Getting the Abbey Habit

 

The next leg of our journey was a four hour drive to Montauban.  We try very hard to avoid motorways and had lovely journeys across rolling hills and fields as green as very green things.  (Some say my adjectival acumen is second to none).

We had taken on board many warnings about parking our car full of luggage and it being broken into by “voleurs”. Finding a restaurant with windows overlooking the car park and near enough that we could rush out and kill the thieves with our plastic forks, became impossible…. so we stopped eating unless Mistress R. Soul was safely locked away.

With the help of Miles (worst pronunciation of French in the Universe) Satnav, found our next hotel Abbaye Des Capucins, or very roughly translated, Monkey Abbey.  Checked in .   Nice place.  Bit arty.   Bit of a  Christmas vibe.

Having read on Trip Advisor about their 4 star  restaurant I said (in French) to the Reception Man,  “And a table for two this evening?”  “Mais  non” says he.  “Nous sommes complet”. So I threw me self on the floor, crying “are all the fates against me.    I don’t  ask much in life  just a table for two   God, whyyyyyy haasste thowwww forsaken meeeeeeee?”

Peering over the reception desk, reception man said “ but, Madame, tonight we have a fashion party, with free food and as much chanpagne as  you can drink(?)…..  and then a disco.    All of  which you are welcome to attend as our guest”

Gathering  my clothes and my dignity together, I rose from the floor. “Well, we may” I said haughtily.   Me and Gazza walked away, heads held high,,  to prepare for the evening.

We were one of the first to arrive, got a table.   Charming waitress brings champagne and an amazing array of canapés and oysters. We soon realised it was some sort of networking party, and that “hi, we’re  Jan and Gary on holiday from England,” was not something anyone was interested in.

The fashion show was about 30 minutes of, very obviously amateur models of about 16 , in very skimpy underwear. Never did find out what it was all about.  Still we had much food, much wine and much fun.

The reason for the full restaurant was that a team of rugby players were staying at the hotel.   They came in to breakfast like a team of gladiators, not a broken nose nor a cauliflower ear to be seen, but the most magnificent examples of manhood in every size, shape and colour.   “Ahh” I sighed dreamily and gave my breakfast egg a merry little thwack and discovered it wasn’t hard boiled as I had imagined, but raw.

After a quick shower we packed once again for the last leg of our journey.   We are to stay with our friends and their three big dogs (eek) until we know what is happening with our landlady after her stroke and when we can move to our new French home.

So, bloggees, you will probably be pleased to know there will be a bit of a break from blogging now.   After all that has happened over the last few weeks, Gazzie and I have the most god awful colds,  no doubt due to the stresses and strains of the preparations.  There have been many moments when I have thought that the plan was ill conceived and foolhardy in the extreme, but, as I lay here in my bed in Gabian looking out at a cloudless blue sky, I think maybe it will be, at the very least, ok, at the best, a grand adventure.

Until we move into our French home then, we say, “au revoir”