Candle holders? no

Bluebell the camper is an old lady, nearly as old as that nice lady decorator. I can hear the sharp intake of breath from the assembled multitude of readers, expecting imminent news of my early demise, but it is a calculated risk; whilst camping there is not the remotest chance she will read what I have written. That she may read it later is where the calculated risk element appears

Anyway, as I was saying,  Bluebell the VW camper van is a classic, but it is or was, when it was built in 1969, hardly a design breakthrough. The use of space is dismal, and for two people to live for a week, every available piece of space needs to be utilised effectively and to its utmost. There is no room for anything except absolute necessities, such as one’s travelling cigar humidor, or so I thought until we ventured into the charming a historic village of St Guilhem Le Dessert yesterday as my picture today captures.

The centre of St Guilhem Le Desert in the Herault valley, Provence

Nestling beside the gorges of the Herault, the village has attracted artisans of various hues, amongst which was a studio where they had on display some nice candle stands. That nice lady decorator decided to buy two, but I am not allowed to refer to them as candle stands, apparently they are lanterns. When I suggested that to make them work as their creator had intended, one had to stand a candle in them, my submission was dismissed in a trice, and thus they are now lanterns (in which you can stand a candle).

These candle stands, I mean lanterns come in boxes that measure about a yard, by a foot by two feet, and so they fit nicely into the tiny space in which we have to live in Bluebell, not. As I write they are taking up the entirety of the region where the front seats rest, and I am assured they will fit in somewhere. These are of course in addition to thee 100 bottles of Rioja she insisted buying when we were in Spain a few days ago.

Returning to the theme of the recent Spanish wine purchase, I hear from old friend Moya who suggests that the Nice lady decorator must be erm….mistaken in her dismissal of all french red wines as “shit”. Moya points out that most Rioja’s are grown from French vines transplanted there by the Spanish. Moya, if she gets to read this, please don’t expect a Christmas card. It is not that you are not correct, it’s just that disagreement with that nice lady decorator in her book is tantamount to treason, or at least mutiny in her book and usually attracts the same punishment. I know, I am her Captain Bligh.

My old friend and god botherer the Reverend Jeff comments that I have the same affliction as Mick Jagger. I think he must be referring to the enduring sex appeal bestowed upon old chaps like Mick and I, rather than the Reverend himself, who is now a sad broken shell of the chap I remember, and if that is the case then as far as I can see it is true.

Currencies Direct have once again been ignored in this column, so those if you desperate to sign up will have to wait until my vacation I’d over, unless you want to apply here.

And so our epic camping adventure is nearing an end, as we return to nice on Wednesday to catch a flight to the dismal UK, where it seems from what I hear of the weather forecast, I shall not be watching much cricket…