Duvet day

So, today I had to return to my beautiful launderette to launder some laundry. Feeling quite confident after my recent successes in the real world of commerce and industry, I threw my laundry into a machine and asked for sixty degrees and a jolly good dry. But the laundress (is that a word I made up?) was having none of it. She brazenly waved a pair of socks and a flannel at me and spoke very quickly. I panicked, and ran from the laundrette into the Dordogne and swam to Bordeaux where I hid in a cupboard until everything had calmed down. No, I didn’t. After a long and convoluted conversation, much pointing, gesticulating and general vague limb waving, we established that the socks and flannel did not belong to me, not even in a former life as Napoleon. The laundress was most upset, and thrust the socks at me in one final desperate gesture, but I was adamant and flounced from the scene. It was only when I was walking home, turning things over in my mind, that it dawned on me that they were Michael’s socks, and she wanted me to give them back to him. Oh dear. I went and bought some bread and croissants and managed to count to ninety cents in French without harming any animals.

Housework involved impossible things with mops, brooms and a hoover. Later, J and I went to the Post Office – oh yes! Not once, but twice! The first time J forgot to bring the items he wanted to post. That’s what France does to your head. The second time was far more successful. All the supermarkets were closed, and I don’t know why, so I couldn’t buy milk which was one of my major challenges of the day. J bought a Brel DVD and felt a lot better about life in general.

More housework in a Mrs Overall stylee, then I went to see J off at the train station. We were most impressed with SNCF who successfully sold J a ticket for a train from Bergerac to Bordeaux which didn’t actually exist. Even better, was the woman at the counter who sold it to him, forgot to mention that the train didn’t exist - well, it's an easy mistake to make n'est pas. We managed to finally find out that the only way to get to Bordeaux in time for the train to Toulon was to take a bus from Bergerac to Libourne and then there was a possibility of getting a train which would arrive in time. We needed beer, and interrupted a woman who was doing her ironing who sold us some. A drunk got a bit threatening, asking J if he knew life and death. He said no, but if you hum it I might pick it up. He got out an accordion and we all danced a merry jig.

J successfully installed on a bus to Bavaria (bursting with pessimism for the journey ahead) I rushed back to the house – damn forgot the milk. Went back for that. Landlords were already settled in (C&G) and more guests arrived for aperitives. It was most peculiar to be offered a drink in what I have been treating as my own home. Birthday party at L’Enfance de Lard was inevitably great and unsurprisingly late. I now look like I’m pregnant with twins. Must buy a girdle.