Legends from our own lunchtimes

Thursday, September 09, 2010


The church bells that no one but Julian hears woke us on the hour and four times in between then and when the alarm was supposed to do so, and if the taxi hadn't arrived five minutes early we would have been ready on time, but it did and we weren't and no one was fussed.

At Luneville, the nice man sold us our tickets for the price of a week's groceries and smiled knowingly at us as our debit card failed for the second time, but seemed disappointed when the trump card in black platinum plastic did the trick, and before one could say "I'm glad we packed that baguette this morning" we were in Paris and taking our chance at the Office de Tourism, Gare de Est.

"We are very busy in Paris today" he said, but they always say that, "Perhaps there will be no rooms at a discount", and we always shrug and say "do your best" and they always say "No I have found one and it is a very good price, perhaps just a week's groceries."

Today's very good price was indeed very good, we have a room with big square towels and in which all the bathroom china is designer labelled, and we think we should feel sorry for the other people are paying perhaps more than three week's worth of groceries for their room and for breakfast as well.

But life of course isn't always about groceries, there's also coffee and patisserie and crepes au chocolat to deal with to lessen the strain of an arduous walk and playing spot the tourist and wondering if anyone has spotted us back. Were they to hear us speak, it would be fairly simple to deduce we weren't from round these parts, particularly if we were trying to communicate in French, but I suspect few could not have guessed the country of origin of the voice that rung over our shoulders (and those of the surrounding districts I suspect) from across the lane as we were gazing wistfully through a window at the extraordinary displays of macaroons in every colour and flavour imaginable piled in complicated patterns that almost reached the sky.

"Well I'll be….. MARTHA IT'S A BISCUIT STORE!"

Fair enough, I thought. We have a coffee shop right opposite our hotel.
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1 comment

Anonymous said...

tried to leave this on your other blog, but there was no anonymous option!!! my french is not very good... but are they comparing you to Andy Warhol??? Mand

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