A pain in the knee

It was a disappointingly grey morning as it had been yesterday, when the hazy cloud didn't really clear and the breeze was just a bit too persistent and, as a result, the temperature didn't quite get as high as it should have done - it wasn't cold, but it wasn't hot either.

Debrah had so wanted a glorious blue sky market day, as it had been last Saturday, but it wasn't to be - so having done our breakfast and shopping guest chores, we jumped in the car and headed for the coast where, I assured Debrah, there would be sunshine.

We could have bought oysters from Bouzigues in the market in Carcassonne and eaten them here, but it's not the same as eating oysters looking out over the 'etang' where the oysters lived until plucked from their briny home and served up on a platter. Besides, we had never been to Bouzigues before and we like an exploration and an adventure.

It was a lovely day trip. The fields of poppies and wildflowers still look resplendent, the countryside is a lush green and the vines are vigourously reaching out in all directions. As we rushed past Narbonne and headed towards Beziers we found the sun, the roof came down on the Audi and the sun started to find us.

Bouzigues is a delightful old fishing village perched on the banks of the 'etang de thau', looking across to the hill and port of Sete. Stretched out across the etang between the two are the oyster beds - like tables set out in an exam room - symmetrically line by line, row by row. Of course, every other house along the quay in Bouzigues has a seafood, or more specifically, oyster restaurant attached to it and why not? - you can't really get much closer to the source of the food you are eating than this.

We had a lovely lunch - 24 oysters, 12 mussels, 12 escargots, 6 palourdes, 2 tielles and a bottle of the local wine, picpoul de pinet, made just a few kilometres away.

To complete the seafood theme for the day, by the time we got home we were both looking a bit lobsterish in the face and arm area - the unprepared no sun cream roof down on the Audi driving had caught up with us both. Oh well.

This evening we had drinks with guests - the guests who took over our bikes yesterday and cycled to Marseillette and back, which is a pretty good effort, and who wanted the bikes again today but had to hire from elsewhere because the other guests had already reserved them.

After months of sitting in their 'cave' home, the bikes have never been so popular or well used. I went out four times this week and then guests for the next two days.

My sudden rush of enthusiasm took its toll though. After my last ride on Thursday, my right knee developed a pain that intensified as the day went on such that by yesterday morning I was unable to manage any stairs or bending without an acute sharp pain just below my kneecap.

I know Thursday was a public holiday here (Ascension) and that the locals have been known to treat the Friday as an extension of said holiday to make a long weekend - 'faire le pont' as they call it, literally means to make a bridge between the holiday and the weekend.

I have never known a knee to join in this practice and I have never known a knee to suddenly turn French and declare itself a 'genou' for the day. It was meant to be working but it wasn't. Also, when was it allowed that one 'genou' declared itself unilateral from the other knee - they are supposed to be a pair, working together for the common good of getting me around the place.

Not surprisingly it feels a bit better today and I suspect that by Monday it will be working as normal!