The hour having gone forward it is time to look at the gardens on the French Mediterranean coast. As it is pouring down I am enjoying the peculiar sensation of sitting before a leaping wood fire while glancing out of the french (oh yes they are) windows, at the sea on one side and the dripping Alpes Maritimes on the other. There is no sign of recession from the confine dello stato to Nice but if it goes on pouring tomorrow I shall watch the news closely (until I can get out into the gardens) and think about the French response to the financial meltdown and economic collapse. Consulting the barometer on the rain for tomorrow tells me very little as I don't understand what it is pointing at. The black hand points at change, the golden one at fair and the muslim one with the crescent on the end points at just past 26. Like the closing prices really.
It has become fashionable for workers to kidnap their employers and hold them until concessions are given on wages and conditions according to chat over dinner. No-one seems to think this a matter for the authorities, which is quite a shock after the arrests just for bad thoughts that go on in England. Differences of opinion seem to be accepted and settled more robustly in France.
It's not the thing to be in London during the shindig in the shed. Everyone is hiding out here.
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I can tell you that I was Skiing in Meribel last week and it was a ghost town.
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