Want some light relief?
Enjoy a Bev and Carol adventure on me.
FREE ebook (links below)
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Here's a taster for you:
We had been in the South of
France for more than a month and were tanned, healthy and very well read. I had consumed Madame Bovary,
salivated over Les Fleurs du Mal, delighted in Le Chateau de ma Mère, and done my best with a bit
of Proust’s À la Recherche du Temps Perdu.
Carol had listened to my
observations and generally provided a slant to French literature that I found
both original and highly disrespectful, which was one of the many reasons I
loved her so much. She eventually
agreed to read a ‘proper’ book, if we could find one, and so we set out for
Perpignan in search of something she could get her teeth into.
Perpignan was a short bus ride
away. We had been there with Luc, but
now we were independent and full of a new excitement. We decided to make a day of it and got up well before
eleven. The next decision was more
difficult: whether to put on some clothes or not.
‘Do you think they’ll let us on
the bus in our bikinis?’ I asked Carol.
‘Could be a byelaw against bums
on seats, I suppose.’ Her tone was distinctly dubious. After all, this was France, not Switzerland.
‘It’s not going to rain,’ I
added.
We looked up at the cloudless sky
and decided that we would take a sundress with us, just in case.
It turned out that the bus driver
was a woman and that the dresses were obligatory. Even then, she wasn’t keen on letting us on her bus. As usual, it was Carol who charmed her,
telling her that her auntie drove a bus in London and was, like her, a woman
who flouted social conventions and excelled in a male dominated profession. In
summary, and as her French was almost non-existent, this is how it went:
