Day 1: Driving
Day 2: Driving. Ferry
Day 3: Ferry. Driving
Day 4: Driving
Day 5: Nowt
Day 6: Nowt
Day 7: Nowt
Day 8: Nowt. Some restaurant where we waited ages and ages for the bill. Lots of French people complaing, but I can only say “Hello” and “My name is Julian”
Day 9: Some chateau
Day 10: Nowt
Day 11: Nowt
Day 12: Nowt
Day 13: Driving
Day 14: Driving. Ferry. Driving.
Excel Pope 
I’ve got a son called Julian, although I doubt that this would be of much interest to anyone other than me and your mother, and any the few other mothers with sons of this name I’ve only ever met one other in my quite long life.
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My first attempts at speaking French were at a French Club in primary school. For reasons now unclear they made us draw names from a hat and I got “Julian”, and had to introduce myself as such. Why they thought this would be easier than us using our real names I have no idea.
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Oh well, never mind.
Personally, I have never felt the need or necessity to say, “Je m’appelle” in all of the twenty three years I have lived here, although everyone around here knows that my first name is Maureen. A name I never use because I have been called Mitch, along with the rest of my family since the day I first went to school. Thank God.
I went to a Fete de Voisin some weeks ago and everyone, some of whom I never see from one year to the next, all said, “Bonjour, Maureen.” This was really okay because the French have an entirely different accent for a name I actually loath.
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