In our defence, it was raining and pretty much everything was closed, except the museums which will almost certainly be closed tomorrow when we are ready to pay them a visit.
Actually I don’t think we have much of a defence.
For reasons that still don’t seem clear, but it seemed like a good idea at the time, we paid our five Euros and joined the aged fans of Jean-Philippe Smet (yes, yes, if that was my name I’d call myself Johnny Hallyday too) on the tourist train, which was really a barely disguised golf buggy, gaily painted and fitted with funnel and cow-catcher, towing a few trailers. If we’d been thinking clearly, or at thinking all, before buying our tickets we may have discovered that the commentary would be in French, a language that we have mastered to the extent that we can order a couple of cups of coffees and be reasonably certain of getting at least one delivered, but one in which grand tales of the days of old are well beyond our comprehension. We would also have noticed that the route to be taken was the exact route that we had walked in the morning, accompanied by a coloured pamphlet setting out the highlights in a language that we could clearly understand.
I almost dare not admit that it was quite a pleasant little ride, possibly in the same way Johnny Hallyday would find the trip to the loo on his mobility scooter pleasant, although to continue with that analogy, it was something of a relief when it ended as well.
But for all the rain and “closed for holidays” signs, we like this place. It’s been here since 20BC apparently, which coincidentally comparing the image of the robust middle-aged rocker on the back of the jacket in front of us with recent shots of the great man, must have been more or less around the time the shirt was purchased.
1 comment
We have laughed hysterically at this post!
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