Chapter 5 Brive La Galliard

It is Wednesday night and I’m sitting in an all you can eat Chinese Buffet in a French retail park. Not even 2 ‘Coup’s de Champagne’ can raise my mood. The food is atrocious pan asian cuisine, only the summer rolls are worth eating and they are the worst examples I’ve ever tasted. The story of how I got here will need to be told in a few parts so I might as well start. Telling will beat eating the food.

Our arrival in Brive is magical. As the sat nav tells us that our “destination is on our left”, the electronic gates begin to open. A white shape bounds up and down in the dark, we are later to learn that this is Lala, Vincent’s one year old, white boxer. As the gates open further, I spot a floodlit area with a white Gazebo and a white clothed table supporting three bottles of red wine. I see Vincent beckoning us in, pointing towards the garage on the left.

As I pull up the headlights illuminate not one but three cars. The first is unmistakable, a blue Subaru Impreza. In fact all the cars are Imprezas, I later learn from Vincent. The one I spotted first has a Cosworth engine under the bonnet, which looks as clean as if it were in a showroom but with extra turbos and other gizmos fitted. The second car is an accident victim that is being cannibalised for parts. The final car is the one used for rallying, and now, of course, I remember Vincent is the rally driver from Nowhere who both terrified and exhilarated his passengers when driving on the track from the main road to the festival site.

Hugs and introductions over, we settle down at the table with the wine, some broccoli and aioli, some hummus and carrots. Two bottles later our host insists we go to the pub. Shamrock’s is an Irish affair nearby. I have a pint of Guinness, in honor of my late father, Ray. Vincent follows suit. At no point is there any option for me to pay for any drinks. I’m starting to be overwhelmed by the hospitality.

Quite drunk by this time, we head back to the house, a glorious Art Deco pile that was once part of a distillery complex owned by the family. I’m stuck by how cold it is, much colder that Paris or London even though we are significantly further south. Once indoors Vincent heats up a Sel he has made: puy lentils with home made sausages and big slabs of bacon. I make a full break with the veganism that I have been experimenting with since Molly’s arrival in London two weeks earlier while she restricts herself to some of the lentils. I will later reflect on why I do this. It is a combination of the coldness of the air, the warmth and comfort offered by the meal and the desire not to offend my host. The latter will be one of the seeds of my current predicament in the retail park.

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