Unplanned trip

Monday

The courgettes have started to show some flowers and at least one timid fruit, and the dwarf French beans are looking quite encouraging.  We have given them and the spuds a good feed and a thorough soaking because - guess what? - we're back in Lagrasse.  Our friend Henry, who had become more and more frail in recent months, died last Friday, so we're here for his funeral and committal tomorrow.

The travel was more than usually hellish: a long walk from the car park bus to the North terminal at Gatwick, and an even longer one to the gate.  It is one of the newish ones across the bridge.  To add insult to injury, Sleazyjet was too tight to pay for air bridges either at Gatwick or Toulouse, so we had a lot of stairs to add to our delight at the experience.  The flight itself was OK apart from the proximity of Other People, including a sprog whose parents didn't know to give it something to get it swallowing during climb and descent, and which consequently screamed loud and long.  

Next ordeal was a half-hour queue for passport checks.  Once through that, it was a long walk to the car rental desk, only to find that it was closed, with a notice telling us to back-track to the far end of the furthest car park.  There we found a long queue for the two check-in desks, which were situated in the back of a van.  Well, the good news is that we got a slightly better car than we'd ordered, so the drive was OK.  It's a Fiat Tipo, similar to the one we rented in Tenerife.  Its six gears obstinately fail to change themselves, but we can cope with that for three days.

Tuesday

Not the easiest of days.  A lengthy funeral mass in the local church (in a curious mixture of French, Latin and English), attended by a good 70 friends, family and neighbours.  Next, about 20 of us trooped up to the crematorium at Trèbes, for about 20 minutes of tributes (in English, French and - briefly - Erse), following which the box was wheeled out.  One French mourner was surprised that the family hadn't asked to witness the cremation itself, which is evidently the norm.  I'd been rather dreading being asked to do so, and risking offence by politely declining.

The family and a few neighbours came back here for tea or coffee and biscuits, so the dishwasher is doing its stuff again as I write.  There's drinks and nibbles at one of the Prom cafés tonight: we'll make a token appearance.

Wednesday

Potager on our vines and olives walk, Lagrasse

Sheila was in pretty good shape yesterday evening after a rest in the afternoon, and is heading for Ireland today to spend a bit of time with family.  Our appearance at Lucie's having been somewhat less than token last night, we felt a shade delicate this morning.  To blow out the cobwebs, we went for one of our favourite walks, up the rive gauche past the vines and olives, then back to town across the back of the Abbey.  I haven't done a lot of walking since the knee started playing up a couple of years ago, so, while I was quite without pain, I was definitely short of puff.  Daily walks henceforth.    Toulouse-Blagnac and Gatport Airwick will doubtless contribute tomorrow.

Having decided on an apéro on the Prom after our stroll, we happened upon Henry's first wife, daughter and son-in-law, so spent a pleasant little while comparing hangovers and sharing memories of Henry.  It has of course been a sad occasion, but we leave feeling that we have made a lot of new friends.

Thursday

Traffic held up by soon-to-be-floating gin palace

Not too much in the way of closing down rituals after such a short visit, and I was up early enough to get much of it done before I was fully awake.  We were on the road soon after 09:00, so opted for the old N113, hence less fuel burn and no tolls.  Unmistakeably slower of course, not helped by having to stop and wait while a vast catamaran was trailered through the narrow main street of Pezens.  The last twenty miles to the Toulouse ring road was pretty slow, and the périph was mayhem.  It's always like that around lunchtime, when the good people of Toulouse get the idea of their pre-lunch Porto or pastis.  Lane changes are decided on and executed in a split second, with the occasional signal when the manoeuvre is almost complete.  Total disregard of speed limits, of course.

There was some sort of drama at the car rental place, where a renter was arguing at length in indistinct English ('You are joking, aren't you?') while he and his wife attempted to squeeze their bags into the back of a Fiat 500.  Another route march later, we installed ourselves in the restaurant that looks out across the field.  Not cheap: plat du jour, puddings and a half litre of rosé rushed us 66€.  Still, said plat was not bad - chicken breast served with ratatouille and some nice bread.  We watched quite a few commercial and Airbus landings and take-offs, including prototypes of the new big A350 and little re-engined A319, and a couple of Belugas - they really do appear to defy the laws of physics.

Another trek to the gate, though security was a lot brisker than at Gatwick on the way out.  More drama at the gate: a fellow was pleading to be let on a flight to Amsterdam, after the door had been closed, even dropping to his knees at one stage.  A victim of Toulouse traffic, no doubt.  

Boarding once again involved lots of stairs. This time we had to stand and wait for five minutes or so in a grim concrete stairwell.  Once on board, we found that, yet again, we had a screaming sprog in the row in front of us.  It did at least shut up once we were airborne.  Good views of the Gironde estuary, Cherbourg, the IoW and Portsmouth as we flew in, and we were treated to a 360° sightseeing flight round Haywards Heath. For some reason, once we'd landed, they deployed stairs to the back exit of the plane, and an airbridge at the front.  We were at the back, but opted to wait and leave by the front.  There were about ten zigs and nine zags of queue for passport control.  Question: since the process is fully automated, why were only half the gates functioning?  

The car park bus driver was a graduate of the Alan Sherman school, closing the doors and pulling away when we were three paces from the door, so we had a while to wait among the piss and chewing gum at the bus stop.  It took an hour from landing to driving off, but I guess that's par for the course.

It's always good to be home among our familiar comforts and with a summer garden to look out on.  We both felt that we'd been away far longer than the three days it actually was, but I suppose that two days' travelling, including four airport experiences, and the emotional demands of a church plus crematorium funeral made it seem longer.  

Still, back into the thick of it: I have a day at the hobby today.  No rest for the wicked.