Monday, April 10, 2017
A pre-breakfast walk with the PONs. A full hour out in the cool air. They bounce along the lane as they return home to be fed. They then fall happily asleep. We drive into Toulouse for Palm Sunday. 10.00 am when we get there. The town deserted in the way only French towns can be on a Sunday morning.
Five Sushi delivery bikes left out overnight ( unpadlocked ) on the pavement. You wouldn't do that in Glasgow.
The sun casts the shadow of a chapel belfry onto a row of houses.
Piles of palm frondes being handed out on the streets. Teenage soldiers with automatic pistols patrolling the town centre and trying to look 'stern'. The soldiers stop and chat to the girls handing out the palm frondes. The girls break off sprigs and put them in the soldiers berets. Both boys and girls laugh. Chatting to girls is more important than looking stern. On reflection that's the spirit of Easter in a nutshell.
In the Cathedral an altogether more formal atmosphere. The frondes are piled up by the door of the nave. A verger monitors their distribution.
We pass a shop selling metal Foie Gras filled Easter Eggs. We are not tempted.
By eleven the Square in the middle of town is getting busy and the waiters are laying tables for lunch.
Some parts of France manage to retain a Frenchness that seems impervious to change.
Back in the village a young couple are picnicking under the shade of the lime tree on the village green. Picnic rug, umbrella, plates set out, the lot. Sophie wanders over to introduce herself. Bob holds back then, sensing an opportunity, darts forward, hurtles over the picnic rug and disappears behind the Salle des Fetes with a piece of bread and pate clamped in his jaw
All things considered the young couple are remarkably good about having their lunch interrupted. I retreat to the house and bring them a compensatory bottle of wine. Bob, who knows he has been a miscreant, heads back, head low, towards me. All is forgiven but Sophie is miffed that her brother has managed to get something to eat that she hasn't. 'The Font' sighs and then observes brightly that there can be no doubting that Bobs eyesight is as right as rain.