If spring is the season of not yet opened buds and just greening trees, autumn is its own new beginning: school and cooler winds bring people back from their sea-side jaunts to the city, to local pubs and restaurants, to their boxes filled with corduroys and sweatshirts and tweeds.
But we saw most towns from the sea, sometimes stopping for a quick jaunt, and perhaps a gelato or plate of clams, before heading off again.
As Tarquin takes us with him on his jaunt through France, the sea air tickling his false moustache, his reminiscences of a life spent cultivating the most refined tastes begin to hint at a more sinister truth.
Still, the settings are gorgeous, the sex and violence PG-13 (after seasons of spilled entrails, I cannot be the only person longing for the Errol Flynn school of bloodless sword fighting), and there is something undeniably bracing about a jaunt on the high seas.
Mosse: My two-month jaunt in the Democratic Republic of Congo earlier this year was made in vain, evaporating into a sea of double-exposed 8x10 inch landscapes.
The flight to Barra is a real bucket-list jaunt, the plane landing on the beach runway, wheels whipping up salty sand and sea spray as you touch down.
But his jaunt is different.
This is a promotional jaunt.
The fishing jaunt the same.
What exactly is a phony jaunt?
