No market for me, no ribbon either.

Update on the Breton buried at Whitchurch, Caerdydd/Cardiff; the name on the gravestone is Francois Pierre Goarin 1924 - 1990, from Gouesnach.
  Back to my book and a certain affinity: "As I went to sleep, the earth under me was pulsing with a little more life and mystery; divinity seemed to be coming back to where it belonged, away from the temples and the heavens of the future, back to earth, to the inside of man, while, like a more pungent, a more live and lovely incense, the scent of the crushed thyme round the tent filled the night air as with a presence" and "It is almost as you might say a spiritual experience that is very mysterious and impressive, the feeling that it is not right to get too far away from nature" and "one of the singing rivers of Wales" and "but I had been sleeping by the River Usk.... , whose music still has a lesson or two for the compositions of city concert halls".
   Yesterday I got up very early, ate my breakfast cereal and waited for the time to leave for Brest and the market at Saint Louis, I have an instinct that tells me when I forget something, so ten minutes into my journey I turned back to pick up my mobile phone, I can't use it at the moment until my payment catches up with the phone company, but it's handy for my daughter to find me, I drove off and left the bread I needed to go with the butter I took with me just in case, although fresh bread is to be found everywhere in Brest. Unfortunately, huge as the market turned out to be they couldn't find a space of 1m 20cms x 60cms for my little table so I went on a walk about, my camera leaving my pocket every few moments to capture pieces of the town. After 1h30 pm I went to the theatre for the pipe & drum band competition, actually, as I was corrected in the theatre when I mentioned my friends from the Bagad of New York, there are pipe & drum bands and there are bagadou, the difference being that a bagad has bombardes, which are Breton shrill flutes. On my arrival I asked for my solidarity ribbon but they'd all been given out to the musicians whether asked for or not, bit of a let down as it was one of my three main reasons for going. I met a few friends (and family), made new ones, took photos, couldn't get into the auditorium so I borrowed the cameraman's work from the television. Because it finished earlier than I'd anticipated leaving me a few extra hours before driving home I went to say hello to Chris, an Irishman running the Tara Inn at the port.

Not History

I'm astonished that the BBC commentator said 'English' longbows?!! The Welsh archers won the legendary battles, and anyway it was the Angevin Plantagenets against the Valois family, Paris against Aquitaine, both claiming the throne of France to succeed the Capetians; it was a dynastic war of succession; only after the Angevins lost the war and most of their territory on the continent did the family moved to England, which they had ruled 'till then as absentee landlords, French was the common language of the main protagonists on both sides.  It wasn't England against France as is conveniently taught; on the Valois side there were Castille; Scotland; Genoa; Majorca; Bohemia; Crown of Aragon; Brittany (Blois): On the Plantagenet side: Burgundy; Aquitaine; Brittany (Montfort); Portugal; Navarre; Flanders; Hainault; Luxembourg; Holy Roman Empire. The Welsh after losing their independence split between the two, the South Walian archers chose to fight for the Plantagenets, whilst the fight for freedom continued on the side of the Valois family. England v France is a rugby match, not history.

Doors opening and closing

Got a list of markets off the internet, decided to try Landerneau, with perhaps a follow up the next morning, arose early, had my cereal and off I went hoping to jump start my tottering entrepreneurial career, I arrived in the town, the streets leading to the market were blocked off, so I drove around looking for an access, found one, set up one small table with three cases of photos, to which the 'placeur' (person responsable for the markets) turned up, told me he'd spied me driving around and asked me to leave, he told me I should have found him first to ask permission, I didn't argue, one door closes another opens. I drove away a bit dispirited towards Plouedern, took 3 photos of the church, then I thought of visiting the Basilica in Ar Folgoad/Le Folgoët, which is quite famous, so I drove on feeling slightly better. I took a few more photos on the way and on getting there took a few more; I tried to open the front door but it was locked, then drove off, before turning around and trying a side door which was open; I entered, took photos of the stained glass windows depicting Celtic Saints that have replaced the older supposedly more artistic windows lost in a fire; I made an effort to relax and enter into the feel of the place, hoping to sense the spirituality; I took more photos and found a little corner, took out a book I just happened to have in my pocket written by an English puppeteer walking around the hills of ration book Cymru/Wales just after the war in 1947; It didn't work, I didn't finish a chapter, much to my disappointment instead of discovering a spirituality I found it instead uncomfortable & cold; Dewi and his followers were ascetics who found their spirituality in austerity to whom comfort was not a priority,  but I found this huge edifice slightly overbearing and stifling, I was glad to get out into the fresh air, even though it was wet, cold and the wind was blowing, it was natural, much more in tune with my book. I'd almost forgotten about the morning's events and carried on driving around the region of the 'Abers', stopping every now and then to take my photos, which you now have in front of you until the battery ran out. I bought a ham sandwich and filled up with petrol in Cleder, had a walk on the beach near Santec as the sun was going down, then drove home past Saint Pol and Morlaix with my headlights on.

Post (Mail), Post fire

This morning I got my first post-card of the year, thanks Maurice (it's from New Zealand, hope he didn't get caught up in events in Christchurch), and another contribution from Cymru/Wales, Diolch yn fawr Jamie a diolch eto i bawb sy wedi cyfrannu. I once kept the fires burning in Merthyr Town Hall, you are keeping the fire burning in me, one that generates positive energy, nothing at all like the Devil's slave who started the whole episode, unbeknown to whom not everything was completely razed, seeds that were planted earlier are being cultivated even as I write, left to grow freely they have given me much pleasure over the past year.