A long drive back to St Brieauc where Simone and I parted with many protestations of friendship and promises to speak next week. It was late afternoon in St Brieauc, and I wandered idly around the narrow streets filled with strange shops, and went into the cathedral (cavernous, ancient and catholic - I bought a guidebook written in French and was surprised at how much I could understand).

Emerging again into the fading winter sunshine, I went into a patisserie and asked for coffee and cakes (a great many cakes), giving the order in French and feeling quite proud that it was completely comprehended. Feeling more confident about my ability to speak French, when I had paid the bill I asked for directions to the train station. The café owner rattled off a string of instructions, none of which I understood. Nodding sagely, I said “Merci” and strode off in the direction she was pointing. Needless to say, I got completely lost and had to ask and re-ask directions until eventually I arrived at le gare.

In the rush to get to St Brieauc in time, I had given little thought to how I would get away again. At the railway station I found out that there were no more direct trains to St Malo that day. After some discussion with the ticket clerk (her English as rudimentary as my French) I found out that in an hour or so there was a train going to Dinan, a town approximately fifteen miles from St Malo.

It was dark and very cold when the train stopped at Dinan. Emerging from the station I asked directions to the centre of the town, and eventually found a taxi to take me to St Malo. “Le soir est froid” I said to the driver, wanting to practice my French (he just nodded, as if placating someone eccentric). Several miles later I told him: “J'voudrais un bon restaurant dans St Malo” - this remark, which I was a little unsure about, must have been understood as the driver took me to Place Chateaubriand, a square by the Citadel where a great many restaurants were in evidence.

The restaurant of the Hotel Univers was a faded remnant of the belle époque (mirrored walls, huge palms, chandeliers in Venetian glass, many art nouveau details). The waiter spoke perfect English, and I ordered salmon, lamb, and a blackcurrant sorbet (all very good), with a glass of white Burgundy to drink. Coffee, and then out onto the front steps to wait for a taxi to take me to the ferry terminal.

Once on the ferry I found my cabin and, feeling exhausted, almost immediately went to bed. As I fell asleep I experienced once again the gentle swaying motion of the ferry.