Wednesday
Another morning on the terrace and ‘Chez Diane’ is starting to work its
magic, absorbing the stresses of London. My shoulders have seemingly descended
from ear level to somewhere around my waist. I make a lame comparison to Di’s
breasts and receive a hot teaspoon to the back of the neck as vile retribution.
It’s too late to note that she’s actually very… proud. That bloody hurt! We
read and listen to music. I hit the jazz ‘genre’ button on the ipod, and
shuffle around to Miles’ ‘Sketches of
Spain’ and Gil Evans’ ‘Out of the
Cool’, ignoring Di’s pleas for ‘something
from this century purleeease’.
Fried eggs on potato hash for brunch.
Lazy day.
Hazy sun.
We are protected from the wind by a new
development, our neighbor’s three-story villa.
We might have lost a view but have gained a wondrous windshield.
We might have lost a view but have gained a wondrous windshield.
Every cloud…
It’s still too cool for the beach.
Later we drive into town and try
unsuccessfully to find Sandrine’s campsite address to deliver a CD. I text an
apology, then we meet Steve and Jane at Piazetta
for dinner in Calvi.
Veal with pancetta in garlicky cream (me
and Di), roasted lamb (Steve), 8 baby crabs and pasta (Jane; much cracking,
sucking and juggling in an apron/bib).
Later, with Jane still soaked in crab
juice, Maurice pours us large brandies at ‘Bar de Golfe’.
Di drives home…
Di drives home…
It’s blowing a hoolie in the village.
As the house clings to the granite we know that we’re rock solid and cozy up for bed, book and brandy.
As the house clings to the granite we know that we’re rock solid and cozy up for bed, book and brandy.
Ipod: Josh Ritter: ‘The Beast in its
Tracks’
Song
of the Day: ‘Joy
to You Baby’
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