Last night we slept like two happy otters on the banks of the Creuse River. Total silence, just the water murmuring and the trees whispering gossip to the wind. We were still in the Brenne Regional Natural Park, which, according to Dad, is a paradise for those who get excited about seeing blurry birds with binoculars. I only saw flat land, flat grass and even flatter horizons. Beautiful, yes... but give me a hill to climb in style.

So, without a plan (as always with the Dad Edu™ Method), we set off south. We hit the A20 motorway for a while, which doesn't charge tolls or ask for proof of existence. And then Dad saw something on the map called *Lac de Saint-Pardoux*. It sounded like a medieval castle or an expensive dessert, but in the end it was a giant lake with forests, paths, boats and active humans. The day was strange: sunny but cool, as if the sky didn't want to commit.

We parked before a bar for tall cars and right next to a huge sign that prohibits us from sleeping, camping and bivouacking (that word sounds like a cat's name). But today we weren't planning on staying there, just eating.

When Dad finished his meal and I finished supervising the crumbs, a man appeared. He looked at our campervan as if it were a Ferrari made of wood. He only spoke French, but Dad let out his mythical "Andalusian-Parisian accent" and it worked. He asked him if he liked the campervan and there the door opened... but not the cell door, but the soul door.

The man said that he wanted to travel in a van with his wife, but they divorced three years ago. And then boom! We went into mobile therapy mode. That his mother treated him badly, that the inheritance ended in drama, that his ex-wife became "I want the maximum", that his sister doesn't speak to him either, that he has no friends... Come on, he told Dad the complete chapter of his unauthorised biography. Dad listened with the face of a Zen monk, and I nodded without understanding a single 1%. But the man seemed relieved, so mission accomplished.

After that we needed air. We took a great walk along the shore of the lake, with forests, paths and premium smells. I was happy, smelling trails, sticks and mysteries.

Almost at six we left. In the lake we didn't have a single bar of coverage, so as soon as the internet returned Dad started looking at "where we're going now". There were no plans for today, but there was an intention to get closer to the Limoges area, because there are tourist bells ringing around there.

It was time to look for a bed for the wheels and we found a small gravel car park at the end of a road with no traffic, in the middle of the forest. Very us. We settled in, another very discreet campervan joined us and that's it: new little house for one night. Tranquillity, trees and zero sentimental melodramas.

Let's see who Dad cures tomorrow: another wounded human or a squirrel with anxiety?