No talking shop

It was a grey old start to the day, not much to write home about really. I had a bit of housework to finish off, and a writing target to meet. Both things were most exciting. After a nourishing lunch of warming soup I decided I needed to get out for a bit of a walk around town. Most of the shops are now in the process of putting up their Christmas decorations, and I rated them on a scale of one to ten for tastelessness and sheer tack. There were several quite high scores awarded.

Well, the day had finally arrived when I had to get into the driving seat of the Smart and embark on my maiden voyage. I came very close to squashing two Frenchmen on a roundabout, but as far as I was concerned they shouldn’t have been there. They didn’t know which way to run so I ran them over. No, I didn’t really, but they shouted a lot. I don’t think they were saying complimentary things. The sheer relief of arriving at Bergerac International Air Shed with car intact caused me to dash straight into the bar for a glass of beer.

My weekend guest, who I’ll refer to as BD, flopped onto the tarmac courtesy of Ryanair bang on time. I drove back into Bergerac successfully while BD gallantly disguised his terror with small talk. Beers were knocked back, followed by the traditional bottle of champers while BD recounted unbelievable tales of total absurdity from the jolly old place which I never mention here. Incroiable!

L’Enfance de Lard was on exceptional form, and we enjoyed a tremendous meal. BD went straight for the foie gras and duck, whilst I selected the prawns and beetroot (betterave) starter followed by bunny. A very fine evening as always. BD ended up knocking back eau de vie de pruneaux which seemed to make him happy. Teetotal? My elbow!