An unexpected weekend break

The last couple of days have been strange, to say the least, but quintessentially French which I suppose must be a good thing.

I was dropped off by Jules in the small town (biggish village really) of Langeac with the mobylette (scooter) I was to use to take to Toulouse. We had tried to get the mobylette fixed the previous day but disorganisation meant that by the time we phoned the chap here with the bike shop, he had closed.

So, I resolved to spend the night in Langeac and get the mobylette fixed first thing the following morning. Sadly, although not untypically for my fates dark sense of humour, I arrived on July the 13th meaning that the following morning was July 14th, the day the French celebrate the revolution. It's a public holiday. EVERYTHING is closed.

So, I resolve to book myself another day in my hotel and wait out this public holiday like a stroller might wait out a period of rain. And here I am. One day in Langeac spent lazing in a Cafe then watching fireworks and an accordian band with the entire population of the town and it's Saturday.

Yes, the weekend has sprung upon me like an unwelcome uncle. The french don't do much work at the weekend. The shop that could potentially fix my scooter is still closed as I write this (10am), although it was due to open at 9am. I'm waiting with bated breath for the guy to arrive late and hung over after much "vive la revolution" last night, but I'm starting to think it might not happen and I'll have to sit out the weekend here too. This would be ok, although the hotel is costing me 30 euro a night, and the solitude and lassitude of having nothing to do and no-one to do anything with might drive me crazy.

We'll see. If I don't blog again for a while, you'll know I'm merrily zipping past sunflower fields on my 50cc en route to Toulouse and if I can't get my bike fixed, then I'm sure I'll be drowning my sorrows in an unhealthy dose of self-obsessed reportage.

Lots of love,
Rob