Deserted

We braved sub-zero temperatures this morning to go to the Saturday market in the mediaeval town of Martel. The streets were all but deserted, save for this solitary figure scrutinising the menus of a restaurant which, inexplicably, had put tables out in the street. The market itself was a shadow of its normal self, with muffled marketeers stamping their feet behind scantily stocked stalls and clapping hands to keep themselves warm. We went home empty-handed and had organic salmon with boiled potatoes and melted butter for lunch, restoring warmth and a sense of well-being.