Enough to give one the Clape

A curious sight was evident as we picked our way along the A roads from Aigue Mortes down the coast through Montpellier (don’t bother) Narbonne and Beziers. Along the open road sat some very attractive girls in easy chairs at various stages along the route, mostly well away from towns. I told that nice lady decorator that they must be ladies of the night, although working during the day. To start with she would not hear of it and considered that they must have chosen their particular vantage points in order to top up their sun tans. The lie of course was given to this when one dusky maiden, as black as they come was spotted (by me) sitting beside the road. By this time, that nice lady decorator had cottoned on and began believing me. A discussion ensued as to how much I imagined they charged. This is of course a trick question that I spotted and avoided straight away, as obviously I would have no knowledge of such an activity and I felt I could  not pass comment on what was a fair fee for services of this nature rendered.

When pressed further I said that I though 5 euros would be a sensible fee, but laughter ensued and  have no understanding as to why. Gradually, she became more derisory about the women who were attempting to ply the oldest trade in the world on the french highways, to the point where the conversation was not going anywhere and the cleanliness of the girls themselves was being questioned.

It was at that moment that we spotted a local wine area known as Chateau Clape. This was too much of a coincidence and that nice lady decorator amused herself my making the obvious connection and saying it was a sign.

Montpellier was a nightmare, they are digging up most of the town to build a tramway, and taken down nearly all the signposts as a result, and had clearly made no attempt to replace them to help out the poor tourist who wanted to spend some money in the god forsaken place. We left after an hour, without ever finding the historic centre and frankly will not be returning any time soon.

Another town to which I shall not be returning in a hurry is Beziers. the main reason is that it is a hovel and a mess of the worst sort, and I was utterly unsurprised to see that it has twinned with the northern horror that is  Stockport

Prior to leaving, we trotted into the centre of Aigues Mortes, which is well worth a visit, for coffee and a little light retail relief (for her) and I managed to take today’s picture. The French have never been strong spellers and I imagine that they were trying to pay homage to St Hovis rather than the erroneous inscription favouring someone called St Lovis. As you can see from the photo, he is also pointing to his heart, which is a clear warning for hovis eaters who are exclusively from up north; don’t use real butter for you chip sandwiches, or you will suffer a heart attack.

St Lovis, French bread head?

I shall be taking up this theme when I am forced to visit the frozen wasteland that is home to most hovis eaters, later this month. yes, I must travel to Cheshire to visit Peach Butterfield in his own environment. I am really looking forward to sampling some of the local produce, if they can catch enough and kill it before my visit.

Chris France

the holiday police will be pleased to note that yet another day has passed without a plug for Currencies Direct