VW transporter van in grey and orange. Alongside a toilet tent in grey and orange. The man who owns it is wearing a orange hoody and orange crocs, Come on. Now you're taking it all just a little too far.  A walk along the river and up to 'the citi' for lunch was all we had planned for today. Too many days now have been taken up with Marge's woes. Looking back yesterday evening at photographs from the first ten days of our holiday, we desperately wanted those times back again. Carefree and happy. No worries. The day has been cold. In contrast to yesterday, when it was a shorts and T-shirt afternoon, today was long trousers, jackets and scarves. At least it was dry, and we were able to enjoy our walk around the city.

The medieval city of  Carcassonne is a real tourist trap. We are in cassoulet country, and a lot of shops here were selling it.

 Buy two tins and get the earthen wear dish to cook it in free. When we buy cassoulet in the supermarket we don't skimp, always happy to pay for the more expensive tin with nicer ingredients. More importantly for a nicer Toulousain sausage to be in the tin. There was no guarantee that the tins being sold with the dish would be of that quality. We were in a tourist trap remember, the sausage was probably going to be one of those hot dog types made from some kind of slurry. Too late. Twenty-two euros paid, we'd been reeled in. We're sure the meat products will be of the highest quality! Perhaps we should have consulted trip advisor before purchasing? The earthen wear dish is nice though.

We took a quick walk out this evening to see the city lit up by floodlights.

Port du Segala, France

O.K. Marge, what are your plans for today? It would be quite considerate of you if you didn't play up, you're starting to put a real damper on our holiday. Last night it was cold. Even Angela was cold, which is unusual. We sympathised with the French couple who'd spent the night in a small tent who were now wrapped in all their warm clothes cooking breakfast on a nearby bench table. Poor sods. Too think we have also camped out in France at this time of the year, for fun. John cooked a mushroom omelette, but hey, what are the French preparing. Oh, a vegetable omelette. Who eats courgette for breakfast? We made a decision to carry on driving south. John was confidant all would be alright. Hear that Marge! We really wanted to return to the Med and see the pink flamingo's. We have twenty six days of our holiday left, and need to make everyday now count. Time to stand up to Marge, and tell her we wont tolerate anymore of her antics. We needed to choose our onward route very carefully. No more hills.

So we trundled slowly along quieter roads to the outskirts of Toulouse where we had planned to stop at yet another Norauto store to purchase coolant, hose clips and a 8 mm socket. Just in case. The weather is warmer again now. This afternoon a comfortable 22 c. A cloudless seamless blue sky lifted our spirits. If it wasn't for the deep red of the Virginia creepers and a pallet of yellows, browns and pale greens from the  autumn trees, you'd think it was still summer. The drive around the Toulouse ring road was a little stressful, and we were glad it was a Saturday. In the distance we could see the mountains of the Pyrenees, Blue and mysterious. Don't worry Marge we're not going over them. From now on, we'll be checking the contour lines on the map before we set off.

Tonight's stop is right beside the Canal du Midi. It is idyllic, but spoilt by boy racers driving a circuit in their 'fart' cars. It's Saturday night, and we always try to be away from large towns and cities to avoid just this. But it seems these days, there is no hiding place from these idiots. Behind Marge ruins the cycle path. We of course have cycled it in the past when we set off from St. Malo on the north coast to Narbonne. There are two French motorhomes here with us. Both have had their windscreens washed since arriving. Sorry Marge it wouldn't be good for your image not to be rough and dirty in appearance. This evening we prepared for the cold. Changing to our thicker feather duvet. Early evening the temperature was 18 c. We'll probably be 'roasting' tonight, as the Scots would say. 

Valence d'Agen, France

We wanted to leave not too late this morning. So a quick stop at Lidl and we were away. Toulouse here we come. Or perhaps not. You've guessed it, Marge just wouldn't stop heating up. So after a while, in the middle of the French countryside, goodness knows where we stopped her at the side of the road. John opened her bonnet and proceeded to remove the screw that held the cap to release air from one of her coolant hoses. Then events took a turn for the worse, he dropped the cap into the engine bay! With no cap, the coolant began to escape. At which point should we give in? Marge you're becoming just too much. We are starting to wonder if we're overthinking Marge's problem. The temperature gauge rarely moves from its correct position. It's the nano-com connected to the ecu that shows the temperature increasing. Only once did the needle on the gauge go into the red whilst in Scotland, and we slogged up some big ole hills whilst there. Should we abandon the nano-com and just drive by the gauge? Probably too late now. We'd always wonder what the reading was. If you're our age, or older, you'll remember the good old days when your dad changed the thermostat which was positioned on top of the radiator by removing two screws. Job done. Overheating problem solved. Problem with the fan belt. Easy. Whip off your tights wife, they always made a good substitute. Now it's all computers and sensors constantly complaining. As we sorted Marge out, the temperature rose outside. Nice. Well for us, probably not Marge. But being stuck out in the middle of nowhere was worrying. Would this moment be Marge's demise. No. John found the cap. And at that moment how grateful were we to the young man at Norauto for giving us a nearly full large container of coolant. Our planned trip to Toulouse aborted, we headed north to Valence d'Agen where there was a municipal campsite still open. Arriving just after one, the campsite reception closed until four, we accessed the site by foot, ate lunch at one of the picnic tables, washed some smalls and waited.

The site is very nice. It's like staying in a lovely park. Well Marge, you've excelled yourself today. We travelled about thirty miles. As soon as we could book in, we showered, washed yet more clothes and then walked up to the nearby town, which on the approach we realised we'd visited before last year whilst cycling.

Then a snacky meal to end the day whilst the sun went down, turning the sky pink, then mauve, then orange.

As we ate we could hear music nearby. 'I was lost in France, with my coolant seeping out'.

 Shut up Marge. Not funny. John, turn up the Gypsy Kings!