Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Completely unperturbed he started thrashing around again trying to blast out. Slow
learner that he was, the poor car had just about had it. Steam was coming out of the bonnet
and the exhaust pipe was now sounding like a tractor engine. Poor Nicole had taken on a
terrible greenish hue.
“I'm going to be sick,” she whimpered pathetically.
That was absolutely
it
for me. We'd endured enough as it was and I certainly didn't
want someone throwing up all over me.
“
ARRÊTEZ, malade, malade!
(Stop! She's ill!)” I bawled.
Thankfully it worked. He stopped, or rather stalled the car again and reluctantly al-
lowed us to get out which, by the way, was no mean feat.
There was absolutely no possibility of either me or poor Nicole getting back in that car
again. I made myself perfectly clear to
monsieur
with Nicole adding in real French words
here and there. She and I were going back on foot. I asked her to find out which direction
we should aim for and
monsieur
sullenly pointed to a dot in the distance far below.
Despite my pleadings, Jack decided to stay with
monsieur
to make sure he and the car
got back down the hill safely. As Nicole and I trudged off I could hear
monsieur
twittering
something behind us.
“Ah he is telling you to look at zee horses over there,” said Nicole.
Wild horses
huh
! They were a couple of old nags he'd let out of his paddock. And as
for the rest of the so-called game, unsurprisingly not a deer or boar in sight and the only
thing that had been seen flying was the car.
We must have looked pretty ridiculous tottering down the hillside, Nicole in her lovely
chic kit and me in ankle boots and trouser suit, but we really didn't care; we were just re-
lieved to be alive. A couple of muddy backsides and a few blisters later we finally made
it back and spent ten minutes playing with the dogs, which is always a good soother for
jangling nerves.
Imagine my relief when Jack and
monsieur
finally appeared. The car was barely re-
cognisable but, unbelievably, still working. Refusing all pleas to view his
magnifique
out-
buildings we instead agreed to a cup of coffee in his kitchen which seemed a safer option.
Madame
reappeared to serve us and asked if I would like to see her dogs.
Back on common ground, I willingly agreed and with that her three Brittany spaniels
came bounding into the room, jumped on the table and started scoffing the cakes and bis-
cuits.
Madame
simply raised her hands in comic despair and said, “
Ooh là là!
”
It really was time to go.
Refusing kind offers to stay to lunch we made our excuses as best as we could and,
after collecting our dogs, made for the car. To this day I still have a very clear picture in my
mind of
madame
standing in the drive brandishing a frying pan with a mushroom omelette
in it and
monsieur
proffering a jar of homemade duck pate. I felt awful about rejecting this
gesture of hospitality, but we simply could not stay.
