The Harbour Muse

It's no wonder Honfleur was such an inspiration to so many artists - Courbet, Monet, Jongkind - nestled on the southern bank of The Estuary, it's as though little bits of Paris floated down the Seine and got caught up in the fishing nets. Bowls of steaming mussels with salty french fries, pastel sorbets melting in crisp waffle cones and the pink cheeks of sunkissed tourists paint a pretty picture of a town who's port is the centre of all activity. 

The clock on the Hôtel de Ville struck two, scattering the pigeons who were feeding on baguette crumbs. The fairy floss carousel glittered like a mirror ball, the many tiny mirrors reflecting the bright afternoon sun. Babies slept in prams or strapped safely to Daddy's chest.

Over on the eastern quai, the clink of healthy tip jars harmonised with wine glasses rattling on trays as the lunch service got into full swing. Menuboards were neatly hand-chalked and the tables laid with red gingham cloth and brown paper. The slow promenade of English tourists got in the way of the locals and their purposeful gait and one girl with a camera trotted along behind her friends, believing life to be pretty damn good.

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