Tag Archives: France


Operating at Toulouse airport. Great for removal of bin bags as they can be slid out the side, rather than lifted out the top. Not as easy on the eye as an opaque bin though.

Camping on the Camargue

Running parallel to the beach a large carpark displays a ‘no camping’ sign. The area is filled (and when I say ‘filled’, I mean cheek by jowl, chock a block) with camper vans (and when I say ‘camper vans’ I mean rectangular blocks of homes on wheels fitted with satellite dishes, washing lines and patios. I would not have been surprised to see raised garden beds and a tennis court). Continue reading

Houses of Old Cardigans and Lego

Warning: This post contains gross generalizations

Rural architecture in Switzerland and France. It’s like comparing children’s toy houses built out of lego in the conservatory, with those constructed yesterday in the sandpit using a few twigs for support.

It’s hard to say which is more appealing: Continue reading

Europe’s Response To Australia’s Drive-Through Bottle Shop: The Walk-Through Wee

 Inside every suburban officeworker there’s a wild jungle man trying to get out.

Unleash him at the outdoor urinal.

The Politics of Sunflowers

Whizzing along the French autobahn at 130km/h we pass fields and fields of sunflowers. I am struck by this mass of blooms, every single one oriented in the same direction. “Like a communist party convention,” observes the BB.

Sorry, no photos – all were blurred.

Oh, what the heck, here’s one for a general idea.

Vincent in Australia in France

Driving south from Valence to Orange, in Provence, I felt decidedly at home. Vast areas of trees had morphed into shrubs; I saw my first dead grass in Europe; the vegetation had taken on a sage tinge; it was 34 degrees and the chocolate in my handbag was limp. Continue reading

Not ‘Fighting’ Bulls

I leant over the buffet, choosing my meal in the Camargue, and decided to try the dish below.

The young manager approached and explained each of the foods I had on my plate. She came to the one in question. “Bull pate” she announced.

Suddenly I was hurled into a relationship with my food. This was much more intimate than ‘beef pate’. This had a gender, for goodness sake. Continue reading