Friday, 21 June 2013
Corsica Bound: Diary of Departure: 12
Di’s up early to tidy the house as Lucy from the Estate Agency Etoile is visiting to take photos. We have a glorious morning so she will see things in the best light. Lucy arrives at 10am; we have coffee and chat about everything but the house. Finally we get around to business, agree a price and discuss the details of the proposed sale. I catch Di welling up; the house is a tangle of memories, a mine of emotional resonance for us both but it’s Di’s baby and she’s understandably wobbly. She's invested a lot of time, money and energy into 'Chez Diane'. This house will hold her shadow for many years to come.
Bodri beach for lunch and a swim. There’s a moment of mild drama when a drunken man parades the beach doing a classic comedy sideways stumble. Shaven headed, bovver booted, aged somewhere between 35 and 60 and whirling his shirt above him like a helicopter, he’s received with horror by all, recoiling parents clutch babies to there breasts as he belches his way up and down their beach. He stops to take a very public piss against some rocks. Things come to a head when he makes the mistake of mocking some middle aged German nudists who front him a little too aggressively. He squares up to half a dozen flaccid dicks who stand tall, suck their bellies in, broaden their tattood shoulders, and point their pink wrinkled winkles in his direction; like a firing squad taking aim at a deserter. Our defenceless drunk has definitely deserted the niceties of beach etiquette and continues to mock the Kraut’s cocks. They jabber and jeer back making bullish dummied advances; eventually seeing the intruder off, high fiving each other in celebration of their victory as the bewildered bloke wanders off with a sideways shuffle into the dunes.
We return home for a quick turnaround and we’re off to The Albertinis house above Calvi. Janet and Antoine are our oldest friends on the island. Lots of wine and laughter; Antoine has prepared a ragu of sanglier, wild boar that he shot himself. The Corsicans are enthusiastic hunters and always proud of their kill. The stew is delicious as is the red wine that always flows generously there.
Finally, after a rancid but delicious brie the inevitable eau de vie comes out. This fire-water is close to Italy’s ‘grappa’; flavoured by all sorts; berries sometimes but mainly myrthe, a fruit that grows wild in the maquis. This one is made from apples by one of Antoine’s friends on the mainland. Nastrovia is the word of the evening thereafter…. Indeed the last word I remember hearing or speaking…
Di drives home as I’m drunk as a skunk.
No music or book; bed beckons; oblivion…