Friday, August 5, 2011
Hot blooded Belgians .
Madame Bay arrives at the crack of dawn and quickly settles down at the breakfast table . She has that unmistakeable 'I don't want to gossip , but ... ' look on her face . Coffee in front of her and turban straightened she launches into her story .
There has been high drama in the village . On Tuesday the rather reserved Belgian oil engineer who owns the house down by the horse field arrived from Brussels for the weekend . He'd brought with him a young lady ' friend ' . Somehow the oil engineers wife had got wind of the fact that he wasn't , as he'd claimed , in Paris on business . Yesterday, she'd flown to Toulouse, rented a car , waited until they'd gone to bed and then methodically smashed all the windows on his large , new , Volkswagen SUV . As a parting gesture she kicked in the radiator . The gendarmes have been called .
As the chiffoned figure of Madame Bay waltzes down the hall , hoovering , ' the font ' turns to me and says " Who knew that the Belgians were so hot blooded ? ". Life in a quiet village in deepest France Profonde .
Last nights art show was certainly hot blooded , but more of that tomorrow. Wilf sleeps contentedly on . He has a look on his face that says " it isn't what they say about you, it's what they whisper ".