irises

It is Sunday and it started out with a mistral and a hangover.

Our neighbour, Nadine, slapped me briskly on the backside and said "C'était bon le foie gras, hein?". "Yes" I replied, joining in the bottom-slapping "it was great and it's still in here". She nodded in agreement.

Right, I thought, however shit I feel, I am going to reduce this mass. Yesterday's two hour uphill bicycle marathon clearly did not do the trick and so today we are going for a long walk, au moins. The BBC are coming in June, for God's sake!

It was then that the heavy lidded headsplit of a hung-over morning gradually turned into a day from heaven.

Julian decided, being one PFP ahead, he could afford a day off, so we commenced with oysters in the Carpentras brocante market - 6 euros for twelve of the sweetest I have ever had (minus the muscadet - good girl!) on a plastic plate - and the as the ocean slipped down my throat, I felt the seaweed dive cleanse me of my excesses and invigorate me for the walk we planned on the Dentelles de Montmirail.

A walk 'just over one hour' guided by my beloved was (of course, and this time, thankfully) two and a half hours long, and a provided us with a heady tour of mountain wildflowers whilst tracing the fairy-lit vine terraces of the 'dentelles': Wild snap-dragons, valerian, wild gladioli, curry flowers and cornflowers, greater periwinkles...all perfumed with the near Bahaman pinapple-coconut cream of new broom cut through by flowering thyme.

On the way home, a small diversion to find the perfect painty view of Crillon-le-Brave for the summer season led us to a hidden bank of blue irises, a parade of organza flags fluttering in the diminishing wind. Once home veg curry and ''Days of Heaven' on a sage coloured sofa....

Wow. Surely my bum must be smaller after all that pleasure?

On Tuesday I will be in Salzburg. I am meeting my friend Iris 'outside Mozart's house' for dinner and I would like to bring her violet-scented armfuls of her name-sake.