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Well, here I am in the NE suburbs of Bordeaux. Large garden, monkey-puzzle tree, flowers, fruit, chickens and pool. Have made a fool of myself a couple of times as I have no concept of this way of life, nor of French customs (well, only at the airport).
Mother of la Femme has a 4 y.o. car that has never had the bonnet up. In an attempt to redeem and ingratiate myself, I service it, tune it, pump up the tyres and clean it inside and out.
Next lunchtime, I find out that she has ploughed into the back of another car whilst attempting to overtake. Her normal method of flooring the throttle, wait ‘til the engine picks up, then pull out didn’t work. She said that “it was going like a racing car”.
We’re off to dins with a school pal of la Femme. She has married a MUCH older man who just happened to own a vineyard. He didn’t last too long, and after the minimum black-veil period she has moved in her tennis coach.
Off up the river we go into the Entre Deux Mers and, by golly, it’s a proper job. Mirrored sweeping staircases, reclining lions, urns etc. My total involvement with wine to date is Don Cortez, Hirondelle, and for special occasions, Scotsmac.
Here I am at Ch. X (it is shown as a “notable producer” pp 98/9 World Atlas of Wine, e-mail if you want to know) where they make a variety of different types, both white and red.
Cocktail aperitifs, simple but long and lovely meal, lovely red wine. Women go off to do whatever women do after dins, whilst TC (tennis coach) leads me off to the tv room. Seems that some French soccer team is playing Liverpool in the European Cup and I am going to be subjected to the whole of the second half.
TC produces a couple of bottles and glasses, telling me that this is “some of the better stuff”. Après soccer we join the women in the music room to admire his ginormous stereo system. Paganini and Armagnac are now on the menu, and as this draws to a close we prepare to take our leave.
TC is having none of this however and asks if I play boules. La Femme says no, but I do play bowls, cricket, tennis, squash and skittles and so should be able to manage. Whoosh! off we go to the rear, pop! on come the floodlights, and there is a pucker (sorry Jamie) boules area.
The ladies are explaining the rules to me whilst TC disappears into a hangar-like warehouse. He returns with a basket, several bottles and some plastic beakers. At this stage I presume that we are staying overnight.
Some 30 mins later we really do say farewell. Lots of hugging and kissing. Our hosts re-enter the chateau whilst la Femme and I walk around the side to the car. Suddenly my path is blocked and keys are thrust into my hand. “You’re driving” she says, “I’m drunk”.
Now…I’ve never driven this car, never driven a lhd before and never driven on the right. I don’t know the route, it’s 02.00 and I have had a couple of large cocktails, two very large armagnacs, and probably 3 bottles of red. Having found out where all the switches are, we head down the extensive drive into a lane. “When you get to the main road” ventures la Femme “turn right and follow the signs”. She then falls asleep.
Vive la France ou quoi?
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