Distressed

That was a description of me, when I returned to my car parked a few metres from here, and it wouldn't start. It was almost 7 pm; knowing how hard our local garagiste works, I hurried up to the garage, hoping he would still be there, and he was. "It's the starter motor," he said. "I'll have to see if I can get the part tomorrow. Here, borrow this old banger with hardly any fuel in it to get you home." He did manage to start my car and drive it back to the garage. I kangarooed the 5 km home in his battered 205, with the fuel light flickering on and off as I went.

So my presence at the blipmeet in Narbonne tomorrow is very seriously compromised, unless I can make it to Lézignan to buy some diesel tomorrow morning. Another glass of chilled rosé beckoned when I got home, plus some stroking of the cat, who was equally distressed about his dinner being served late. It hasn't been a great week, all things considered.

But hey, I thought you'd appreciate some more distressed French architecture! Tomorrow is another day :)