Before setting off by my usual transport methods to Sigoules this morning I left Flo a note granting her permission to use my chair, my computer, and my house keys for the rest of her stay. I trust she felt honoured. We are very pleased that she will keep her Grannie company whilst I am away.
A gentleman much larger than me sat beside me on the aisle seat in the plane. Actually that one had been allocated to me. I tactfully asked him to rise so I could sit in the more cramped window seat. Discretion seemed to be called for. In fact he was very friendly and, as soon as was permitted, moved up to the front where he could spread himself across two empty spaces. I quipped that one of us had to go and since he was bigger than me it had to be him. The airline are very relaxed about people changing seats but it has to be after we are on the move.
A Welsh family sat behind me and, gazing down on the patchwork quilt of fields and model houses rapidly diminishing as we rose into the clouds, a small boy asked his grandfather if that were the whole of Wales beneath him. ‘That’s England’, was the reply. ‘Is it the whole of England?’ asked the lad. It wasn’t. The interrogation ended there. Thinking of Malachi’s ‘why?’ game, I was rather relieved. It could have gone on a long time.
I was rather intrigued by a couple in front of me. A slender and beautiful young woman, when not reading Caitlin Moran or playing with her iPod, or whatever it was, fondly rested her head on the shoulder of her chunky grey-haired male companion. I did my my best to convince myself that this was a father and daughter. A wedding ring and certain tender aspects of behaviour soon suggested otherwise.
Suppressing thoughts about lucky dogs I persevered with ‘Her Fearful Symmetry’ by Audrey Niffenegger, which I had chosen as light relief after ploughing through Wordsworth’s biography. An explicit scen involving a ghost and her grieving lover didn’t help much.
It was 7 degrees and raining when we touched down in Bergerac twenty minutes late. Sandrine was waiting patiently to drive me to Sigoules. Trees in leaf and blossom provided evidence that it has recently been as warm as twenty degrees. In order that there should be no misunderstanding about the correct day of my return trip (see post of 5th February) I handed my driver a print-out of my flight details. All I have to do now is remember it.
After I’d settled in I had a stroll round the village where lichen thrives on the trees in the war memorial garden. A late lunch of boiled eggs, baguette, and an orange was to follow.
A warm welcome awaited me in Le Code Bar this evening. They are still not opening the restaurant in the evening so I settled for a complimentary bowl of olives to accompany my Stella.
Sadly, I have forgotten the battery charger for my camera so I will have to be very parsimonious with new photographs until the juice runs out, and supplement them with some I made earlier.