Winding down, getting wound up

Not a bad meal last night with Kate and John at the Cocotte Fêlée.   I had a skewer of shrimps served on a Thai-style salad of mango, transparent noodles, peanuts and sundry healthy bits and pieces, then a baked ham and sage stuffed chicken breast with odd bits of veg as a garnish.  Both satisfactory, and in time-honoured style, I can't remember what I had for pudding.  So we seem to have two bonnes adresses on the Prom.

We're starting to plan our brief transhumance northward, and driven out this afternoon by screeching sprogs in the street (one of which, aged barely 2, had to be restrained by yr obed servt from taking a key to a neighbour's car and kicking in the number plate), we took off to get some last bits of shopping.  Pause on the way in Ribaute, where one of the heats of downhill go-kart racing was in progress.  Evidently, eight villages host these timed events, and we got to see a dozen or so hurtle past.  Some quite serious chassis, but most pleasingly frivolous, including a bathtub and a wind surfer on wheels.  One trailed a windsock and a cloud of orange smoke.  As one does.  Evidently this is serious stuff: eight villages are hosting heats, we learned.

Next stop, Camplong, where our lady was in a friendly mood today (you never can tell...).  My carte de fidélité being full after today's visit, she presented us with our 0.00001% loyalty bonus of a bottle of cooking pink.  Thence to Fortnum's in the market town for kitchen and laundry supplies, and on to Saint-Laurent de l'Ecrevisse (OK: de la Cabrerisse) for some whites for Celia and Andy.

The weather has broken with a flash and a bang, so that's our excuse for parking outside the house when we got home.  After my two avertissements last week, I'd been parking legally at a health-giving distance.  We gather that the traffic warden got into a scuffle with a protesting resident the other day, and knocked him to the ground.  Outcome of enquiry awaited, but I saw said warden on his bike yesterday, oddly omitting to ticket the Mairie van, illegally parked across André's garage door, and unaccountably refraining from adding to Bertrand's ticket collection.  The more I get to know this country, the less I understand it.