was a typical bourgeoise meal, served on 'fiance de Digoin' (MWNN asked if I'd prefer to live in Paray or here - it's like asking 'Brighton or Stoke'.) The silver and glassware were gleaming, linen tablecloth and napkins startched to within an inch of their lives. MWNN declared his meal 'acceptable', mine was better than that. Civilised behaviour from the only two teenagers in the place and attentive but discreet service made it a lovely experience. After we had paid the bill and mentioned that my cafe creme came 'sans creme', Madame came out to bid us farewell and apologised most profusely for the oversight. MWNN had to return to the restaurant to retrieve his hat and noticed that a sign announcing an 'extraordinary closure' of 3 days due to family difficulty.
Seven hours later and I am suffering the effects of a mere 'coup de champagne' and one glass of Pouilly Fumee - doesn't seem fair. (The Pouilly Fumee was wonderfully floral and herbal - nothing wrong with the wine, something wrong with me!) As I drifted off into uneasy, headachy, sleep I could hear the sounds of the Junior Orchestra and students of the music school doing their bit for the music festival in the square across the canal. Only doting parents sit through concerts of this sort so I felt no guilt at sleeping through it all.