A nostalgic overnight channel crossing in Cohort saw us reach the charming and time trapped fishing town of St Vaast in Normandy for the Saturday market. Amazing seafood followed, along with a sighing of an old fashioned performing clown who, from what I could see, had been adopted by a group of Italians and their holiday spending money. Mr Clown was last seen taking a lonely ride on the town merry-go-round to a chorus of rapturous cheers and camera phone flashes.
Like I remember from my childhood, these cut off northern french towns always seem to play host to a teenage scooter gang or two. I was once to be intimidated by their dockside skidding antics but this time I stood firm, until I saw the gang that had once tormented me in my younger days had grown up and now ride the mean Peugeot animal pictured above. You cannot escape the St Vaast wheelie collective.
