Happy Birthday To You.....

It was my wife’s birthday yesterday and I haven’t been able to say that for about 25 years. Yup – she’s well over her half century now and of course, and you wouldn’t expect anything less, she’s been hinting about her birthday for several weeks now. I’ve just ignored her as usual…. whilst making secret plans to take her to McDonalds for a slap-up meal. Unfortunately McDough (as they’re called in France) don’t do oysters or champagne so we had to head into Vence.

The day actually started with champagne. Dressed in my best dressing gown, which inexplicably has ‘George V’ on the pocket, I presented my still sleeping wife with champagne, crepes and a mug of tea. Classy or what? She watched the end of Breakfast TV and then demanded, I repeat, demanded, to be taken somewhere for oysters. I had actually planned to buy some from the local fishmongers but as I usually slit my wrists when opening them, I thought it was better to take her to a restaurant and then slit my wrists when I saw the bill. At least then, I would have eaten!

And so we headed off into Vence, accompanied by Guy who finishes at 12 on a Wednesday, so any chance of a romantic little lunch was well and truly screwed.

The Regence Café was all ready for us with its menu board outside showing ‘Huitres’. We sat at a sunny table and ordered (I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu to try and lower the bill) and then I went outside to try and calm myself, and work out my bank balance. I had a cigarette and a glass of Beaujolais Nouveau and soaked up the sunshine. By the time I returned, the champagne was flowing and I tried to distance myself from impending bankruptcy by watching what was happening outside.

The market traders in the square were busily trying to offload the last of their wares before the French disappeared off for their two hour lunches and the Brits disappeared into the nearest bars. Within minutes they were all gone – traders and potential customers alike. The sun still shone however and did its best to work its way through the last remaining leaves of the plane trees (the ones which have bark which looks like a leopard’s skin) which surround the square. These trees are magnificent. They are carefully sculpted each year by the council and look like works of art.

The sun also reflected off the walls of the houses and flats which border the square, with their facades all painted in either white, cream or light tan. No lilacs or shocking pinks here – it’s not allowed – thank God. 

The food arrived. An ocean of oysters on a freezer’s complete stock of ice. A pizza (for Guy) and a plate of Tortellini for moi. By the time I’d had a few more cigarettes and half a litre of Beaujolais, I’d forgotten about the bill and was again celebrating my wife’s birthday.

Happy birthday darling. XX