Potted basil
Ahhh, life on the French Riviera. I never imagined I’d live here one day. That I’d live in France, yes, but I thought perhaps Paris or somewhere in the countryside — the Riviera seemed to gaudy, pretentious, and superficial to me. To be perfectly honest, much of it still does, though there are a lot of down-to-earth people here too.

Today I came home to my mentally ill neighbor, “Gertrude” (not her real name), screaming her head off at her two sons, who are trying to get her put into an asylum. (I learned about her sons’ attempts this weekend from my kind neighbor, who lives above Gertrude.) Since Gertrude’s shutters were closed, I quickly went onto my terrace to see if it was safe for kitties, since they love their fresh air — I stay outside with them when Gertrude has vocal outbursts. But what did I find? Vomit. On my patio.

Just the sort of thing to come home to after a long day at work. Since it’s raining, and the, um, “muck

By fraise

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Filed under: Life in Provence

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