| A whiter shade of pale |
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On what was a very warm night, we decided to have an early meal at a restaurant in the old part of Annecy. Because it was only 7 o'clock, the restaurant was almost deserted and so we were given a table right by a wide, open window looking out directly onto a canal. The canals going through the medieval part of the town were at one time used for commerce, as witness the steps down to the canal. These days, however, the only traffic on the canals consists of the ducks and some swans sailing by. The water, coming from Lake Annecy, is so clear that you can see the unblinking gaze of the swan as it lowers its head under the water looking for food. Opposite the restaurant is one of the many buildings lining the canal. Blue-flowered wisteria grows up the front of the whole of its four storeys to the roof itself, twisting around the balconies and windows on its way. Tiny sparrows landed on the window ledge right beside us and looked meaningfully at our meals. I looked back at them sternly to discourage them from making kamikaze dives to take my steak away. Afterwards, we walked around the park at the side of the lake in the just darkening evening. Tourists were taking photographs and the pedalos were coming back to their moorings for the evening. A boat which is effectively a very large floating restaurant, the ‘Libellule' (‘the dragonfly'), on the other hand was just going out on a cruise of the lake with its compliment of diners. It was a perfect evening. Until the telephone call. It was a call to confirm the arrangements for a visit to see some friends at our twin town, Chassieu, the following week. The bad news was that they have a swimming pool. Perhaps we would like to bring our bathing costumes? Now my legs have not seen any serious sunshine for many a long year and so are as white as any you are likely to see amongst the holiday-makers on the beach at Weston super Mare. I wondered aloud whether the world was ready for legs like mine, but received little sympathy. We arrived back at the apartment and sat in the verandah with its sliding doors pushed wide open. Outside, the children from one of the other flats were playing a rather noisy version of hide and seek. Eventually, the local child-catcher came for them... No, I must have been dozing: it was the parents calling them to come back in. And so peace descended once again. Until late on, it remained warm enough for the crickets to carry on chirping, but then we started to see lightning flashing behind the mountains on the other side of the lake, although they were so far away that we could not hear the thunder. The lamp-post in the quiet road outside started blinking on and off in the sultry evening heat. We had some gentle music playing in the background and I had a glass of a very nice local white wine in my hand. But my mind was still on the need for an all-over (almost) sun-tan. How to achieve it in just five days? I could simply sit out on the lawn in my swimming trunks soaking up the sun, but then the neighbours would see me. Perhaps though I could disguise myself from them with a large bushy beard and glasses? No, the last man who did that has just ended up at the war crimes tribunal. Maybe in my case I should instead simply shave off my beard and lose the glasses - perhaps then no-one would recognise me? Alternatively, for the next few days I could make the ultimate sacrifice and get up early to catch the morning sun as its bronzing rays shine into the relative privacy of our verandah. Or maybe there is a tanning spray-booth in the town. And so passed a night in which I was chased by barbers, hid amongst bushes and finally walked confidently out onto a beach glowing with a sort of orange colour to the admiring glances of all around. Such is vanity. But vanity is a hard and unrelenting task-master and so, one way or another, I have to find a way to become a darker shade of pale.
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