I actually thought we were staying in Normandy. In fact it’s Brittany. At least I rather like to think it is, after all, Bretagne is the holiday haunt of people who know: Parisiennes. In truth it’s somewhere between the two.
Before this all sounds idillyically glamourous, please know that I am writing this while sitting at the kitchen table in wellies. It’s raining and cold. And has been for the last three days.
I adore the place we are staying in though.
A partially restored (and therefore, by definition, partially unrestored) chateau, it defines – and owns – the rather over used phrase ‘shabby chic’. It’s the perfect place for errant children to run wild as it has masses of indoor and outdoor space…with room enough for the odd extra family, or two, to pop over and stay.
We’re staying with friends in north London – an area of London I don’t know brilliantly but have loved getting familiar with. On our way home on the bank holiday weekend just gone, we stopped off in Little Venice, a picturesque part of town just north of Paddington and right on the water.
