We'd bought one of those 'Pack Illimite' vouchers, which means our regular train rides to Toulouse cost just 9 euros return. Much cheaper than those exorbitant prices in the UK. But, what on earth are those yellow 'Compostage' machines at the station? Him indoors says that, at home, we put grass cuttings in ours. But, realisation dawned. Tickets are open-dated, so when you're about to catch a train, you need to show the inspector your ticket's been stamped with that particular day and time. Now, no more hiding under the seats at sight of a peaked cap.
Toulouse was its usual bustling self, despite the rain. First, I needed a get-well card for a friend back home, so looked in a large papeterie. No joy, so Him indoors was reduced to acting like a 'lame duck' for the amusement of the shopkeeper. At last, he cottoned on. 'Ah, retablissement'. Should've realised that! Next, a trip to C &As. But, being a lady of quite ample proportions, I was not pleased that the changing-rooms had ill-fitting curtains and they allowed men inside the area who could stare in! Oh well. Time to get back to Matabiau station for the short ride home. But, you've guessed it, couldn't make out which platform (voie) to take. No monitors at all at platform level. Oh, Mr. Porter, what shall I do.....Will we ever get used to living here? Only time will tell.
Showing posts with label C and A. Show all posts
Showing posts with label C and A. Show all posts
16th October 2011
Toulouse yesterday. Place Capitole vibrant. Everyone looked happy. What a difference to our Birmingham UK origins, where typically a customer would greet a retailer with the memorable lines: 'I don't s'pose you've got one of these' - almost not entering the shop, so sure was he that they wouldn't have one!
And there, right on the corner, was C & As - last heard of in Corporation Street, Birmingham decades ago. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until I walked through the doors. Picking up a dress, there were the old familiar 'Sixth Sense' and 'Canda' labels. And, oh joy, large-size tops. Now at last I could actually choose something, instead of grabbing anything, anywhere that was near to fitting me. Just like old times. Except, footwear. French women everywhere have small feet, and women's shoesizes stop at size 41 (UK size 7). What am I, with size 8 (French size 42) supposed to do? Clomp around in men's shoes? I asked the saleswoman why, and memorably she said 'Oh, I have the same problem too'. Well, order bigger sizes then!!
Him indoors was O.K. though. Everything fitted him well. But, he then insisted on buying a 7-pair pack of socks. All well and good until we got home and saw that each pair was emblazoned with a day of the week. I knew what would happen: Wednesday'll get mixed up in the wash with Sunday, and because of his increasing longsightedness, each foot, each day, will display different days. A veritable 'Feet (fait) accompli'!
And there, right on the corner, was C & As - last heard of in Corporation Street, Birmingham decades ago. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until I walked through the doors. Picking up a dress, there were the old familiar 'Sixth Sense' and 'Canda' labels. And, oh joy, large-size tops. Now at last I could actually choose something, instead of grabbing anything, anywhere that was near to fitting me. Just like old times. Except, footwear. French women everywhere have small feet, and women's shoesizes stop at size 41 (UK size 7). What am I, with size 8 (French size 42) supposed to do? Clomp around in men's shoes? I asked the saleswoman why, and memorably she said 'Oh, I have the same problem too'. Well, order bigger sizes then!!
Him indoors was O.K. though. Everything fitted him well. But, he then insisted on buying a 7-pair pack of socks. All well and good until we got home and saw that each pair was emblazoned with a day of the week. I knew what would happen: Wednesday'll get mixed up in the wash with Sunday, and because of his increasing longsightedness, each foot, each day, will display different days. A veritable 'Feet (fait) accompli'!
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