4) Christmas approaches

Happy Christmas to (all) our reader(s)!

This interestingly red version of a Christmas tree was spotted outside a Beauty Parlour in Villfranche (note how well the red goes with the purple decoration in the window).  I'd imagine even Gary Glitter might appear normal in comparison to the sort of clientele you might find emerging from here.

St Antonin Noble Val

Yesterday we went south to St Antonin.  It was Monday so practically everything was shut.  The only agence immobilier that was open was run by a rather scary English woman with a very annoying and rather anemic looking cat.  I have never really liked cats, mainly because of their homicidal tendencies, and the way they seem to like toying with, and then torturing animals smaller than themselves.  To give them credit, though, they also seem to enjoy toying with, and then torturing me.  Despite the fact that I am a good deal larger than a cat and could easily give it a good thwack (or even, dare I say, kill it), they only play their evil games when in the presence of their doting and protective owners.  As they jump up onto your lap and then subtly dig their claws into whatever soft parts are to hand, they purr as if innocently befriending you.  Actually the evil little creatures know exactly what they are doing, and one day I will distract their owner's attention for the split second needed to sling one out of a top floor window and see if it really can land safely from 70 feet up.  Unfortunately on this occasion we were on the ground floor, there were no open windows, and the lady estate agent clearly had far more potential to inflict pain than the cat.

Evil little pale cat

Eventually the lady estate agent realised the cat might be annoying her (rare-cash-buyer) clients and put the little shit outside.  As it was minus 4.5 degrees (plus chill factor), a warm glow of triumph swept over me as I wondered whether some kind soul might add to its misery by throwing a bucket of cold water over it from one of the charming and beautiful medieval overhanging balconies nearby.  To my utter dismay, barely a minute later, some do-gooder English cat lover with floppy hair and a plummy accent brought the damn thing back in, saying he'd heard it meowing outside and thought it might be cold.  As a result of this unsolicited intervention, now even the owner couldn't throw it out without seeming cruel.  This cat could clearly outwit even the Borgias, let alone me. Instead it was taken upstairs to a nice warm room by the fireand I am sure, as it disappeared round the corner, I detected a horribly human smirk on its evil little round furry face.

Official Christmas decoration tied to the branch of a random tree

We decided that, apart from the cat, St Antonin was just too full of the Eeengleesh.  It was actually a lovely place, with all that you could want - bars, restaurants, bistrots, cafes, hotels, and there was even a wine merchant in case you ran out of drink. Obviously we are just as much part of the English invasion as the next angle or saxon, it's justwe  felt there didn't seem to be ANYONE speaking French there, let alone smoking a Gauloise or playing boules.  So we moved on to Bruniquel.

Random beautiful buildings at Bruniquel

Bruniquel was stunningly beautiful, perched high on a hill overlooking the Aveyron valley. It is extraordinary how every little town or village in France seems to have buildings that would be regarded of special interest to the National Trust in England, yet here they everywhere.  Almost every little street and building was beautiful, but we came to the conclusion that perhaps Bruniquel had been hit by the plague as all its inhabitants had apparently died.  It was completely silent, even its cats had apparently (happily) died.  There were no shops, no bars, nothing (not much call for them I suppose).  The cemetery, however, we noticed was overflowing, even to the extent that they had built another one next to it, which was already pretty full. Not knowing how long the plague virus survives, even at cold temperatures, we decided to look for lunch elsewhere.