After crabbing, the father became frantic about some work project and Gill took charge of the children. Lunch, back to the beach, tennis, military (a marching follow-the-leader from what I could grasp), back to the beach, dinner, and at nine at night, when the children were still screaming, Gill had had it. "When the boy and girl fight, I try to listen carefully to both. I take myself back to when I was a little girl fighting with my brothers and remember how hurt I was at times so I try to be fair, sympathize but these two exaggerate, embellish, twist all out of proportion..."
The next morning the mother arrived "funny and wonderful": she has just started a new and better job. [It's happy and sad but true that children bear the brunt of their parent's moods.] Friday was a national holiday, Bastille day, and Gill only realized half way through the day that this meant she was off-duty: "So difficult when you don't know the rules. But it was a good day. I felt I was on vacation, like one of the kids. The parents drove us to a large sandy beach, took us out for lunch, bought us ice-cream (I had my first tast of caramel) and then onto MacDonald's for dinner [ah yes, the culture that is supposed to have a refined palate has succumbed to American fast food.]
I have asked Gill to write a blog and put it in the mail - so difficult to fill this young woman's shoes - no, she has her own distinct voice - so I don't try to write in a similar style. One reader asked for photographs and alas without a computer and internet connection there isn't a way for Gill to transport her photos to me. I am sure there will be a deluge when she arrives down south at the end of the month. But here's one of Gill and me taken in 1991 at Newcastle that Gill says is similar to Ambleteuse.