The thunder and lightning is creeping nearer. Looks like a front of cool air has bumped into this 36C heat monster and nipped it’s tail. Hopefully that will chase it off and we can get down to some sort of sensible temperatures. The dark clouds to the south west are flashing theatrically while northwest the sun is setting in a somewhat more relaxed fashion.
“Ooohhhh….,” a big bolt of pure white light streaked down to earth only a few miles away. Impressive from my seat near the French doors of the gite. Looks like it’s heading our way.
The sky is almost black…other than an odd light from the departing sun shining onto the old stone barn opposite.
Anyway…as I wait for us to be incinerated to a crisp I might as well tell you about today. It was hot -again – all 36C of it. Too hot for me. We tackled the Market at Roussiac but our arrival at noon ensured we missed the best of the food stalls. We wandered the baking hot old narrow streets currently filled with the world’s repository of cheap tat. I remembered strolling through French markets full of fresh fruit and veg and fascinating regional produce. This was a wee bit disappointing. We strolled back to the Tank and headed for Jarnac, home of Courvoisier.
Now…we have never had much success in France at eating out for lunch. This is mainly due to our inability to have breakfast early enough to make lunch a viable option. There is also the problem known as…the French.
I would swear that at noon every day in France someone bangs a very big dinner gong and every man, woman and child rushes into the nearest restaurant or cafe and occupies each and every table to ensure nobody else can get a seat. Today I thought we’d cracked it!
We found a table at a wee restaurant in the main square at Jarnac. It was 1pm. It was hot…very hot. We ordered cokes…and the plat du jour. “Whit?”. “45 minutes!”
We declined.
As we sipped our cokes I noticed the next table was having the plat du jour -it was a plate of crudities (sorry can’t do acutes on the iPad). Not only that, the centrepiece half melon was exactly that. No frills in this place. So…given everything was uncooked (and virtually unprepared) how could it possibly take 45 minutes to produce a couple of plates of raw ingredients! Welcome to France…the last bastion of shrugging shoulders.
We did what all sensible Scots do…we went to the supermarket and produced an identical plat du jour in a fraction of the time.
“Oh…that lightning’s creeping closer.”
Here’s a photo looking towards the gite. We live in a small section of the low building behind the woodpile.
Where The Fatdog Walks 