A Magic Carpet Ride

Like two characters from a Samuel Beckett play, we sat in our van, in a car park, on a Sunday morning, in a place called Moutiers-les-Mauxfaits (no I hadn't heard of it either), waiting...waiting for a man, we had never met before, to arrive. We didn't know if he would arrive...he said he would.

'I need the toilet,' I said. 

'You shouldn't have had that second coffee,' Anna, my wife, said sympathetically. 'There's a public toilet over there,' she added. 

'I've already checked it out and it doesn't meet my hygiene requirements,' I said...'I'll wait'. 

A car swung into the almost empty car park. 

'Is that him?' 

'It might be'.

Let me contextualise. We have a very big bedroom, enormous. It would take two to three minutes to walk around the perimeter... no exaggeration. What we lack in downstairs toilet, we make up for in bedroom. You could swing a cat, swing your pants, anything you care to swing could be swung in our bedroom. You could probably have a game of Swingball in it, if you wanted...you might concussed yourself on one of the low oak beams though.

The only drawback with a big bedroom is you need big things to fill it. Anna wanted a big rug. We had been to various carpet shops in the area, including Saumur, and seen the astronomical prices. She had shlepped round the majority of brocantes in 79, in the hope of stumbling across a four by three metre Persian rug, preferably in blue for 150€.

The odds were stacked against us, and I thought Anna had given up on the idea, but like a dog with a bone, she started trawling the internet, and several hours later announced a man was flogging a big rug for 180€ and we were going to drive for several days to take a look at it. He lived near the coast so we decided to make a day of it, with a trip to the beach and a big lunch. Hoorah!

'Yup, I think that's him'. And sure enough it was. After a few pleasantries, he produced the rug from the back of his estate car, and started unrolling it on the tarmac. It was certainly big; I thought Cleopatra was about to pop out. I was going to drop down and throw some semi-erotic positions on the generous weft, but Anna had already sealed the deal. So we chucked it into the back of the Kangoo and headed to Jard-sur-Mer (no, I hadn't heard of it either), which was the nearest seaside town.

On our arrival we dived into the nearest restaurant and ordered moules-frites in Roquefort sauce with lardons...man was it salty. Like spaghetti bolognaise, you wouldn't order it on a first date; scrabbling about in a large pot, sucking out the meaty nuggets from their shells...sticky fingers and wet chin. Yum yum. Eventually the bottom of the moules pot came into view and we staggered off to explore the town. 

Jard-sur-Mer is just north of the Ile-de-Ré, which can be seen in the distance across miles of sandy beaches and shimmering water. A very attractive town, and positively bustling for a Sunday, with several restaurants and shops (selling a range of seaside paraphernalia) open. They even have their own windmill...with rotating sails, by the harbour. 

Although sunny, it was one of those days you keep putting your jumper on and taking it off two minutes later. As a joke I asked Anna if she wanted an ice cream, and surprisingly she did; but she would only have one 'boule' and not the possible three. I abstained; all these hoity-toity continental flavours: Caramel and sea salt, Cheesecake with blueberry swirl, Orange cardamon... please! For me, if it ain't Mr.Whippy soft-scoop, playfully stabbed with a flake, you can forget it. 

We meandered along the seafront, Anna trying to eat her Rum and raisin, before it melted and me taking my jumper off and on, deciding which of the snazzy motorboats in the harbour we would most like to have. 

After several hours of driving, our magic carpet ride came to an end as we crashed-landed back into the Deux-Sèvres. Anna was still sleeping in the passenger seat as I dragged the rug from the back of the van and up the stairs to the boudoir. Our French neighbours must have thought I had finally snapped, murdered my wife and was disposing of her body in a large, moth-eaten rug.