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.