Decking the rue

Whilst out in the courtyard yesterday I heard that particular cry of geese overhead.  I last saw and heard them sometime back in March, presumably they were flying in the opposite direction.  This time I think they were coming from the north east and heading south west.  I may be wrong.  We have already had a couple of short cold snaps but I would have thought they would have been long gone by now or is it that their migratory habits are different to, say the swallows who I saw gathering sometime in mid-September.  I will have to now wait for another three or four months before I hear those cries again.

In the early afternoon I walked down to the bank and saw a ‘cherry picker’ in the main road hanging our Christmas lights.  Local people as they passed in their cars were giving a toot to the council workers as they went about their task.  I have to admit to feeling a slight surge of Christmas excitement within at this sight (am I allowed?).

The new lights are up for Christmas

As I passed one of our local cafés en route I was confronted by a black London taxi cab.  It was double parked outside the café with a few locals gathered around.  I noted it had English number plates.  The driver was topped off with a Tam ‘o Shanter beret.   

Ribérac centre-ville, Sir?

When I introduced myself to him he quickly told me that he was French but absolutely loved everything English I didn’t dare to mention the headwear at this point.  After much joviality he swung the cab around and headed off in the opposite direction.  It was then I realised that the car, despite its steering wheel on the right and the number plates, had gone completely native.  For down the nearside rear door panel was the ubiquitous gouge that most French cars seem to display as a badge of honour.  To complete the picture two Union Jack cushions sat proudly in the back window, just in case anybody should doubt where the Monsieur's true loyalties lay.  Isn’t it strange that English people coming to France sometimes seem desperate to display their French credentials in the form of a 2CV or some such car and now the French are doing the same in the form of black cabs.  On the same theme I have often noted with our guests who stay at our B&B, that the English seem to love their breakfast coffee whilst our French clients take ‘tea classique’.  Maybe there is a reverse snobbism afoot which I find quite fascinating to observe.

Your cab awaits