Boulogne's the Plaice

And more fish. Plus some seafood.

For the more astute among us, this probably would not have been too much of a surprise, as I was eating an eight-course meal called Saveurs de la Mer, or, as I was later to learn, Flavours of the Sea, in the restaurant of the Hotel Matelote, in the northern French port of Boulogne.

Unfortunately, I do not know whether the meal was good or not. It may have been fantastic, but all I knew was that by the end I didn't think I could ever look a fish finger in the eye again, let alone anything poisson-like.

On the ferry back to England, seeing how a large portion of the north Atlantic had been scoured clean in order to feed me, I did consider if the decent thing to do was to return some of the saveurs to la mer, but I choked back the urge.

It was not, to be sure, what the English might call a 'fish supper'.

As to why I was in Boulogne, it was quite simply an invitation from the local tourist office to me and some other journalists, to see what the town and its neighbour, Le Touquet, had to offer.

The words 'Le Touquet', of course, or to me at least, instantly conjured up visions of a more elegant age, a time when the beau monde, such as Noel Coward, would flock there, ever since it was built in 1876 by the owner of the Parisian newspaper Le Figaro as an instant upmarket tourist resort.

Indeed, it was but the work of moment to instantly imagine myself as an elegant boulevardier, strolling down the seafront, twirling a silver-topped cane and wearing a top hat at a jaunty angle, while bidding 'Bonsoir' to my fellow stylish promenaders.

Alas, it was not to be. Arriving at the resort after a short drive from the port in Boulogne, our guide from the tourist office quickly herded us towards the Aqualud one of those water theme park places or, in other words, as Prince Charles might have put it, a monstrous carbuncle plonked in the middle of a rather attractive sea front.

At least, I thought, as it was pre-peak season and the place was not yet ready to open, I was spared the indignity of being forcibly propelled through a plastic tube at a vast rate of knots like something unfortunate going round the u-bend.

I did try to imagine Noel Coward sluicing down a waterchute in a silk dressing gown, but struggled with the vision. Besides, it would have made his cigarette soggy and hard to light.

It would though, undoubtedly keep the kids happy, if not delusional would-be boulevardiers.

We were then ushered off to the hotel to get ready for dinner, although I did manage to sneak off and find myself in one of those backstreet tabac/cafs that seem so typical of France.

Here I sat, smoking filterless Gitanes, drinking Ricard, musing on the point of life, and giving an otherwise impeccable impression of a typical Frenchman, lacking only an English sheep to set on fire (although the question, 'Pretentious, moi?', did for once seem appropriate).

However, I must mention the hotel we stayed in that night the Hotel Bristol as it was simply stunning. I, at least, was left stunned when I was presented the next morning with a bar bill for 36 euros (or about £25) for a single tot of whisky.

Boulevardiering is all very well, but not when you have to pay for it yourself.

Next morning we were in for a real treat, with a visit to Parc Bagatelle, a sort of sub-Alton Towers theme park. Which was closed.

Still, our party did get to traipse around in the rain for a few hours, making snotty remarks to each other about the rides when our guide was out of earshot.

Sometimes these trips are just fun, fun, fun.

But they did torment some lions and tigers for us with a big stick, getting them to sit on each other and things like that. I mean, for God's sake, these are cats.

Try getting any domestic cat to do something it doesn't want to involves losing several fingers and a blood transfusion, so quite how one trains a tiger I shudder to think. I must admit, I'm not the world's biggest animal rights activist the main animal right I'm concerned with being my right to eat them but this display did seem to go down rather badly with this particular group of British journalists.

Perhaps British and French sensitivities towards such matters differ somewhat. One only has to look at what they eat, I guess (like, anything).

We then returned to Boulogne, where we were treated to lunch in a rather nice restaurant housed in an old merchant's mansion, Les Terrasses de l'Enclos. Fish was on the menu, I seem to recall.

Also, I had my first taste of snail, filched from one of my companion's plates, as I didn't have the nerve to go for a whole plateful. And, amazingly, or amazingly to me, it wasn't that bad.

It didn't taste so good that the flavour overcame my natural revulsion at eating a homeless slug, but, heck, at least I tried them.

Boulogne itself was pleasant enough, with some nice old bits, castle, cobbled streets, surrounded by lots of hideous modern bits (but think of Oxford. Visitors probably wouldn't expect to be given a tour round Forester's Tower and Barton).

We were even told that it was from here that we got one of our English kings Stephen which I didn't think really counted as no-one can remember him.

One of Boulogne's main attractions is Nausicaa, which is not, as it might sound, where you go after eating an eight-course fish meal, but an aquarium, or as its leaflets would have it, "a unique encounter between Man and the Sea".

Another unique encounter between Man and the Sea would be me swimming in it, although I don't know if people would pay to watch.

Still, once you'd rushed through all the boring environmental, preachy, we're all doomed, we're all to blame, it's one world, whales moaning-type bits (and if whales feel as bad as they sound, perhaps the Norwegians and Japanese are doing them a favour by putting them out of their misery), it was actually very interesting.

Even if it was, mainly, more fish.

They even had a pool with penguins in, which would have been fascinating, but they didn't seem to do much.

I tried to bribe a small child into throwing coins (they were only euros, after all, and therefore not worth much) at them to make them do something, but he just pretended not to understand my English, the snivelling little coward.

So typical of the French when facing a challenge. No wonder they get invaded by the Germans so often.

And that evening, of course (or, rather, of courses), we had our grand, eight-course, seafood feast.

I'd love to tell you what the dishes were but, for some reason, the menu was in French.

When will they learn that all the top restaurants, whatever side of the Channel you are, print their menus in English?

We travelled from Dover to Boulogne by Speedferries. Crossings start from £25 one way for a car and five passengers.

To book visit www.speedferries.com or call 087022 00 570.

Lunch at Enclos de l'Eveche was 26 euros for a starter, main course, cheese, dessert, glass of wine and coffee.

Dinner at La Matelote was 47.50 euros which was the eight-course Saveurs de la Mer.

One night's stay in Hotel Matelote, including breakfast (based on a car and four passengers including channel crossings with SpeedFerries) starts from £69 per person. Hotel Bristol, Le Touquet (with the same criteria) starts from £59 per person.

To book call the Travel Market on 0870 264 2644 or visit www.realfrancerealclose.com