Behind our house in Boinville on the other side of the little river on the main country road, was a small bar in a courtyard of an old house. It was owned and run by ‘Madame’’. Outside the bar were weather worn tables under the large looming branches of the trees. There were pigeon cages everywhere. Oh Madame was a picture of the past, with a kerchief around her head and a long apron hanging over her very french working dress. She was a short old lady with a smile you’d want to hang on your wall. She was beautiful!
The bar had been a bar for a hundred years and not changed much over time. It was a place where travellers passing by could come and have a drink and a croissant. But not just any drink. We walked over one day to sit at one of the picnic tables in the garden and have lunch. Damon ordered a coke. She chided that coke wasn’t good for you, have something else. We found that was just too funny. Don ordered a drink and she reprimanded him that straight alcohol wasn’t good either, so have a beer or some wine.
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