In Easter 2001 we had only been in the UK for a couple of months. On the spur of the moment we hired a Gite near the town of Chateaubriant in France for the easter break. We took the overnight ferry from Portsmouth to St Malo. Because we booked late, we couldn't get a cabin. With the spirit of adventure, we boarded the ferry, packed with Easter holidaymakers off to France. I bought some duty-free whiskey and we attempted to find somewhere quiet for the night. But seat space was at a premium, and even floor space. I couldn't get comfortable, but was able to console myself with the duty free whiskey. It felt like a good arrangement at the time, and by the time the wee small hours arrived I remember vaguely being rather surprised at the low whiskey level in the large duty free bottle.
I probably got a couple of hours' sleep before the morning call to return to our vehicles. By this stage I was feeling decidedly hung over and nauseous. We drove off the boat and through the town of St Malo. Driving on the wrong side of the road in the early morning feeling sick and with a splitting headache was not pleasant. The only good thing about it was that, with a right hand drive car in France, I could easily pull over, half-open the door and barf discretely into the gutter
But as the day wore on, things improved. We drove through some lovely villages and finally arrived at our Gite. It was comfortable if a bit out of the way. We settled in and relaxed.
The nearest village was a mile or so away. It had a grocery store, a couple of primitive take away food stores and an antique shop. Before we explored the antique shop, Judy said "If they ask, don't say we're from the UK -- tell them we're Australian. The French don't like the British but they like Australians. They still remember the first world war apparently.
We entered the antique shop and looked around. The aged French woman owner bustled over and hovered around. "EEnglish?" she offered. "Non, nous sommes Australians" I replied in halting French. The woman suddenly got very excited. "Australians" she muttered and started hunting through her pockets. "Australians, Australians" she continued to mutter as she emptied the many pockets on her apron, hunting for something. Eventually she found a key and held it up, with a gap-toothed smile, and proceeded to a glass cabinet at the back of the shop.
"Great," I thought. "She is going to offer us something special from the Special cupboard, in honour of our Australianness. She is about the right age to be a world war 1 war baby."
The old woman finally opened the glass cabinet. It was full of the cheapest looking porcelain pieces in the shop -- animal statuettes of the type you can win at any fairground and the like. She excitedly took out items and held them up for my closer inspection. I realised then that her excitement at having some Australians in the shop was caused by the prospect of unloading some of her junk pieces.
But she looked so disappointed that I wasn't interested in anything in the "Australians" cupboard that I bought the Louise dish, it being the item that was the least unappealing in the shop. And now it looks nice. I love the Louise dish.
