2013 Tour - Jour 12

St Junien

Today we explored the quaint town of St Junien. The tourist office literature proclaimed that it is:

'. . . the French capital of leather glove making . . . '

However, these days, only top quality gloves are made for haute couture such as Gucci etc. because of the inevitable competition from child labour exploiting and tax evading brands such as *******. So clearly, a visit was required to sate S's appetite for luxury goods, as a counterweight for being forced to drag a tent and other accoutrements to southern France. The nice lady in the tourist office provided a map and directions, so off we set off, via the inevitable café au lait, to the gant manufacturer in question, only to find that it was ferme août . . . as was the next . . . and the next . . . and in fact all of them. Clearly, the month of august is 'glove maker's month', much as it was 'miner's fortnight' when I was a lad and everyone decamped to Trecco Bay for a couple of weeks of CPA and and fish & chips. Not to be deterred by such minor inconveniences I took myself off to find an alternative source of hand-wear for S, which you can see here modelled ce soir aprés le diner . . .

That sorted, we explored the rest of the town. Similarly to other manufacturing towns in Britain the indigenous industries have wilted in the face of Asian competition, so along the banks of the Vienne there are numerous disused tanneries, paper mills etc. Probably to be had for €2 or so, and thus ripe for re-development as bijou riverside apartments where we can all:

Unscrew a new bottle of chardonnay

and fill to the brim the long-stemmed glasses;

apéritif to Hello and OK,

aspirational lifestyle of the masses.

Holiday reading

So, at last, we come to the contentious topic of holiday reading. This year, in a spate of self-improvement, I have downloaded numerous 'classics' from t'internet on the trusty old iPad. 'Oi, you crusty old skinflint . . . ' I hear you say, ' . . . you've only done it because they are free', and yes, you have a point, but I will add that there are also a sprinkling of paid-for tomes, e.g. John Grisham, Phillipa Gregory, Dawn French, which S had instructed me to purchase on pain of death (or something worse). Returning to the main thrust of the story, I have been regaling myself with 'Don Quixote' which, as it turns out, has curiously similarities with our current situation:

1. Deluded middle-aged 'Don' who goes off on adventures

2. Same 'Don' who thusly gets himself into all sorts of injurious situations

3. Same 'Don' who drags along his faithful squire (Sancho Panza, aka 'S')

4. Same 'S' who gets into all the same scrapes by association

Here is a picture of us after we have raided the alforjas . . .

Bon soir

 

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