26th August 2008

Today is the 89th birthday of my aunt. She is a very special lady (the last remaining of my elderly relatives) and I wish I could send her a cake complete with candles, but she lives in Glasgow - too far away. But if it were possible, I know where I would go: the boulangerie just around the corner in our village. Every day they make the most wonderful bread, pastries and gateaux - the smell of freshly-baked bread wafts out of the door at every tinkle of the doorbell. It's no wonder that him indoors buys bread there every single day. It reminded me of what happened last year on my 60th birthday. Unknown to me, H had decided to order me a special birthday cake with a French inscription. It wasn't until afterwards that I heard exactly what had happened. He had apparently explained in tortuous French that he wanted to order a birthday cake with the words: Bonne anniversaire a ........... 60 ans, and that he would collect it on the day. The trouble was that he wasn't at all sure that the baker had understood him, so to make sure, H repeated the message to M. le boulanger a few days later. They carefully wrote it down in their order book. The big day arrived and H called at the boulangerie to collect the cake. Oui, Monsieur, the baker said, Voici vos 2 gateaux! proudly producing 2 beautiful cakes, exactly as ordered with my favourite raspberry filling. Non, non, says H, I didn't want two, just one. This wasn't the time for one finger gesticulations, as the baker looked somewhat confused. In the circumstances what else could H do? He paid the baker, arrived home and somehow we had to manage to eat two delicious cakes instead of one. Quel catastrophe!