The temporary post that graced this spot (formerly entitled cider to sablet) has now ceased to exist so if you did not suck it up while it was the hot gossip of the airways dear reader, you missed it. It's no good moaning about it, I gave fair warning.
As predicted in that posting, Mrs Melling and Mr Smith did proceed (to France, yeah even unto Sablet-in-the-Vaucluse) not withstanding the madness of going when the whole of Europe was expecting to get toasted both sides (it did). It was (as I suggested) at a time when many a road user was ruefully reflecting that if they could afford to fill their fuel tank at all (be it petrol distillate or gasole), they could well have achieved a doubling of the value of their vehicle on the road, given that its fuel indicator was showing F.
I did reproduce our anticipated way forward to Sablet. And our way back for that matter, although we changed that completely and returned another way entirely. I won't detain you with the detail… but we came home on schedule and my senior sibling did risk all to travel out with us, and he returned by poor man's TGV at the beginning of July. Successfully and without mishap.
The title of the former short-lived post? That was an allusion to the export of five (5) litres of Sam's Dry Cider to Sablet in a ubiquitous Bag-in-Box, (they call 'em bladders down at Sam's in Winkleigh). It got drunk. Very refreshing too: holding its own against the local rouge at the very least…
Right then. That has cleared the ground for my Revue (or review if you prefer) of this last visit to Sablet in the summer season: the last, because dear reader, I declare here and now that I will not entertain another visit to the S of F if heat of that extreme is forecast expected or becoming the norm. It was hot. I mean really hot. Night and day. We fried.
Enough already.
