Firstly, an apology: the river I’m beside is the Cher, which joins the Loire just downstream of Tours. It’s another broad channel, so an easy mistake. At Montsoreau, from the castle you can see the confluence of the Vienne with the Loire. The Cher, according to my extensive (read Google) research, is known for its famous chateaux: one of my plans was to continue upstream to see Chenonceaux and maybe Cheverny. But after Ussé, I concluded that one fairytale castle is much like another; much like my trip to the Riviera, the ostentatious displays of wealth, both now and historically, are a bit off-putting. In the words of that great philosopher Shania Twain, that don’t impress me much. So now I find myself in St Avertin, a suburb of Tours; which also has a fine Auchan supermarket with cheap diesel fuel, just over the river from a huge IKEA and a swimming centre, which today has had an event on. One of the commentators over the (loud) PA has a very annoying mannerism if interjecting each sentence with a very French “eurrr..”, slightly irritating.

Apart from the pun potential, I chose Tours because the pointer in the Map app raised the Museum of Compagnionage. There’s other things too, but this system of recognising apprenticeship in the medieval manner was explained to me by Christine and Mike’s neighbour, Papa Jean, on my first trip in Willma to France. It’s a rather strange hybrid of craft guild, B-Tec, City & Guilds, with influences from freemasonry, and typically French in outlook. The museum does a good job of explaining this, it’s real and mythical history – like the freemasons, they trace a lineage from Hiram and Solomon and the Temple of Jerusalem. Dan Brown would have had a field day with this stuff. Then there are exhibits of wonderful apprentice pieces from about 20-odd crafts, including carpentry; masonry; saddlery and leatherwork; shoemaking; armour; metalwork in iron, brass and copper; locksmithing; and more beside.

There was, of course, couple of school parties there, all set up with clipboards. It was very quiet after they had gone. This was much more my metier, as they say; it reminded me of my days in the Association of British Theatre Technicians (their annual show was this week, I gather from Facebook, so nor surprising they came to mind. Looking at the wrought ironwork and horseshoes recalled our Allan and his smithing days; and reading about le tour undertaken by apprentices, carrying a travelling staff to indicate their occupation, was uncannily like the system used by English brush makers, when they went on the tramp. Nice to see the modernisation too welcoming women apprentices to most crafts. The issue of the status of craft training is still unresolved back home, despite the earnings potential and shortage of craftsmen. And the issue of Learning-by-doing is one very near to my heart.

Time now for a wander, in true flâneur style. I found my way to the cathedral; a suitably majestic lump of Gothic grandeur. Like castles: see one, see them all. Time for lunch: my wanderings had taken me past Rue Colbert, a narrow street which seemed to be fast-food central. Lebanese, Indian, bakeries. I settled for La Souris Gourmande, a cheese-based or themed restaurant. Wallace and Gromit would have been at home. The dish of the day was confit duck. Notwithstanding the cognitive dissonance, I added to the small flock I’d eaten this holiday.

Then on to the Musée des Beaux Arts. As a septuagenarian I was entitled to cheap entry, so result. It’s sited in the old Archbishop’s Palace, thus combining archiepiscopal grandeur with palatial surroundings. The first two floors contained a lot of baroque painting of variable merit; the C19th stuff was mostly semi-clad or naked ladies. Quite an acreage of bosom on show, while pubic details were somewhat hazy, apart from a pubertal girl. A bit worrying really. God alone knows what the various archbishops would make of it all. The top floor housed some C20th abstract stuff which I quite enjoyed.

I ought to mention the adventure of getting here. I found the right bus stop, asking some young ladies whether I was right. The bus soon arrived – they indicated this was right. A bit of negotiation with e driver, as we set off: he presented me with a ticket and change from my proferred €10 note, fortunately just before we reached the traffic roundabout. We wound our way through the suburbs, past the impressive railway station, and stopped just past the Town Hall. My information was right, you can’t miss it, especially if you read the display boards in the bus. “PROCHAINE ARRÊT: PLACE JEAN JAURES”. After the Museum, I strolled back to the stop, detouring only for a sign to the Gallo-Roman walls. I followed an old wall for quite a way, which may or may not have been the Gallo -Roman remains in question. NO doubt, there’s a lot of history in Tours, much of it buried. I kept my eyes open for tokens of St Martin of Tours, their most famous saint. But poor chap, he didn’t get the dedication of the cathedral, or anywhere else I could find.

As I was fairly exhausted by my excursion, took the bus back. Back at the campsite, joined a couple from Sheffield over a beer – the bar was open. Next day was a maintenance day – Onlycamp, who seem to be a cut-price part of the Huttopia chain, had a much underused washer, and a pretty ineffective dryer. Once the rain shower had passed, I was able to string up a washing line which made use of some nice sunshine, and a decent breeze. I now have knickers and shirts to get me back home, barring unfortunate accidents. Once the washing was in, took down the awning, and did some journey planning. It’s five hours to the Channel coast via toll-free roads. I was tempted by the Le Mans motorway, and by the circuit; but given the 24 Heures du Mans is next week, thought I’d give it a wide berth.