Provence, and as the lady said, “I’ve talked enough about me. Now, let’s talk about you – what do you think about me?”
So what do they think of London 2012 down here? Shortly after our arrival we overheard the owner of a bar jovially haranguing a large, pinkish Brit: you steal the Games from us, then you win all the medals, and, still not satisfied, you collect the Euromillions! €136m I think it was.
The linkages were more relevant than our patron knew: the British enthusiasm for lotteries is the foundation of recent sporting success. But then sport in Britain has often thrived on the profits of gambling – remember the Tote? The French might put this latest instance of virtue being supported by vice down to our incorrigible hypocrisy.
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We Brits do seem to win the Euromillions more than seems reasonable for a pan-European competition, but then we probably buy more than our fair share of tickets. A chap I was at school with won about 50 (very) big ones on it fairly recently. He’d been working as a handyman – no longer. We were friendly for a couple of teenage years but not so much that I felt able to send him congratulations out of the blue, let alone touch him for a few quid. It was certainly out of the question when I recalled our last contact had been marred by a row about a girl during which his brother was hit on the nose. A tricky situation to retrieve.
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As it happens, the bar owner’s imprecations were well-aimed: his British customer was Alistair Campbell (one-time adviser to prometheus of the Olympic flame, Tony Blair). This part of France is fairly chocker with what we might describe as the international Kinnockariat. Surrounded by stunningly good value caves cooperatives, immaculate communal tennis courts and shops stuffed with the delicious but subsidised produce of local farmers you do begin to wonder whether the state’s redeploying more than 50% of a country’s wealth isn’t such a bad idea. We may begin to find out more once the bond traders return to their desks next month.
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The remarkably well-preserved local Roman ruins remind one that fifteen centuries ago this prosperous and civilised province was knocked to bits by a previous set of barbarians. But, of course, you don’t need to go back that far for a vicarious taste of apocalypse, as yesterday’s visit to a semi-restored medieval chateau demonstrated. The place had been ruined twice over, most recently by the Wehrmacht: walls were still blackened by fires set off by grenade blasts.
The previous round of depredations had been perpetrated by the revolutionaries of 1789. A note next to one chipped but still massive stone fireplace related it was the chateau’s only survivor, the others having been destroyed by the pillaging peasants. A little while later we were down in the surrounding village, investigating the cool interior of an antique olive oil mill. Presses against the far wall were framed by beautifully dressed, substantial stone columns and lintels. Carved on, as it were, the mantlepiece of the central nook was a date: 1792. If only ancien regimes were always so productively recycled.
Looking out of the window at the murky gloom I wouldn’t half mind being in Provence right now. I often wonder what the UK would be like if our peasants had revolted at some point like the frogs. I suppose we’d all still be driving austin allegros
memo to self: New idea for a futuristic dystopian cyborg sci-fi series set in Provence
Our peasants disappeared before they had a chance to revolt. I suppose we were due the workers’s version but that didn’t happen either.
Some interesting-looking Citroens about btw. I’m sure they were more popular in the Britain of my youth. I wonder if there’s anything wrong with them.
Citroens were fantastically popular in Cornwall when I was a kid, mostly due to the fact that there were only a few car showrooms in Cornwall and they were all Citroen garages (apart from a few Yugo and Talbot/Peugeot ones I remember) My father had a succession of enormous CX’s with the three rows of seats.
Of course these days even your average builder’s apprentice drives an audi or a beamer. The availability of cheap credit has meant that less people want to put up with an average motor
Never been the same since that Manon burd bunged up the source and Dirk Bogarde left, nice derrière though. Which one? well, really.
A man I know has a hillside down there, all limestone with bits of a village attached. He was looking forward to retirement next year, then ‘ollande arrived in his Zil.
Wish we were there Gaw.
I see M Hollande is talking about adopting the US approach of extra-territorial taxation of citizens. Could be pretty revolutionary if he pulled it off. Tempting to all the other hard-up cases too.
I think the strongest argument in favour of the Common Agricultural Policy is that it makes France such a wonderful holiday destination.
I think it’s also to do with the supermarkets having to buy a certain amount of produce from local wholesalers, who are hand-in-glove with the farmers. This may be a typically clever and shameless bit of below-the-radar French protectionism. Of course, for any number of reasons we wouldn’t countenance such a thing (cf. the abolition of the Corn Laws).
indeed – possibly also the only argument.
Can’t help but think that pretty much all Alistair Campbell’s interactions are haranguings – either he’s haranguing or being harangued, or perhaps with Gordon a two-way session of simultaneous haranguing.
And I like the use of the passive there – “his brother was hit on the nose”.
Over the years I’ve got better at using the passive.