I got up this morning at around half nine and looked out the window.
What was normally a spectacular view of the Dordogne river, was nothing but fog. Fuck.
Went down and made myself a cuppa and went out into the garden. No fog, just blazing sunshine, and that in the space of five minutes. Weird.
Herself decided that we were out of a few essentials – mainly cigarettes for Herself – but that she was too lazy to go shopping.
I muttered a few choice words, and went to do some research on the Interweb. I’m not going anywhere until I know it’s open.
The big supermarket – E Leclerc – was closed. That was fine. I checked our nearest town which is Saint Cyprien. I found two – an 8 a Huit and Champion. I had seen the 8 a Huit before and it can’t decide whether it’s a supermarket or a garden centre, and anyway the girl behind the cash desk was plug ugly, so I decided on Champion. I looked up their website. They closed at twelve, but at least they gave a map of their location, so I stuck Roger in the car and off we went.
I had programmed Roger to give me directions to St. Cyprien, but he insisted on giving directions to some place called Street S’eye Prine, which was a little disconcerting.
We arrived in Street S’eye Prine, at the location given by the Champion website, but it was a wee tobacconist. I hadn’t time to get the fags as it was close to twelve, so I asked Roger if he knew where Champion was. He was a little smug about this, but he told me it was the other end of town. We got there with about ten minutes to spare.
I managed to get everything on the list, despite being electrocuted by my trolly, and was last out of the shop.
Roger and I then headed back through Street S’eye Prine to the tobacco shop, which wasn’t easy as it was market day and the streets were mayhem.
I got her fags, and decided I needed some tobacco, so got some of that too. No sooner had I gone back to the car, when I realised the twat had given me rolly cigarette tobacco, so I had to go back and change it. I wasn’t too pleased about the price of the stuff. It was the same price as in Ireland, which was a bit of a downer.
It was only when I got back home that I realised it was a 50gm pack and not 25gm.
My faith in France is restored.
My faith in Roger is a little shakey even if he did find the supermarket.
My faith in Champion’s website is zilch.
And I’m still not sure whether I was in Saint Cyprien or Street S’eye Prine.