Le Touquet Weekend Away

9 years ago it was that a certain Ian Hawkes filled up a space on the Puritans Men's Hockey tour to Le Touquet and was lucky enough to meet a then Clare 'Scotty' Scott, playing for the Puritans women's hockey team.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And so it was that we went back to Le Touquet this weekend for a stay in Le Red Fox hotel, a sniff round the old haunts and a skinful of top notch seafood. Also, like many couples, to give our offspring some fresh air – Scrumpy came too on her pet passport.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amazing that every single shop, cafe, bar end restaurant allows dogs in there – even the white tablecloth top seafood noshery, Le Perard. There she was last night, tucked under our table, probably wishing we'd ordered steak rather than having small pieces of cracked crab claw raining down on her head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's a brilliant weekend destination for anyone who hasn't been. A 4 hour door to door trip from Wimbledon, via Le Shuttle. Lovely town, massive yellow sand beach (Scrumpy's favourite bit), endless restaurants, a fantastic Saturday food market and every bar has magically worked out how to knock out mojitos, caipirinias and a coupe de champagne for the suddenly-classy Mr H.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I particularly love the photo of us outside the Sports Cafe. This is the scene of our first ever snog in 2007. Amazing what a lot of vodka pamplemousse, dancing on the banquettes, shoves forward from the girls and a dash of tour bravery can result in, hey??

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So in many ways it was a good weekend but also one that makes me feel quite sad.

I just about managed to keep a lid on how different it was however, to be here in poor health. I couldn't walk further than 100 yards when previously the girls and I have bounced off these pavements and run wild on the beach without giving it a moment's thought. I had to drop H off to walk Scrumpy up the beach, while I waited in the car at the other end, absolutely unable to join them at the water's edge as the tide was way out. I looked in the mirror each time I got in the hotel lift and saw a bloated middle aged woman, bent forward, red-faced, in pain and in a world of trouble, where before there was a lively 30-something, who always had some drinking game or fines list up her carefree sleeve. I started and ended each day with a pile of tablets, having to borrow a kettle from the hotel to boil the nightly Revlimid and swallow it down with yoghurt from our not-so cool box. I cried with paIn each day as the drugs just don't stop it all hurting, at all.

It's bloody tough to try and have a weekend away that everyone will assume will be lovely, where actually it rams home so much if what we have both lost. So we tried hard to milk it for the good things and to block out the pile of crap that drags round like a massive ball and chain, wherever I now go. I slept most of the way home in the car and am now writing this, while Mum eats the dinner that I've just made for her, and then I will finally hit the sofa. And then the next round of pills will be due. Bastards.

So – if you can see the weekend through our eyes, you'll 'get' that we are trying very, very hard to make the best of things but I am struggling like fuck to get more than a 10% dose of normality. 

As we drove away I did wonder if I would ever see Le T again – and that's not being melodramatic or milking the situation for max effect – it's a genuine wonder, as we don't know yet if all this will go our way or not.

In the meantime, it's still a great little place for a weekend away. 

Have some bulots for me if you ever make it there x