Had the morning not ended with us being serenaded by a Mexican dishing out silent ‘Vee” signs, while we sat at lunch in the restaurant opposite the bank, we may very well have thought we were having a dream.
On entering that very same bank an hour or so earlier we couldn’t be sure if the mushrooms in last night’s stew weren’t having some sort of effect, or whether we’d accidentally stumbled onto a Jacques Tati movie set. Spanning the two counters that would be where the tellers would normally reside was a rather large cage with an equally large rabbit in residence. Oh there were eggs on the counters too, chocolate ones, slow moving stock from last week no doubt.
Perhaps it was said rabbit that had erred with our account. There is little point in speculation, but after almost an hour someone discovered that someone else in a bank far far away had made a teensy mistake when writing “Luneville” in the address on the envelope containing our card, on a whim writing “DIcky Beach” apparently, thereby sending it scurrying off into another less convenient hemisphere.
At almost the same time news arrived to the effect that Perkins in the UK had made themselves uncontactable for the day, rendering Mr P silent for at least the next week and therefore ensuring that we will remain unmoving for a similar period, hopefully snug until the temperature reaches more than the negative number it was this morning.
With no better plan for the afternoon therefore, we remained in the warmth and safety of the restaurant with Joan and Peter, as far as we could get from Bankers, Rabbits, Mexicans and Mad Hatters.
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