Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
two cats fighting a violin in a metal box or Joe Pasquale being beaten to death with a set of
bagpipes. A truly, truly horrible noise. Oh, and they snore too.
The chimney-perching owls added a certain eccentricity to the place, which seemed fitting
as the locals were still coming to terms with my out-of-the-ordinary dress sense. Every couple
of years I treat myself to something special, partly for work and partly as a reminder to my-
self that I'm not 'Mr Countryside' just yet. But when even your wife looks at you and says,
'It's a bit Quentin Crisp, isn't it?' you realise that you've reached your peak and you can go
no further. I've known Natalie for over twenty years and in that time she has seen me wear
some pretty 'special' clothing - there were the Oki-Kutsu two-tone, open-sided crepe soled
sandals, the triumphant shocking pink Sta-Prest trousers, the brief flirtation with the beret
while living in Stockwell. This new coat, however, knocked them all into a rakishly tilted,
cocked hat. It was magnificent. An oxblood/maroon, faux-mink pea coat with epaulettes and
belt that shimmered under the light. It was very fine - very 'flamboyant' - and about as un-
rural France as it's possible to be. In fact, I'm not entirely sure where it would fit in, but I
loved it.
Even though I hate being recognised in the street as a comedian (it doesn't happen very often
but I find it intimidating), I am vain enough to like people staring at me for what I'm wear-
ing. It's called 'peacocking', and I'm good at it. A bleak midwinter's day in the Loire Valley,
however, is neither the time nor place for such a display; it doesn't evoke hostility - as far as
I can tell the only hostility here is directed at vegetarians - it just evokes total bewilderment.
I was going to be away for ten days and as usual dragging my feet, making me late for my
train which meant I had to buy my ticket on board. This is perfectly fine, so long as you ap-
proach the guard first, otherwise you get fined.
'Un aller-simple à Paris, s'il-vous plaît?'
I said to the guard, who was looking me up and
down with some astonishment.
'Paris,'
he nodded, unable to take his eyes off my coat,
'naturellement'
, in one word sum-
ming up exactly what he thought not only of my coat but of Parisians in general. I then pro-
duced my
Familles Nombreuses
railcard which threw him completely; it gives me 30 per
cent discount on French trains because I've got three children. The whole coat-railcard-chil-
dren combination was just too much for him and after that he refused to look me in the eye
and kept tutting and mumbling to himself, presumably in response to some internal dialogue
about lax modern adoption laws. He walked off to another carriage shaking his head. It is a
little-known fact that part of the reason for moving to such a remote, rustic backwater was to
begin work as a Mod Missionary and it is a constant battle.
Though secretly quite pleased with the effect my coat had, I don't want to be seen to be bel-
ligerent about it. Being eccentric is one thing, but it's best not to go too far. Don't overplay
your hand. It was going to be a long winter so I thought I should wear it sparingly when in
France; especially if the hunters were out.
