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@Jingle_Jangle
I have been having an extended weekend break in northern France, staying in the village of Boubers sur Canche in the Pas de Calais.
The countryside 'round here is beautiful, and if the weather plays ball, it's perfect cycling country - gently rolling chalk hills intersected by bubbling streams and meandering rivers, with picture postcard villages nestling in the folds of the hills. I guess it's what Kent must have been like before the twats moved in.
On Sunday I went for a 30k loop around the local villages. I took the road west along the ridge at the top of the village, and dropped down into the neighbouring hamlet of Monchel. From there I headed South, across the river and up the other side of the valley towards Vaquerie le Boucq.
This year the local farmers seem to be growing a lot of rapeseed (I've never noticed it so much before). The yellow flowers glimmer in the sunshine and make the surrounding countryside look like a green and golden patchwork quilt. Here's the view from the windmills just outside Vaquerie:
From here I carried on along the ridge, passing through the villages of Fortel and Bonnieres, before dropping back down into the valley at the market town of Frevent.
From Frevent, I could have just followed the valley floor west to Boubers, but instead, I headed north, up the other side of the valley towards Nunq-Hautecote.
Once you get to Nunq, it's a simple roll down through the woods back to Boubers. But I took a little detour, one I take often.
The Rue de la Flaque is little more than a dirt road that connects the villages of Nunq and Ligny. Down that road, about quarter of a mile from Nunq - literally in the middle of nowhere is the British Cemetery of Ligny sur Canche, and it is a beautiful, and moving place to visit.
This part of France was right in the middle of the Western Front in the First World War, and saw significant action in the Second, so there are many many graves around here. It's impossible to express in writing how emotive a place like the cemetery at Ligny is, you really do have to experience it for yourself.
One thing that I think is noteworthy is how immaculate these places are kept. The stonework gleams in the sunshine, the grass is perfectly trimmed. There is no detritus or graffiti. I can't help feeling it wouldn't be the same if these graves were in England.
Every time I am frustrated by the arrogance of some French waiter, or the intransigence of their bureaucracy, I remember the fact that the French, for all their faults respect our war dead in many ways more than we do. Here is what is inscribed on every Commonwealth War Grave I have visited:
After spending some time trying, and failing, to rationalise what went on here, by the side of a remote dirt road linking two one-horse villages, I cycled back up to Nunq and dropped down through the woods to Boubers, where Mrs Jangle was roasting chicken for dinner. Sunday afternoon in the Pas de Calais was a lovely time for a ride.