Tastier
baguettes for under 50p, sunshine instead of freezing fog and a view
with room taking the place of a room with a view.
One of the things I liked even less about living in the heart of Paris
than the high cost of everyday purchases was that in common with most
others sharing the experience, I had no outside space.
Of course the Tuileries were opposite, the Luxembourg gardens and other
parks were within easy reach and Paris lives up to its City of Light
image in splendid fashion.
But there is something about being able to go outside and still be at
home.
A terrace, as we have here in the Var, is one great asset - and it was
almost warm enough to eat lunch on it today. A modest garden, like the
one we left behind in London, is another.
In Paris, even a small balcony would have sufficed provided we could
have sat outside on it.
If the terrace here, with its uninterrupted view across the hills, is
something for which to be mightily grateful, small town life may take
some getting used to.
I spent all but the earliest three months of my first 23 years in
Shildon, County Durham (being born in Hove is naturally a source of
both shame and constant impudent reminders from friends).
Then I had short spells elsewhere in Durham - Darlington, Hobson
(though not by choice, I used to say) and Newton Aycliffe - before
moving to London. And for the past 30-odd years, it's been the big
city: Bristol, another stay in London and finally Paris.
Wandering around Le Lavandou today, I was impressed as ever by the palm
trees, the lovely bay and the sea air.
But lots of bars, shops and restaurants had congés annuels
signs up. Tonight's fireworks display drew a fair-sized crowd to the
promenade, but it still did not truly feel like a place that was
"lively all year round", as my wife was assured the last time she had
her hair done here.
Time - and the occasional reference on Salut! - will doubtless tell.
But I should add that things did look up a little on the marina, where a poster for the Equateur nightspot promised a hip réveillon.
Customers were offered two bits of advice: book early and wear red
underwear "for good luck".
It wasn't until I switched on the news an hour or so later that I
discovered that the second part of the advice - red knickers for New
Year's Eve fortune - was a recent tradition originating in Italy. If,
in the coming days, anyone comes across a beaming Bill Taylor - Salut! regulars will know he is spending tonight in Rome - they may be able to guess what he packed before leaving Toronto.
Bonne année to all.
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