One thing leads to…a moment in time

I’m always writing. It’s more than a hobby; it’s a necessity. When I took my sabbatical year in Provence in 2007, I wrote a whole book. Eighty thousand words. And yet I failed to mention a small incident which I suddenly recalled this evening. Perhaps it seemed inconsequential at the time. Possibly I failed to recognise that the other person involved would still be my good friend five years down the line and in another country.

Post Christmas, feeling a bit down, I took myself to the sales. Well, just one sale actually, but, nonetheless, very satisfactory. The dress and top I’d yearned for two months ago were available for half the price as was a pair of shiny, flat black patent shoes (not those I mentioned in a previous blog, but as good as). And a pair of baggy black trousers with white stars…a stellar purchase if ever there was one. Of course, as the shoes had no heels, the trousers were too long.

It’s always tricky taking up a pair of trousers on your own. You really need someone else to pin up the bottoms in order to achieve an even hem. And whilst I was mulling this over, I was unexpectedly transported back to the tiny village of Graveson in the south of France where I was standing on the dining table of someone I barely knew. Beverley was doing her best with my new, fresh from Avignon, Armand Thiery trousers.

I’d arrived alone in an unknown place where I knew no-one so I advertised my presence at a shop whose main customers were ex-pats – Best of British.
English woman seeks friends.
Well, no good beating about the bush. And Beverley answered my call. Beverley had led a peaceful existence up until then. Later, her daughter would tell me:

My mother just used to sit in the sun and read before you arrived.

Sorry Bev. She should’ve told me sooner. I misjudged that one.

Bev took me to St Remy for a quiet coffee. I took Bev to Avignon for shopping and lunch and people-watching. I made Bev and Martin come and eat in my tiny bed-sit. I instigated walks where we got lost in the heat of the day. Together, we organised a bilingual wake. I helped them move house and virtually moved in. I was a NOISY interruption.

When I was ill, she didn’t believe me and made me walk around St Paul de Mausole before leaving me in the car-park outside Intermarche whilst she went in to buy meat that no-one would eat.

They didn’t eat it because she’d rushed me to the hospital where she waited for hours. She got my daughter over, housed and fed her, visited me for a week and took me back to her house on the eighth day for recuperation.




For want of a nail maybe. For want of a few pins I found a lovely friend.

English woman seeks friends.