It has been an interesting weekend as I have slowly retreated from the gloriousness of my vast apartment into the confines of the kitchen and spare bedroom. Nothing wrong with either of them at all, but it's all relative to what you are used to and it suddenly seems very restrictive compared to my usual grandiose living accommodation.
This evening is actually a first - the first time that I have three sets of paying guests staying here at the same time. I collected new guests from the airport at lunchtime, roof down, naturally, on the Audi.
Lo and behold, two hours later it all went black and I just got out in time to put the roof back up before the sudden deluge - not forecast, not planned, not expected - sort of like real life!
I cooked dinner for them all last night which seemed to go as well as usual - two vegetarians and two confit de canard eaters. It was just winding down about midnight when one of the guests fetched a litre bottle of 10 year old tawny port from their room and insisted that it was drunk, which naturally led on to tales of love and drink and drugs and broken marriages and medical conditions and trauma and heartache - and I didn't even join in the conversation!
The important thing is that the guests currently occupying my bedroom (using my shower, sleeping in my bed and generally lording it about in my apartment) are having a lovely time - they are having a lovely time because they told me so.
Until this evening that is, when apparently on their way back from dinner some kids, from a passing car, threw a bucketful of garlic water all over them - presumably as a prank because they thought it was funny and clever. But it wasn't at all, of course, because it went in their eyes and it stung and they thought in their panic that maybe it was acid or some sort of cleaning product or whatever and it ruined their night and maybe their whole weekend.
How dreadful. What a bunch of little shits. I will report the incident to the local police tomorrow because it's a nasty thing to happen to anyone and it needs to be stopped.
When things like that happen, words really do fail me.
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Some may say I have the best of both worlds - bouts of big city sophistication interspersed with rural laid-back charm in a foreign country - they'd be right.
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About Me
- Peter Woodcock
- One time accountant and Finance Director in London who found his niche and passion in food and wine in France. Owner and manager of acclaimed B&B at 42 rue Victor Hugo in Carcassonne. Now, it's all about fresh seasonal produce and discovering delicious local wines.
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