So, a damp and dreary start to the day meant we couldn’t really be arsed to get up. The plan had been to go east to the coast to avoid the wet, but we could only muster a lunchtime start, a drive through the hills to the town of Foix.
Foix, pronounced ‘fwa’, like the noise posh totty makes on encountering a fart. But that does not do the town justice. Not oozing with charm, but interesting enough with some old streets with half timbered houses, and a lovely castle on the hill. Not content with one tower, this one has three. I can only assume that the Count of Foix and his wife were big snorers, as two of the towers used to be joined above ground level, to make late night shenanigans somewhat easier on the legs, whilst keeping the sleepers a good distance apart. The third tower was therefore built for guests to snore and fart in privacy, hence the name of the town.
I should see if I can get a job as a tour guide, no?