I'm back. It was fabulous, and of course exhausting. No, we did not dance on Le Pont D'Avignon, nor did we record ourselves singing the song on a DVD to take home with us. But we saw Salins du Midi's salt pans at Aigues-Mortes, the Roman theatre at Orange, the Roman arena at Nimes, a very well-appointed museum of modern art at Bagnols-sur-Cèze, and a mad mad Provençal print cloth shop in Aix-en-Provence which I had vowed to bring my mother to when I saw it in 2005. I bought so much cloth for tablecloths that I had to mail it to myself. I'm hoping Scouse Doris will help me sew them all.
Good times: listening to the England vs. Tonga match with my father on his tiny transistor radio 1930s stylee, eating fabulous prawns with aioli sauce, rich stew made from a fighting bull calf with saffron rice, fabulous.
I'd tell you more, but I'm sorry, the rugby's on, Ireland versus Argentina, and it promises to be a humdinger. And may I say, the best of Irish luck to a fellow home nation. Wager, anyone? I thought not.
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