As we navigated our way
past beachside cafes and through the vibrant inner city precincts, the
favourite haunts of this weekend flâneur were being rapidly eliminated as possible
places for our journey’s end.
My mental guessing game stopped abruptly while crossing the Westgate bridge. I was flummoxed. The mystery further
deepened when the car halted at the water's edge in Williamstown and Mr. R
produced my camera, which he had carefully hidden.
A short walk and le voilà - a vintage French car show staged in a shipping yard. .…. shear ecstasy for a husband who loves tinkering with motors and bliss for this lover of French vintage - well almost bliss. The crowds proved to be a definite challenge for taking 'that perfect shot'! Despite this test of my patience, I was one very happy francofilly.
