Damp squib

First of all, thank you to Karen who solved the crossword clue which had been bugging me all day: a lobster pot is also known as a 'creel' (as in Kid Creel and the Coconuts no doubt) so there we are, I've learnt something new. And there I was struggling with cockney rhyming slang! Now I just have to think of ways of slipping it into everyday conversation, like 'Excuse me, I just have to pop out and check my creels' or 'Yesterday I was disappointed to find my creels were smothered in crabs.' Might try that later in French. The prize, by the way is a large glass of champagne.

I guess it serves me right for waxing lyrical about the fabulous weather. Today was just wet and horrible, so no sunbathing by the Dordogne for me. Instead, I settled down at my laptop with a jug of coffee and the inspiration of three and half month’s sabbatical behind me. At this rate, I’ll be publishing in separate volumes, like Tony Benn.

A late morning trip with Michael to the out-of-town cash and carry involved hauling legs of wild boar and cases of wine in and out of the Smart, before the slightly more domestically orientated shopping at Leclerc. After a few days of running down my larder, I had a fairly impressive shopping list, and we dashed around the aisles like contestants in Supermarket Sweep. I came second.

Back indoors I unpacked my goodies, including 100 white tree lights which I’ve strung around the fireplace until I get a tree to hang them on – or le sapin de Noël as it is more correct to say here.

So, a pleasant afternoon spent processing words into meaningful sentences. I popped around to L’Enfance de Lard to return a basket (why does everybody stop and stare slack-jawed at me whenever I walk through town with a basket?) but the ladies from the Inner Circle were already there, busily setting out crocheted names on place settings and putting together a stall of bits and pieces which looked to me like last year’s unwanted Christmas presents – little tin buckets and cans with floral stencils, painted bird boxes and wooden baskets – that sort of thing. I was half expecting to see a scuffed and battered presentation pack of Brut aftershave and talc appear. I gulped down a G&T as the tantalising smell of roast wild boar wafted from the kitchen. It was all a bit church bazaar for me, so I faded like a phantom into the night.

Even more writing – now I’m even beginning to impress myself – but enough was enough. Cassoulet au canard, then a few episodes of Frasier which had me doubled up on the sofa in mirthful delight. I finished reading Eleanor Rigby by Douglas Coupland – I implore you to go out and buy a copy today, read it then give it to a friend for Christmas (that’s double value!). It’s the best recommendation I can give you this side of Christmas. Now I’m itching to read his other stuff.