What wouldn’t the Spanish give for this weather?

Despite quite possibly overdoing the wine last might, I slept well and didn’t freeze to death. The house is somewhat old and keeps the winter chill. That might be putting it mildly; but, nonetheless, I decided against getting dressed under the covers.

After breakfast, the morning’s principal activity was a trip to the market. The rain they had forecast was not slow in making its presence felt, and by the time I had made it from the car park to the market square, I was drenched. Even in the rain, though, the Drôme is fabulous. I ended up buying a rabbit (having asked the lady at the stall to cut off its head first – I hasten to add that it was already dead and skinned) and plan to do a lapin aux prunes without the prunes bit. I’m not sure S is up for it, what with her being vegetarian and all (or pescatarian) but, let’s face it, who can resist lapin?

Spent the day chatting and catching up. I’ve known S and her husband Mark for almost 40 years, and my life is infinitely better because they are both in it. It’s one of those easy friendships that you can pick up after a year or so of being on different continents and it is as if you only saw them yesterday.

Afternoon spent cooking and then fretting over the lapin, which was not, I have to say, the unmitigated success I had hoped it would be. It was fine, but the sauce – essentially Normandy cider, white wine, red wine, butter and olive oil – was too watery and hadn’t infused the rabbit enough. The leftovers should be better tomorrow.

Poor S is getting the runaround from French insurance. Apparently, even if you have zero responsibility for the accident, you have to share liability if it happens in a car park. “C’est du 50-50, madame.” The fact that the guy is 82, has just come out of hospital and couldn’t turn his neck to reverse safely, didn’t hear S’s frantic honking of the horn, and refused to give his phone number has, apparently, little bearing on the accident.