Crooked House

A country life in France

A Gift for Dusty

As Cat was in the house when Mr L returned from walking the dog, he boxed her up and headed off to the vet to make an appointment but in the hope that they might just fit her in. They couldn’t, so he was soon home again and she is due for her rendezvous on Monday morning.

Cat will be needing a name for her passport. We have decided on Fifi as Mr L will not let me call her Stumpy. Interestingly, we found out on Tuesday that there are others in the village who refer to her by the name of Stumpy. My argument is that she is used to it… but Fifi, it is though Minou was also a contender. No doubt we shall continue to refer to her as Cat when we are at home.

We walked down to Saint-Rémy.

On the way to Saint-Rémy

Although still fairly early, it was bright and sunny and warming up nicely. I was glad to have remembered my sun hat.

Unfortunately we had forgotten to take any bags so were unable to buy most of the items that my eyes landed on at the Vide Grenier.

There was a brisk trade, especially at the bread counter

I was quite surprised to see how many sellers were present, and how many potential customers. Not quite a hive of activity but enough of  a buzz to make things interesting.

Artisans were present but not many actually demonstrating. The blacksmith had his fire going but was quenching his thirst rather than working metal.

Not a lot happening

Some of the pottery on the Vide Grenier stalls caught my attention and a number of pots and jugs might have come  home with me, along with some basketware and a drop-dead gorgeous 1930s bakelite Art Deco table lamp. I felt greatly frustrated.

Babar, Spongebob and Pikachu, all in one car!

I found some rather nice mohair yarn though it was not only vastly expensive but also not even handspun. 28€ a ball!

We bought bread, but failed to purchase honey to go with it. Not sure how I managed to forget that.

Artisan-made Boules de Campagne

Then it was time for an ice-cream break. We sat and ate it at one of the trestles in in the covered eating area and I grabbed a shot of (some of) the external catering arrangements.

Tables ready for the Repas, the mobile podium for the entertainments, and the “beer tent…”

The walk home felt longer than the walk down and it was certainly a hotter one. Mr L was carrying the Boule and I was lugging my Brocante bon marché (?), which I carefully propped up against the coffee table when I arrived home. Dusty soon knocked it over to investigate it.

Thanks, Mum!

Hmm. What did I buy?

It is collapsible
It smells a bit funny
It is properly cat-sized, says Dusty
Oh, Mummy, look – it ROCKS!

It is in fact, despite appearances to the contrary, not a cat toy but a footrest for me and it is very French. I have seen one before and tested that and found it extremely comfortable. That one was in poor and rickety condition but this one is sturdy and usable and it cost me all of 5€.

I was about to take a photograph of it to show how it works but I can’t. It appears to have been commandeered.

Oh, Dusty!

We have decided not to return to Saint-Rémy for the evening’s activities. Neither of us feels up to par. Grateful to have shown our faces and spent some money but not desirous of another mile’s walk each way or of the 80s music, to be honest. Instead of our jambon grillée and frites, we are going to chow down on that Boule and those bargain cheeses that die on the 20th.

That’s a lot of bread. HUGE.
So large that it won’t even fit under my food cover
and that is a lot of cheese too. I confess, there is also ham. Break out the cornichons!

You may find us on the terrasse, under the parasol, sipping a nice cold beer. I may or may not have my feet up, you will have to ask Dusty what his plans are.

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