Markets and Manuscripts
Menton is in a frenzy of preparation for the Fête de Citron, grandstand seats have been set up along the route of the procession, massive metal sculptures are being painstakingly covered with oranges, lemons, grapefruits by numerous workers, perched on scaffold. The downside to all this is road closures, increased traffic and just a little chaos. Never mind, life goes on.
I leave the day the festival starts. It has struck me that the day I leave, Menton starts two weeks of festivities—I can assure you that the two events are unrelated.
To my great relief, the manuscript, for Journey’s End arrived back from the editor on Friday evening. It had been delayed by illness and Christmas holidays and I was beginning to worry that I wouldn't have time to go through it, before the end of my stay in France.
I have begun the painstaking work of working through it again, making the suggested corrections, thinking about proposed areas for change and putting right obvious mistakes. I am determined to have this completed in the next week, so that I can get it to the publisher on my return to England, aiming for a publication date before the end of June.
Journey’s End will be the final book in the trilogy—The Barwell Trilogy— about Hilary and her friends.
A visit to the Friday Market in Ventimiglia was something that almost didn’t happen. We went by car. After driving around for half an hour and failing to find a parking space, we decided to give up, drive back to Menton and try again by train. As the decision was made, the policeman moved the barrier that he had been guarding and reopened the car park. I squeezed the car along the back off the market to the entrance to the carpark and after driving around for another fifteen minutes found a space that was big enough to allow the car in and the driver out. The market was worth the effort. Hundreds of stalls selling everything from furs to frilly knickers with all sorts of clothing and household items in between.
Saturday, after failing to learn our lesson about parking on market day in Italy, we headed for San Remo. Not only were the weekly market and a brocante market filling the streets, the city was obviously preparing for a massive music festival—the main square had been overtaken by a huge stage, roads were closed and for some reason, grass had been laid along the centre of the main pedestrian way.
Again on the moment of giving up we found a car park and enjoyed an hour or two checking out the shops. (I won’t mention that, although we found the car park again, we took longer than necessary to find the car…)
Stuart had arrived earlier this week, in preparation for the drive home—with three months worth of luggage plus all the purchases—but more importantly, to to revisit the apartment. We have checked out M.Bricolage, located kitchen showrooms and investigated of purchase of a scooter. No decisions have been made but we collected some brochures and lots of new words have been added to my vocabulary.
The future?? |
During my stay I have also been trying to learn more words by watching—every day if I’m not doing anything else — two game shows on French TV: SLAM and Questions Pour un Champion. The second is a quiz show, so the chances of me understanding a question and knowing the answer in French are slim but it has happened on occasion. SLAM is more useful (although slightly bizarre as stuffed animals make up half the audience). As time has passed, I have been able to answer more questions. The contestants solve riddles, to gain the a letter to add to a crossword in order to solve the clue in which it appears. You cannot imagine how excited I get if I actually solve a clue!
Finally, my reading this week: I have read two very different books: Women of Troy by Pat Barker and Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day by Winifred Watson. I don't think I could have found two more different books. Miss Pettigrew is an old favourite but I can’t imagine why it has taken me so long to discover the novels of Pat Barker. The books have very different heroines but I can relate to both!
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