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| This started the trouble! |
Well, I have finally
confirmed the worst suspicions of the honest citizens of la
Bourboule! It was entirely unintended, but I suspect I will suffer
for my foreign ways at long last. I suppose I could plead temporary
insanity, based on a surfeit of cold medication, but my French isn't
up to it. Luckily I am leaving in a few days, and I can only hope
that it will all blow over by the time I return next year …. If
they let me, that is.
So, this is what
happened. Last Thursday, just before I was struck down by a
singularly nasty cold, courtesy of my fellow curistes, I wafted about
the local fleamarket. It was still raining heavily, and very few
traders had decided to set up a stall – there were barely half a
dozen, in stead of the usual two dozen. Feeling that these few hardy
show-ups had to be supported, I had a quick wander after my all-clear
visit to my doctor.
As luck would have
it, there was one stall that enabled me to indulge in one of my many
obsessions – linen bedsheets! I bought two, and had a free one
thrown in, which suited me very well. My hotel, though excellent in
every way, does not supply linen bedsheets, and I am used to my
creature comforts. So I was naturally overjoyed to find these old,
hand monogrammed sheets, and put them on immediately (they had just
been freshly laundered!).
But it was not the
sheets that caused scandal and alarm about my inappropriate behaviour
in this quiet, upright, and very straight laced spa town.
Already burdened
with my sheets – linen sheets weigh a ton, and I dread the journey
back home – I came across an old, cast iron, device. I am unsure
what its original use was, probably some sort of food warmer. Unlike
the teapot warmers we use nowadays, this one looks as thought it was
intended to be used with coals. Perhaps one used already glowing
coals to put into the warmer, which could then be put on a table and
keep food warm. I have never come across this sort of thing, but
judged it suitable for use as a teapot warmer.
I keep a teapot in
la Bourboule (obviously), together with a cup and plate. My hotel,
though brilliant in every aspect imaginable, does not supply teapots,
nor indeed proper cups. All they have is the fingerbowls used for
cafe au lait in the south of France, and tiny cups for espresso, and
neither are suitable for a proper cuppa.
Anyway, the teapot
is large and I drink slowly, and I have been sorely missing the
services of a teapot warmer. So you can imagine how pleased I was to
spot this device. I hesitated buying it, on account of its heaviness
(there is only so much I can store in my hotel in la Bourboule
between visits, and a cast iron teapot warmer is low on the list), so
I shall have to carry it home (another heavy item to weigh down my
suitcase).
Anyway, I was six
days younger then and more foolishly inclined than nowadays, so I
bought the thing. And fell ill. And stayed at home, until lack of
food and a slight improvement in my symptoms drove me from my lair.
Aside from several
large boxes of tissues and food I also decided that I really wanted
to use my teapot warmer, so shopped around for some tealights, which
I found in a store specialising in various foreign fripperies. So
far so good.
But yes, you guessed
it – I needed matches as well! No one had matches. Perhaps the
fact that I called them 'lunettes', rather than 'allumettes', caused
confusion. Trying to convince any number of shopkeepers that I
needed 'eyeglasses' for candles to heat my tea, while still heavily
sedated by cold medicine, almost went beyond my talents, until I got
hold of the lady at Remys, who supplies me with newspapers and is
sublimely gifted in divining my needs, however outlandish. I also
showed her my tealights, in a last ditch effort to make myself
understood.
She burst into
pearls of laughter, then eyed me suspiciously. 'Matches to light
candles?' she asked in French. Exactly, I replied. She directed me
to the tobacconist around the corner, in a hesitant, slightly
disapproving, fashion.
The tobacconist was
a young man, and a little standoffish, until I voiced my request. He
looked around suspiciously, made sure there were no other customers,
and smiled at me in a conspiratorial sort of way. Then he went to
the back of the shop, searched around for a considerable amount of
time, and returned with a little black match box. I did the
unthinkable, and asked for two. At this he became even more affable,
returned to the back of the shop, and came back with another little
black match box. He handed them over, smiling again his knowing,
conspiratorial smile, and whispered that 'there was no charge – a
gift from someone who understands'.
I left the shop
dazed and confused, looking around stealthily for potential witnesses
who might tell on me as I emerged from the tobacconist shop. I have
never felt so guilty in all my life. Heaven knows what rule I have
broken. I am sure I have no idea. Maybe I am now suspected of being
a secret smoker? In a town dedicated to the treatment of respiratory
ailments I suppose smokers are viewed with suspicion. Or maybe they
think I am an anarchist, planning to burn down city hall? I did
check the match boxes, and they did not conceal any opium or whatnot.
My God, what have I
done?
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| Creature comforts at la Bourboule |
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| The device |
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| Coals inside? |
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| Or will a tea light do? |
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| Suspicious or what? |
