P is for Provisions
It seemed a good idea at the time. Di told us about a
company, Graines de Terroir, that is a sort of cooperative for local producers.
Order organic fruit, vegetables, meat, jams and other goodies online and go and
collect them between 5pm and 7pm on a Friday evening at the local brocante. I put in an order for some coriander, onions, cider vinegar, a chicken and
other bits and pieces. Equipped with the address, Gavin duly went along to
collect it.
Then he phoned me up. He’d been into the brocante and asked
for our provisions but the woman denied all knowledge of our new potatoes and
rillettes. She did, however, invite him to browse around the antiques. I
repeated the address and he decided it must be the canoe hire shop in the next
building. It was closed, although a notice advised potential customers to cross
the river (obviously without the aid of a canoe) and hire their craft from
another venue. He also fruitlessly peered into the premises of the old people’s
club nearby.
In the meantime, I rang the number given on our order
acknowledgement. In my best French, I explained that my husband had been
searching for our supper without success. Oh yes, she replied. A man had come
in asking for provisions, but he hadn’t mentioned ‘Graines de Terroir’, so she
had assumed he was looking for bric a brac.
I phoned Gavin and gave him the password. Mission
accomplished.
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire