Michael the Aussie
Michael came in at lunchtme yesterday for a couple of beers together with one of our regulars. Michael, it turned out is from Sydney and is over here on holiday visiting friends and relatives. The conversation got to music and Michael said he was a very keen guitarist, and had just treated himself to a new acoustic guitar. I am not sure how it happened, if he offered or was invited but when he said he was coming back to eat with us in the evening, talk of a "concert" started. No sooner said than done and J was telling people, music on the terrace tonight and gratuit.
Michael duly arrived back about 7pm, complete with guitar. Having settled his kids on the pool table he set about the free concert.
He sang for about an hour and a half, a variety of songs which all went down well and by the time he had finished the terrace was just about full, not what we expected on a Tuesday evening.
Barry The Brit
So there we were, busy cooking and serving, young boys showing spurs how to play football on the tele, a full terrace outside and then Barry showed up.
We didnt know him as Barry then, he was just an english guy that walked into the bar mid evening, sweating profusely, dressed in jogging gear asking for some water. J duly obliged, waved away his offer of euros and off he went.
An hour later he was back but this time he stopped and told us his story. Barry and his wife are staying with some friends nearby. He had left them at about 7.30 for a jog, straight up the road to the village and back. But, he had tried a circuit and was lost. In his attempt to find home he had run to Civray and back, about 10kms, only to find himself back at the bar. He had asked directions of a couple of people en route but this had been slightly flawed, he speaks no french and didnt know where he wanted to be directed to. His "knowledge" amounted to his hosts first names, the fact they drive a freelander and live in a hamlet to the east of the D1. He had no phone and didnt know a number to ring anyway.
I offered to drive him home, a task easier said than done. He recalled the road he had taken, or thought he did. In reality he had run down so many roads looking for the right one, he remembered them all but not which one he should be on. He said he had run past sunflower fields but that hardly narrows it down in this land of yellow. So we went driving, here there and everywhere. By now it was 11pm and dark, and we were trying to find lamdmarks easily visible in the daylight but somewhat different in the glow of xenons. "it's near the big haybales" "the house across the road has a chain across the entrace" "there's a sign nearby but it's in French so I dont know what it says"
Poor Barry was embarrassed, recalling that the last thing his friends had said to him was "enjoy your run, don't get lost"
On and on we drove, exploring every road big enough for the car to go down and a few that really weren't. Our hope was that we would see the house he was staying in and spot his transit and caravan in the garden
after an hour I had to give up and return to base, it was nearly midnight and we were looking for a needle in a haystack. We sat Barry down and eventually persuaded him to have a drink and a sandwich whilst J rang the police.
Half an hour later the Gendarmes arrived. It transpired that they knew there was an homme perdu somewhere as his wife had reported him missing. They had the address we wanted and the last we saw of Barry was him climbing into the back of a police van to be taken back to his, I guess, frantic wife and friends.
The moral of the story is dont go jogging, stay in the bar with a nice glass of red or three, it's better for your mental health if not the physical.
As I said at the start the village is tres tres calme, on the surface anyway!!
No comments:
Post a Comment