a clue is left on the doorstep

Well, I wrote that about the gas on Tuesday, in the gap between swimming and bridge, relaxing with a glass of kir on Clermont’s main square. This lounging at a sidewalk table with a cold one and some peanuts, watching the people go by and musing on whatever, is surely the reason why philosophy is such a Big Thing here. To the point of having Celebrity Philosophers (as the Economist referred to Bernard-Henri Levi not long ago. Even so, I wouldn’t recognise BHL if he was sitting at the next table.)

But anyway.

Wednesday night I got home early and my evening guest arrived later than expected, and so I was messing around thinning the weeds in the front yard. At one point I went far enough to the right side of the house (where my unused driveway is. I go over there, what, once a month ? not even ?) to look up the steps to my official front door. Which I never use, seeing as it’s far more direct to open the pedestrian gate next to the mailbox, get the mail, and go straight up the steps to the kitchen door.

But what was on my front steps ? Some paper. Now, how did that get there.

I’m used to having bits of trash in my front yard, blown there from the passing trash pickup or littered courtesy of my neighbors who park in front of my house. But whole sheets of paper, and up over the low wall that screens the steps ?

Aha ! It’s a notice from the gas people that they were here and they changed the meter, and here was a booklet explaining how to relight the gas. Rather worse for the weather, having spent more than 3 weeks outside, but still readable. It would have been nice of them to stick it in the mailbox instead!

I’ll try it tonight.