9th August 2008

Saturday mornings mean market day in our tiny mediaeval village. As I write this, the August temperature outside is already around 30 degrees C and the sky is blue, so it is just the day for me, him indoors and Bruno our dog to walk up our country lane and through the ancient alleyways towards all the noise and confusion. Every French village has a Place de la Halle market place - usually a raised concrete dais surrounded by ancient flaking pillars. Ours is no exception. As we approach we can already see the many-hued produce on display. There are bright purple and white aubergines and sun-kissed tomatoes en grappe, giant peaches, their skins furry and succulent, alongside home-grown strawberries, hairy pink raspberries and juicy fruit of every size, texture and hue. What I particularly like about French markets is that the produce is locally-produced. When I asked why there were no mushrooms on display, the answer was 'c'est fini'. They clearly don't stockpile produce in deep-freezers because in many cases they are just small farmers only selling their home-grown products when they are in season. Him indoors gets by very well these days with his improving French phrases. 'Le plein, s'il vous plait' (fill-it up please) works well whether he's proffering an empty basket at the market, an empty car at the garage or even an empty wallet at the bank! At least our bank manager here isn't like our old one in England, though, who used to say: We have a policy in this bank, Mr......., you are supposed to put money IN occasionally.......