I have a good friend who publishes a regular blog and sends me a copy each time he feels moved to compose. He is an incredibly witty, intelligent being whom I love enormously and yet I struggle to read his words. I like to choose the authors I read and this is the problem with writing blogs; unlike letters, they are impersonal and, typically, I wonder about the worth of creating my own offering. Hopefully, you are more generous than me and make the decision to read on; if not, I understand!
I have had an interesting few days. En route to Poitiers, I stopped at the village of Mirebeau. At the time of the Angevins, this small village possessed an important castle. When I arrived, the streets were empty. Disturbingly, there was music being piped through speakers attached to street corners. It appeared that it was mass medication time. Arriving in the centre, I realised the reason for the excitement; it was a market, mainly for second hand lawn mowers! There was no tourist office, so I inquired at the hotel de ville about the ancient chateau. No one spoke any English, but apparently the old mayor (who had recently lost the election!) might know. He was lightly to be found in the village bar! I located the man and he was delighted that someone should have some interest in the castle . I explained, as best I could that the castle was very important because it was the site of King John’s only credible military triumph. On hearing That Prince Arthur, his main challenger to the English throne, had captured his mother at Mirebeau, John forced marched his army over one hundred miles from Le Mans and took Arthur by surprise. Over 200 French knights were captured that day, an unparalleled success in the wars of this period. John was not nick-named ‘Softsword’ for no reason and he was able to take Arthur by surprise partly because of his previous military incompetence.
As I walked with the ex-mayor to the site of the chateau, we were joined by other members of the village in a scene reminiscent of Love Actually. I imagined rumours flying around about the true purpose of my visit. However, as they realised that I really was only interested in the small mound to the south of the town, they quickly dispersed.
From Poitiers, I drove to Chalus. I have struggled to judge distances in France. The country is huge. I arrived at Chalus after about a three and a half hour drive, only to find the castle closed! Howver, I was not to be deterred. Unlike King Richard (Coeur de Lion), who died here, I managed to break in, unscathed. My photographs were taken in driving rain, but are testament to my ambition.

Chalus Chabrol-where King Richard I was killed by a lucky crossbow shot


Au revoir