FRANCE: A CERTAIN SOMETHING This above is what we were after. Take a left out of the Gorge du Tarn, up a suicidally narrow and steep road, keep on going hairpin after hairpin, end up at the souvenir shop in the company of two huge pay-for binoculars. If asked by a moron you'd say you were there for the view. But in your literary heart of hearts you're there for the name of the place from which you are able to take in the view:
LE POINT SUBLIME
Resist that and you deserve to be interred in an unmarked grave.
The rain was lashing down. During lunch, after it was all over, VR oberved quite mildly - no whinge-bag she - that it had been a dull old trip in the back of the car. Without the aid of windscreen wipers she had seen very little. It was still raining when OS and I got out at our destination; she wore my fake Barbour suit jacket, I wore my quickly sodden - but fashionable - tee-shirty sort of garment. OS took the picture and here it is: