I'm beginning to sense that the usual weekend activity for a resident of Rennes is to leave Rennes.

On Saturday morning I went chasing books, and found some, at the Libraire Forum Privat, a big shop right in the middle of town. I bought 3, out of a selection of 5 or 6 that tempted me. My lack of social contact is rekindling my enjoyment of reading, and in turn increasing my ability to read for long periods, which had diminished of late from either lack of practice or perhaps the influence of too many Hollywood films. Anyway, I engaged it on Saturday afternoon, polishing off Vernon God Little, the Booker Prize winner by the guy born in Australia. Pretty good, too, much in the same vein as Chuck Palahniuk, but a little darker and closer to the bone perhaps.

I had planned to go to St Malo on Sunday morning, but when my alarm went, the devil on my left shoulder frowned and intimidated the angel on my right, and I slept too long to catch the 9am train. Still, I took my time, and was lucky to catch another at midday. St Malo is very pretty, by the sea and guarded by its city walls, and I spent a couple of hours just walking around the beach, the streets, and onto the little fortified island (well, almost and island) just beyond the walls. So warm and pleasant was it, in fact, that there were actually people windsurfing and even surfing in the small waves on the beach, both of which impressed me for French January.

Having forgotten to bring a book, I bought a copy of The Economist and caught up on world affairs on the train rides to and from, and in a park when my feet needed a brief rest. I didn't end up staying for very long, only until 5 or so, getting home in good time to pack up my room for the morning's translocation.