Maison Saint Pierre Breakfast Blues.

Almost a bad end to a wonderful experience: a hornet landed on my ankle. I didn't know what it was at first. It tickled and I thought it was a big fly. When I tried to shake it off I saw how large it was. It wasn't dislodged when I shook it. It was a little lethargic so it must've been sleeping before I sat near where it was - maybe it's too warm for flying bricks. Now it has left the room, out the window, and I am not damaged. What would the effect have been of the barb in its tail?

Time for breakfast with the Sisters and repetition of the same emphasis over and over. Then I realise that I am being unnecessarily impatient with a woman who hasn't probably left this room, walls, cloister in a decade. And speaking to anyone male, let alone British (by birth), must bring all her forgotten skills from the corridors of her mind: a forgotten room so overgrown with brambles, dog roses and briary. She must've reminded me seven times between 7am and a half that another Sister would be waiting at eight to take me to the Airport. At last I asked her to relax. As I expressed this in actions, closing my eyes in a silent prayer to silence my jumpy mind, she took note in her Roman Catholic book and allowed the remainder of the petit dejourner to be until another Sister (driver) and another Sister (silent as a mouse) came to join us. Then I was reminded that I should return at eight.

Then why did I mention the hornet episode ... Too much fuss. But I brought it on my self. Back to 142 for a shower. I wasn't stung by the hornet!

A third Sister, the one watering the roses and flowers at 6 am, in the wilting weather, brings me out of Rodez to the minute airport and now I wait out of the sun.