What to do on a rainy day

We experienced a rather large storm last night. To be fair, we knew it was coming and it was needed: had it become any hotter, we’d have all exploded. In the event, the heavens roared and the lightening crashed against the plane tree outside my billet with sufficient force to awake even the most wine-soaked resident. It knocked out the internet, so nothing to be done whilst waiting for it to pass save read a bit more of my current book which has now passed the epic stage and moved to the dizzy heights of opus. Or, in other words, it’s a bit long.

A drop of rain at night is no bad thing, but this morning it was still lashing it down. I don’t have anything with sleeves here, but I found a handy brolly hanging on the kitchen wall so, armed with said accessory, I headed off for the indoor brocante that’s opened down the road. For the uninitiated, this is just like the emporiums (or is that emporia?) I frequent at home; only better because a) the stuff is French and b) unlike the professional brocantes, the people flogging the stuff don’t seem to know how much to charge. Consequently, I managed to successfully undertake a substantial amount of Christmas shopping for about five quid.

Next, in my cunning plan, I zoomed off to St Remy to view an exhibition with lunch as a handy interlude. St Remy was hot, damp and vaguely tropical with everyone crammed inside the restaurants. No matter, I found one of those inside/outside joints with a table perfect for Norma-no-Mates. Every time I rock up on my own, the waiter asks sadly ‘are you toute seule’ as if lunch alone is a despicable way to pass one’s life. Yes, I am. Bring me a glass of the pink stuff and some mussels, and don’t spare the horses I say, tucking my serviette into the top of my blouse Poirot style. (Mussells = carnage).

Finally, I arrive at the museum for the exhibition. In my very best French, I ask whether I’m in the right place for Birdland. Madame says oui but this is Birdland 2. What happened to Birdland 1, I enquire, feeling that I’m already in the sequel before I’ve even experienced the original. Birdland 1, the audio version, is in another venue, down this road, along this boulevard, turn right, turn left et voila! To say it’s uninspiring would be an understatement. I’m the only visitor. Unsurprising, as most of the others are probably elsewhere sticking pencils in their eyes for fun.

I return to Birdland 2. Madame and I have a very nice conversation about how I came to be in this place; possibly… who can say? It’s an equally benign event, allegedly a celebration of the birds that inhabit this region. But here’s the thing: in my brochure I read, as if I didn’t already know, that the majority of the birds are unprotected, which means anyone with a gun…so that would be the whole of the south…is allowed to shoot them. No wonder decreasing numbers make it to our neck of the woods.

Finally, I visited my favourite perfume shop where the scent is made. It’s a lovely experience. When one enters, it’s to the accompaniment of birdsong. Have you been to the Birdland exhibition I ask the woman who advises me on what desperate remedies might be available for ancient dried-up skin? She’s confused. Don’t bother, it’s all here and it smells nicer.