The Saint is supposed to leave the church at eight. Due to a breakfast of sangria followed by blue cheese and salmon vol au vents he and his followers finally get underway at nine thirty. A slightly dyspeptic cavalcade of horses, dogs, children, farmers and farmers wives weave slowly in the direction of the crossroads. Two guitarists, the accordion player / physiotherapist and a man with a trumpet lead the way. They play that old Saints Day classic ' Blue Spanish Eyes ' as they go.
Bob and Sophie sit spellbound . The horses a particular source of amazement. '' Blimey Sophie ! They're big dogs . Lucky for you I'm here ". Sophie looks less than convinced. On the village green Wally's giant lunchtime paella is beginning to bubble.
It's late by the time we make it to the bakers. No croissants left this morning. We emerge with a strawberry tart. At the cafe under the arcades the waitress saves the day with a bowl of fresh water and a quarter croissant. Two small PON's are extremely reluctant to get back in the car.