Bonjour Bergerac

Friday

I’ve been told these blog entries are getting too serious and people are switching over to the other side in their droves – and there’s nothing worse than a drove – except a druv, but let’s not even go there. I’m not sure what’s happened and I’d like to take a moment to apologise – it all started off so whimsically. I guess, like any romance, we’ve started to take each other for granted. Anyway, from now on I promise to lighten things up a little for the sake of my readership (you know who you are).

Yeah, so France! Blimey O’Reilly, one minute I’m living the American dream in the Big Apple, being eaten by bedbugs and quaffing Stolichnaya like the day after tomorrow that time forgot, and the next minute I’m in this lovely old town in the Dordogne (well, more on the side of it on account of the damp) called Bergerac.

Flew in from Stansted on the luxury carrier that is Ryan Air. It nearly didn’t happen though as our dear old Fiesta (otherwise known as Tittikaka) practically conked out on the M11. Picked up a hire car from the delightful AVIS people at Bergerac International Airport (it’s a runway with a shed at the end), popped to the supermarket for some provisions and Bob’s your auntie. Beautiful house to stay in, fantastic weather, bottle of chilled Champagne on the terrace and life is sweet.


Saturday

We walked up to the market around the cathedral and perused the tempting stalls filled with locally produced (and seasonal!) fruit, vegetables and everything else. Had a quick trawl around the local shops to see what was new, and had a glass of rosé with old friends. Off to L’Eclerc to shop for stuff – toaster, juicer, eggcups, er…a broom, teasmaid, fondue set, heated rollers and cuddly toy. Oh – and some food.

Aperitifs on the terrace and dinner at a restaurant not two doors along the road – how handy is that? Lovely food and a bottle of Pecharmant to wash it all down. Those size 28” jeans have been put in mothballs.


Sunday

Beautiful sunny morning and a splendid breakfast before heading off to Razac-d’Eymet to call in on our lovely friends where we stayed in the summer who have very kindly loaned me a bicycle. I had prepared myself to cycle back (quite a distance but not impossible) but as luck would have it the bike fitted snugly in the back of the car, so we were able to partake in a little light liquid refreshment and several hours passed sitting in the sunshine and chatting. Back in Bergerac I couldn’t wait to get out on the bicycle. I set off along the banks of the Dordogne and peddled merrily along. After about an hour I stopped to look at a map, and realised I had travelled over 7 miles – so I turned around and pedalled back again. Wonderful scenery and it felt great to be getting around under my own steam again.

What now? Well there’s a bottle of rosé in the fridge with my name on it and two veal chops waiting to be cooked. So, not much to grumble about really.