Wednesday 2nd September.
We had not had the best night of sleep. It was warm and we only had a sheet over us. Peanut needed a little more weight and it had disturbed her. With me my back ached all night, so I slept in stops and starts.
A little after 7 I went to the fridge took a few pills downed with an Actimel and ate a yogurt coated energy bar. I went back to bed and wrote the blog for the day before. Peanut woke made me a coffee and herself a tea and we chatted lazily. Then she got up and nipped to the nearby garage for some fresh croissants and a pan au chocolat for me. I lazed in bed still working on the blog, slowly moving my position as a sliver of sun came through the half opened wooden shutters. Peanut returned and set the table in the loggia with the croissants, juice and jam and together we devoured the croissants. In Venice we had apricot filled croissants for breakfast. They were lovely, but the French ultimately do the best croissants. They were… Delicious. Yes delicious such a perfect word, not onomatopoeic like the “howl” of a dog or a wolf, but still a word whose sound evokes the word’s meaning. Delicious, delicious, delicious. It’s Mary Poppins good – Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. French croissants then. They’re good!
We showered, dressed and under a hot sun drove to St Tropez. The holiday season ends at the end of August and the difference was noticeable. The roads were very quiet and we breezed into town. Usually we park bang in the middle in Place des Lices but it was so hot we decided to give the car some shade in the underground car park behind Place des Lices. Walking through our usual car park which holds no more than 50 cars, we saw 1 Rolls Royce, 2 Bentleys, 1 Ferrari, 2 Maseratis and 5 Porsches of various types. Impressive even by St Tropez standards.
We were on a mission. We walked down the narrow shop strewn alley, Rue Georges Clemenceau, then left along Rue General Allard, past the Breitling shop (without pause) until just shy of halfway along we came to the Longchamp shop. We looked in the window and the bag Peanut had her eye on had gone. They had another inside and glimpsing at an angle through the door I saw it. We stepped in and walked the length of a long thin shop to the counter at the rear of the store. The lady spoke great English and was very helpful, a complete contrast to the middle aged East German shop assistant we encountered in Berlin when we bought Peanut her Coeur de Lyon necklace. We got the bag out, a beautiful grey, yellow and black bag sitting on a small base and widening either side to the top of the bag. Very chic and very Peanut in its 3 colour ways. The bag had matching yellow, grey and black gloves and the size 6 and a half gloves were a perfect fit. I suppose the expression I’m looking for is “They fitted like a glove”. A delicate petite silk scarf in the same colours completed the look. What could I say, my Lady looked like the Lady she is, so I said, ” Wrap them up please.”
As the tissue paper and the cardboard and the bag for the bag came out I wandered about the shop and spied a beautiful leather belt in blue, something I had been after for a while. In England stores stock brown or black but blue is on-line territory. The lady removed all the tags so I could try it on properly through my belt loops and also said don’t worry we can adjust the size in two minutes if it is too big. It’s not like this everywhere else I have been where the security tags stay in place so it is nigh impossible to see if it fits. Well this “Fitted like a glove.” Well no it didn’t, but it fit like a belt should and made my powder blue Burtons shirts instantly look four times more expensive than they were. This search had almost took as long as Peanut’s search for her handbag so I was proper chuffed and had it wrapped in tissue paper.
From here we headed up to the higher ground through the Three Arches at Rue Misericorde to a restaurant where we both enjoyed an omelette each while sharing a plate of chips. Now a ham and cheese omelette is not really anything to wax lyrical about really – unless of course you are me. It was scrumptious (another Mary Poppinsesque word) with a hint of runniness as you cut the omelette reminiscent of a soft boiled egg cooked for exactly four minutes.
After lunch we had done with St Tropez. Il Maestro needed a siesta in his pied de terre. We went home via Geant the huge supermarket 800 yards from us. We picked up some milk, eggs, cakes, cheese and so on. I’m not a lover of supermarkets but I do enjoy shopping in Geant.
Back home and a well earned cup of tea went down a treat. We had a siesta, lazed about, read – me reading Jack Reacher still and Peanut getting into Michael Connelly. I like Reacher books, easy to read, short sentences, definitely a style of its own. Reacher has an eye for detail, an obsessive character. Simple gripping books.
It was time for dinner a salad the same as we had before. A bed of iceberg lettuce tossed with salad dressing, ringed by sliced hard boiled eggs and tomatoes. Topped with lardons and croutons and a goats cheese cake wrapped in bacon, warmed and served on top. Followed by cheese and crackers and cakes. We washed it down with Ice Tropez. Simple but perfect in this weather. Scented candles to keep the mosquitoes away meant that my lady opposite was lit by candlelight. Her eyes sparkled and her smile added more light. She looked beautiful.
I was so smitten I promised her half a lager in Monroe’s Irish bar while we caught the second half of the Monaco v Paris St Germain football match. 3.0 to Paris. In truth we needed some internet access while I checked my bank, which in this uncertain world of flux and constant change was reassuringly in its same consistent state of sad despair. All good then. Peanut satiated by her football fix was now happy for us to return home to a crowded bed shared with Reacher and Mickey Haller.