The rattling overnight was a clue. The wind was coming from the North, and strong. Always a bad sign when the windows on the middle floor are misted up in the morning- means it was cold. And it was! I muffled up in my new pink scarf, bought on the market yesterday, and battled up to the bakery for bread. And there I instantly morphed into The Pink Fairy. Picture, if you will, a little boy of some eight or so years. Braces on his teeth, smartly dressed. A young Parisien on holiday allowed out to buy himself pastries. He was a chocolate fan. Nathalie offered him chocolate pain swirls, sacristains, even got Julien to push some sticks of chocolate into a warm croissant. And, finally, he added a chocolate éclair. Came to six euros but the poor lad only had five. This was all his mother had sent him out with. He was about to put one of his treats back but I took pity, sprinkled my fairy dust, and gave him the euro. Aah... Go on, let's hear it! He rewarded me with 'Un gros merci Madame.' and everyone in the shop beamed. Bet his mother is furious, undermined by a perfidious Albionite.
Around eleven we decided we simply had to have a walk and drove up to Rasteau. Didn't seem too bad at first. The sun was shining despite some evil looking clouds and the wind was strong but manageable. Along the way we passed the clump of iris I took in bud the other week. Now look at them- glorious, and not too battered by the gale.
Then once on the ridge out in the open it was a different story. Head down, Van Gogh-like, we marched into the teeth of the maddening wind. It was as lovely as ever but you didn't want to linger today. Back home the terrace doors are creaking against the relentless onslaught. Poor little violas on the window ledges are curling up and I have brought one of the pot plants in because it was visibly shivering.
