dimanche 03.06.07 Brian Kennedy’s to blame
I wake remembering that Jean-Luc asked me last night, aghast, if I was a mother. J.P and Jean-Luc had made some comment about my necklace. I told them it only cost me €1 and that it would make a good Mother’s Day present as they valued it at much more. Today is the third Mother’s Day I’ve experienced in one year: the Irish version in March; the St. Lucian affair last month; and today’s goodies.
There’s hardly anyone on the beach but the swanky restaurants are packed and there are plenty of well-groomed families, well-oiled buggies and well-heeled mothers traipsing around the place.
Elizabeth, the Gaeilgeor, is in the area and asks if we want to join her. We had planned to visit Josephine Bonaparte’s homestead but as its Mother’s Day it is temporarily closed. The beach is the best of option so we settle beside a group of gay Frenchmen and a vicious fruit tree to catch some rays. Nicola and her namesake were supposed to be regrouping today but he’s working. She joins us at the beach and we take to the sea before getting some grub at the créole village in Point du Bout.
Elizabeth leaves soon after the feed but Nic and I browse at the stalls by the marina before bumping into Andy and Martin zee Zerman students from Université Schoelcher. They’re as high as ever and we later refind them circling a roundabout looking for Blake the Canadian. They tell us they’re off to Ti Sable tonight. We non-committedly tell them we’ll see them again – soon, but not so soon! This roundabout is turning out to be a new-found meeting place as a toot-toot turns our heads to catch sight of one of Nic’s teachers and Bea, la serveuse, from the place we just ate at.
The rain keeps us in tonight though the cats are celebrating Mother’s Day in their own special way as Mammy Cat brings Baby Kitten II over to see us. Copious amounts of tea are consumed as we take up our indoor positions. Nic has begun sorting out what not to bring home and I’m swotting up on driving theory while listening to Irish music given to me by Elizabeth. Man. Are these traditional Irish songs? I’ve only recognition of two of the titles. How can a French woman know all these songs and me born and bred on soda bread not have an iota? I blame Brian Kennedy. Anyone listening to this whining pitch would be thrown into instant confusion as to the singer’s sex thus distracting them from the tune and the lyrics. I just guess others are often more Irish than the Irish themselves.
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