Thursday July 15th.
It’s Margaret’s birthday and we’re all determined, after the debacle last night, to make it a great day for her. We go through a silly plan to rid the house of any negative thoughts. We choose a word for the day which we will keep up for their visit….and try to work it into the conversation as often as we can (today’s word is indubitably) and we giggle over stupid things and stuff ourselves with juice and fruit and croissants and coffee. If there’s a niggling resentment in the pit of my stomach I push it away - we have France at our fingertips. It will be as special as we make it.
We go to Ales(not to be confused with Arles of Van Gogh fame) - about 25kms away - to check on a free big band swing era concert that I think is on tonight. It seems like a fitting finish to Margaret’s birthday and the right era for her. Ales is a lot more industrialised and touristy than Uzes…. The cafes are more typical of those in Marseille, but it has its own charm. I buy M a heavily reduced periwinkle blue and white pure silk long scarf in the Monoprix - everywhere has sales on. Much like Britain, France is for sale at bargain prices! We stop for coffee and Tony checks out the concert - which turns out to be Friday night…not tonight. A case of me suffering premature speculation!
So we start re-arranging tomorrow’s plans, because there’s so much B wants to see and they only have a few days. Katie, my beautiful stepdaughter, arrives with her bloke Sam this evening and we’re going out for dinner. We wait patiently and crack a bottle of Champagne when they arrive - courtesy of Margaret. The next village is called Aigaliers, an arte-ville de Provence. It’s not much bigger than Bourdiguet but it does have impressive ramparts and nestled in them is a little family Auberge. The terrace is crowded but they find a place for us. There’s an oil cloth table cloth, a string of rope lights, and hot-pink plastic chairs. A middle aged hairy legged woman, smoking a cigar and dragging a toy poodle along on a lead, wants to share our table but she seems to understand my …”Pardon madame, ilya trois autres personnes qui arrivent a bientot.” She walks away puffing on her cheroot….dragging the poodle behind her. I order another bottle of Champagne as the surroundings don’t look very promising. Aaaaah, but the food is superb as it usually is in these little family run restaurants. Daughter manages and Mum cooks….the duck sheds its bones with ease, the legumes are to die for, and I get the last piece of home made apricot and fresh fig tarte…..not usually on the set menu. It is heaven…. Hard to believe anything can top it. Despite B undergoing a mood swing during the evening and becoming petulant for half an hour the celebration is a triumph and Tony doesn’t even mind running a shuttle service home. Margaret stays up until after midnight and declares it the best birthday in a long time. Why can’t all family gatherings be like this? The tension isn’t gone, but at least it’s masked by goodwill.
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