See William the Conqueror’s mounts and Le Mans Museum’s horsepower in Normandy

A KINDLY-looking gent noticed the English plate on my German car and gave up a rueful sigh.

“You Brits always buy ze best,” he said with a smile.

At least I think he was smiling. “And here you are, stuck with your Renaults and Citroens,” I thought.

It was the right place for a bit of automotive one-upmanship.

We were stood outside the Hotel de France, just south of Le Mans, where rooms are named after the teams who stayed here in the Sixties and Seventies.

British drivers have a good record at Le Mans but it is Steve McQueen that sticks in the mind, driving the ultimate German car in his freewheeling movie about the 24-hour race.

The Porsches that ruled the track in the Seventies look as advanced as a roller-skate compared to today’s machines. But my, did they look cool.

You can see them all at the Museum of the 24 Hours of Le Mans, next to the grandstand at the famous circuit.

We made a detour into the Loire region on a drive through Normandy, clocking medieval Le Mans on the way, plus a stop in Falaise.

And this was all on the first day.

Admittedly, we got going at the crack of dawn, when the overnight ferry docked at Caen.

But you forget just how much there is to do in France and how easy it all is in your own car.

Falaise, back in Normandy, has an even stronger link with Britain than Le Mans.
It was the birthplace of William the Conqueror.

Naturally, the French like talking about this — and the medieval period generally, when they pretty much ran the show until we took over. Learn about it all at Bayeux — a handy place for a stop on the way back.

But we have not even reached the, ahem, mane attraction.

William was nothing without his horses and it is for these noble beasts that Normandy is known.

The Percheron is native to the region, yet at one point the breed was close to extinction. Its enormous hindquarters, from which canny French butchers realised they could carve a tasty cutlet or two, may have saved it.

I am embellishing — but the truth is just one of many tales told at the Haras du Pin National Stud. Percheron buttocks are only a fraction of the fun on offer at this beautiful stables and country house, built for Louis XIV and so grand they call it “Versailles for horses”.

The guided tour is interesting and the riding display afterwards is a must.

There is show jumping and some daredevil stunts but the best bit is Pieric and his little Falabellas. You would need a heart of stone not to be amused by these miniature horses — and their similarly undersized trainer.

I booked my own miniature riders in for a couple of lessons at the nearby Haras de la Tour, which is not quite so grand as le Pin but just as lovely.

Owner Sebastien even saw fit to put me on a horse, which proved the only bad idea of the whole holiday.

The kids, Ava and Miles, took to riding like they were born with a silver bridle in their mouths. I took to it just like my first driving lesson — bucking and kangarooing all over the place. I was sore for days afterwards.

Luckily, we were staying at the B’O. No, it’s not for people with body odour, but a wellness hotel in nearby Bagnoles d’Orne. The name is a pun on the initials of the town and the French word for organic, “bio”.

I was just grateful for its pools and hot tubs with therapeutic jets to soothe aching joints.

Bagnoles d’Orne was famous in Victorian times for its healing waters and a whole wellness industry sprung from its, er, spring.

Nowadays it is a swanky place with grand old buildings towering around its little boating lake. The high street is filled with ice cream parlours, antique shops and fancy restaurants. It is possibly the most bourgeois place in France... and none the worse for it.

O Gayot, the loveliest looking place on the strip, did not disappoint for a celebratory supper.

We totted up our favourite experiences of a week-long road trip, which had seen barely a motorway toll or a traffic jam anywhere.

History, culture, outdoor adventure . . . Northern France has a bit of everything.

The kids just wanted to get back on their horses. Myself, I will stick to the car. Preferably a German one, though a Citroen will do.