As threatened, today was the day for exploring Bergerac.
For the record, it was quicker and easier to get to the Carrefour in Bergerac that it was to get to the one we went to on Day Three. Not that we bothered to enter, but we passed it, twice.
Dave, being Dave, had printed off a list of walks in the local area before we left home. One of these walks was around Bergerac. So we used the trusty SatNavs (they should always be used in pairs) and they plonked us right near the old town.
Time to crack open the pain au chocolat from the bakery van.
We put Hannah in charge of navigating because she's good at it and Ethan wasn't interested. And Ethan's lack of interest spilled out over everything for the rest of the morning.
He was bored. Bergerac was boring. The wine museum was boring. The market was boring. The churches were boring. I was boring.
When it was time to stop and eat our lunch it was a blessed relief from the constant boredom spout that was my son.
I know you're thinking that there's some bad parenting going on here. There must be a way to engage a small child and make a leisurely amble around an historic town interesting. I tried, I really did. When we got to the market we talked about the big fish on display and whether this was the biggest fish he'd ever seen. Along the river bank we looked for boats and fish and rats (yes, there was a rat - what could be more exciting than a rat? Was it a water rat or just a dirty rat?). We looked for woodworm in the beams on the old buildings and talked about how how some of the new buildings were being built in the style of the old buildings. We talked about cars and statues, dog poo and ice cream. It was all boring.
So after lunch, eaten in sight of a crêperie and ice cream parlour (not sure what the french term for one of those is), Ethan wanted an ice cream, or crêpe. I wasn't sure that such an objectionable child was eligible for such a treat. It was then that Ethan promised that if he were allowed such a treat he wouldn't be bored for the whole of the holiday.
We succumbed to ice cream because French ice cream is really quite nice. But Ethan's was a hollow promise that lasted but a few hours.
Back at the ranch his mood improved while he was splashing around in the pool, but then he got cold (we didn't understand this as we were baking in the 30˚C plus heat). And whilst he was recovering under a towel by the poolside, he declared he was "More bored than a bored person in Boredland."
I am clearly a failed mother, and boring to boot.