|The campsite Rose.|
|At last we're in Pineau terroir|
Had a hilarious interchange yesterday with the wine seller at the market in Teste. I asked him to recommend a red wine for drinking "ce soir".
"What will you be eating?"
I thought he was going to call the police.
"Jamais, jamais, jamais. Jamais red with fish. Jamais."
Of course I knew all this, but had neither the lingo nor the inclination to explain that many decades ago I had given up any interest in matching food with wine (except for oysters, funnily enough).
Therefore, I lied.
"Sorry, I meant "canard"!"
"Ah! Canard, monsieur!" he said unctuously.
And so he pointed me in the direction of this bottle.
Early morning drumming session:
Up at 6.50am and down to the cliff top to practise the old Caixa.
A really enjoyable 70 minutes playing while looking out over the ocean below.
Then back to the market at La Teste de Buch:
Spent much of the day thinking about what I'm going to do with all this reading of and around Sartre's philosophical novel, Nausea. Actually, put pen to paper - well, fingers to keyboard.
|And bought tonight's dinner.|
Then some speed practice on the old drum pad whilst listening to a metronome and watching paragliders drift by the front of the cabin:
Currently listening to:
|Chaim Potok was also a painter; but not a great one.|
|Unlike Marc Chagall, who was a great painter.|
|A soothing presence.|