65/2 Yesterdays

Wednesday 18th.
It’s Tony’s sister B’s birthday today ( she of Provence and lettuce drying fame) and so we start the day by sending her an e-card and then phoning her in London. She has so much planned I am amazed she has the energy.
Yesterday afternoon, while Tony slept, I went walking and souvenir hunting on my own….2 ½ hours down side streets buying trinkets for loved ones…especially Allie. We’ll buy the cats a Barbecued chicken on Sunday and tell them it came from Paris. It was wonderful to have that time alone to explore and much needed. I love being with my husband but sometimes I just need down time on my own - as does he - and we always respect that in each other.
Wednesday - the hump day of the week when generally not much happens. Certainly we didn’t plan anything special. Sometimes a day just clicks together perfectly - and this was one of them. In the morning we walked down by the Seine…. Because it’s summer and they have the artificial plages ( beaches) there are no cars down there - (it’s generally a fast way of avoiding traffic). The “beaches” have sand, and bean bags and sun loungers, even deck chairs, and Dj’s in the evenings and there are ic-cream stands and little kiosks selling beer - all for Parisiens who can’t get to the coast for their August Vacances. The weather is warming up again but it’s not sunbaking we have in mind. On our side of the Seine - just under our little bridge - are the patonc pitches - and you can play for an hour, day or night. Although it basically has the same rules as lawn bowls, Patonc ( named for the noise the metal balls make when they hit each other) looks waaaay more cool when it’s being played. Whole family groups play together, young men take it very seriously and there are Patonc leagues; workmen come out at lunchtime and use their lunchbreak to hone their patonc skills. It’s BIG and FUN! Best of all, Le Mairie de Paris provides the Patonc facilities FREE to everyone. So Tony and I take our heavy metal patonc balls to our assigned pitch. I’m expecting Tony to beat me hands down as he is an athlete and good at every sport. But lo and behold, I kick his arse!!!!! 20 - 9.….. The only other time I have beaten him at anything is crazy putt putt…and he used to be a golfer! We hug and kiss and laugh and make jokes and behave like any other young lovers, because that’s the way we feel inside. Afterwards we drink French beer from plastic cups and just sit and watch the passing Parade of people and the endless tourist boats on the Seine. Four of the local council litter collectors stop for a beer….and so do the police. On the bridge above us is a busker….a lone clarinet player playing Benny Goodman style swing….it’s the perfect accompaniment to the day. We hold hands and smile a lot….not much need to talk. Two workers, Patonc players, are oggling the females passing by….Tony joins in with them and the three are either making appreciative grunts and nodding - or shaking their heads. The two Frenchmen love it that I am laughing and am not annoyed - and I love that France is not politically correct and Big brother regimented in the way that Australia is…. Men are still free to whistle at pretty girls here….and the girls love it. We wander back and pick up fresh bread and stuff it with Brie and ham and hard boiled eggs and French Mayo - which is a taste to die for. We wash it down with mineral wayer and then fall into bed for our snuggle/nap. But there’s more great stuff to come.
When we wake we decide to make the Loooooooong haul, fifty metres across the road to 38 Rue de Rivoli - un caveau which claims to have cool jazz from 3.30 - 7pm ( before turning into some kind of performance space. Paris is filled with caveaus….cellars with arched roofs giving them a cavelike feel. We don’t know what we will find as we climb down all the stairs. In the funny little cave it is like a rehearsal room. A motley collection of musicians - some better than others but none of them good, are amusing themselves. Despite the fact that entry is free to the public we are the only ones there. The music is not very good but the girl singer is nice. We order a beer and plan to make a quick getaway, but they start on Lullaby of Birdland and she doesn’t know the lyrics….so I join in the bridge “And there’s a weepy old willow; he really knows how to cry. That’s how I’d cry in my pillow - if you tell me so long and goodbye…..”
And the next thing I know they have asked us to join them….and Tony takes over the drums, the drummer takes over piano ( since he’s better than the pianist) and we have two hours of the most fun ever! I am scratchy vocally and it’s been a long while since I have scatted….but GOD I have missed this. I explain in half baked French that I used to be a singer forty odd years ago and there are great protests…No no…you still are.! And when I do a pretty decent version of Yesterdays, ( Jerome Kern…not Guns N Roses)which they all applaud, I know they mean it. And beloved, who is a jazz elitist to the point where I no longer sing at home, is surprised and hugs me and says it was good! The five French musos are lovely and the jazz tuba player is hysterically funny….taking all the top notes the husky voiced chanteuse can’t manage and doing a hilarious vocal version of “Some day my prince will come.” We laugh until we’re exhausted, and they ask us if we will come again tomorrow. But Tony and I know you can’t hope to duplicate something that special that happened that spontaneously and so we say goodbye - feeling as though we are leaving friends.
I cook some beautiful salmon for dinner - and then open the crepes we bought, spread them with apricot conserve and simmer them in Peach liquer and fresh squeezed orange. Crème fraiche on the side….heaven…and we finally open the bottle of Champagne with dinner and finish it while watching Dumbo on DVD…..it’s a day we’ll remember for the rest of our lives.