Qu’est-ce qu’il y a dans un nom?
Strolling along the perfect sweep of the bay in Erquy, on the Emerald Coast in Brittany, I’m a woman on a mission. The little house we rent every year in October half term has no Wi-Fi, and while in past times this has been no problem, this autumn I need access to the internet. My earnest prayer (“Dear God, please send me some more writing work”) has been answered in spades by the good Lord and I have four articles spread over two clients which need to be amended and filed this week. It’s no hardship to amble down through the town to the port every morning to a little café looking out over the harbour. They offer free Wi-Fi, so over a hot chocolate, I open my emails, amend my articles and write new ones. I haven’t heard a single English voice for a week (family excepted) and it’s bliss. I don’t speak French very well and my writer’s itch is being scratched by the many unfamiliar words and phrases flying round my head like a flock of unexpected butterflies. Walking back, I a...