The Madness of Birds

Arrived in the Mediterranean town of Beziers just after 6, having left Toulouse early because virtually all my books were sold. A mix up over hotel bookings with my publisher meant we ended up staying 4 flights up in a backstreet hotel with no lift, a room barely big enough to swing a non-political squirrel in, and a toilet in which you could hardly sit down. Had to squeeze my car into a one-car garage with another car, before we set off into a warren of very narrow, questionable streets in search of a restaurant. In time we stumbled across this long, tree-lined avenue flanked by the most amazing buildings, with what seemed to be a theatre at the end of it. We sat sipping Ricard tomates beneath a canopy under the trees before becoming aware of the most deafening cacophony of birdsong I have ever heard. Swallows, I think. Tens of thousands of them. The trees were alive with them and it seemed as if the sky was raining guano. Dodging out from beneath the trees and traversing further impossibly narrow streets, we finally stumbled on La Halle - a giant covered marketplace in a square lined with restaurants. There we ate very well, and discovered a wine new to us - a Pic Saint Loup, a wonderful local Syrah. I also received an email that made me cry. But I won't write about that here. It's for a blog, I think, when I get home.