Play it again, Rico

Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine…

I'm waiting on the bridge at 8 (with other old men) for the bread van to come. It scoots up, hoots its horn loudly and disgorges a woman who opens the back doors to start dispensing baked goods. I buy a croissant and a pain complet.

Back at my tent, I'm sitting at one of the picnic benches eating my croissant, when Rico comes round with a cup of coffee. He's all dressed in council yellow - about to start work keeping this small village 'propre'. He dashes off to get a map for me, points out an interesting route, and heads off to work.

I trundle out of town, following his directions. At Roc de Gouta, I meet an old goat farmer and his wife. I ask for directions. "Oh you shouldn't have come this way," he tells me, pointing to a turn a couple of kilometres back that I should have taken. I turn to retrace my steps, but he grunts and says " now that you're here, the best way is to ..." and he goes into a detailed description that mainly boils down to "go straight on and then turn left."

He then goes on to ask me "So, will Scotland be leaving Europe?" I tell him that I hope not, but "pour l'instant, oui." I don't mention that Europe's scaremongering aboutScotland not being able to remain in the EU might have affected the independence referendum.

It's astonishingly windy as I climb up to the Pech de Guilloumet, but when I get there the view is breathtaking. I eat my lunch, doze and stare at the view. The wind dies down and the walk back to Villerouge is uncomfortably hot.

Rico is pruning bushes in the street, topiarising one of them into a globe. He downs tools to show me his house, around the corner. It's a rustic two up, two down with an upstairs patio, where he grows his plants. We have a glass of red. We *have* to have another, apparently, "because a duck has two feet." ???!? There's a drop left in the bottle. We finish that too.

I dump my bag, make use of Rico's shower, and help him move amps to the music room by the bar. In the time it takes me to sort out my washing, the concert is off. The singer, a fireman, has just pulled an 18 hour shift and has to be up at 5 tomorrow morning. Tant pis.

The night continues anyway. Rico, Bruno, Florian and I work out way through beer, wine, pizza, hamburger, cheese and more. Florian is a local who speaks fluent Mancunian on account of being a huge Oasis fan - and out comes the guitar for a rendition of Wonderwall and much more. I squeeze in a Port d'Amsterdam, but the booze has stolen some of the words.

The bar shuts, the wind is cold, I head off. This has been an excellent, unexpected diversion.