South of France

We stayed on a gite a couple of miles outside and above Cannes. The photograph below was taken of Myra swimming in one of the huge water tanks on the farm. Our friend Parba got sunstroke so we covered her with cucumber slices which seemed to do the trick. The Italian farm labourer who had the adjacent cottage and who had seen me take photographs knocked at our door with a bowl of olives and showed us his polaroid photographs which he thought we would like. He didn’t have any French. The photographs were of his room: his fridge, his cooker, his record player, his bed, his chairs, his carpet, the view from his room……it was like meeting up with a needy Van Gogh.  Nice guy. Lonely.
But aren’t we all (lonely, that is – not necessarily nice!)?



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