Oo la, la!

A while back, a friend of mine told me about a wonderful farmer’s market that is in our town on the third Thursday of every month.  As luck would have it, I finally stumbled across it last week.  Despite the liquid gifts from heaven, I had a lovely time; browsing and oohing and aahing over the stalls.

There’s something special about being able to talk with those who have sourced, made or grown their own produce. The whole experience of being able to ask about the food and interact with the stall holders is so much more inspiring than buying ingredients from the supermarkets with their artificial fluorescent lighting and piped music. I personally believe that they also filter some type of chemical into the air which always sends me into a trance like state and I completely forget what I actually needed in the shop and end up hopping from end of aisle to end of aisle, randomly tossing the sale offer items into my shopping cart. Shopping in the open air market, despite the raindrops, is much more organic and real.    One elderly man, with a twinkle in his eye joked with me about the ‘size of his olives’! Now you don’t get that kind of interaction in Sainsbury’s.  Another guy, with a decidedly French accent, tried to get me to buy a calorific, pastry which was layered with crème patisserie.  Oo, la, la! Should I have been offended that he took one look at me and decided I was clearly a customer who enjoyed a pastry or two? I hate being a foregone conclusion and so I resisted the sweet treats and moved on.

I did end up settling on French flavours and took home a baguette and a delicious wedge of cheese. I’m sure I could not only survive but live quite happily on French staple ingredients. This in turn got me to thinking about all things French and how my Dad has always told us that he believes our family originated from The French Huguenots. I certainly believe that there is more than a little French in me as I have inherited the gesticulating gene which most French seem to possess. Now I don’t just mean waving a fist and shouting ‘stupide’ at bad drivers.   A few months ago, I was on a speaking panel at a conference and as the content of my speech became more intense, so did the use of my hands and all I can say is that the poor woman next to me almost lost an eye as my flailing hands tried to keep up with my story. Clearly, I need to remember to wear jangly bracelets next time as an early warning system for the protection of those within my range.

I know that we Brits have a fairly truculent relationship with the French but I’ve decided that I’m perfectly happy to have a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ about me.  After all, as we all know, Johnny Depp has a penchant for all things French! Now, where can I find a copy of ‘Allo magazine to see if another celebrity marriage has ended?!