Friday February 13th

My birthday.

Is Friday 13th my lucky day that’s the question!? Many believe this to be an unlucky day. The conundrum was put to the test later the same day.

The best laid plans for attending the opera in Bordeaux were abandoned because of the two hour drive back home. Far better to have a few sharpeners prior to a slap up dinner at L’Imparfait in Bergerac. Lyndia could join me in a glass of champagne to celebrate the great day and drive me home after dinner. She said she was quite happy to abstain from wine at the restaurant,

So far so good.

We found a convivial cocktail bar in Bergerac old town in sight of a statue of the fabled Cyrano. The bar was designer decorated with influences from Bali - clever lighting, black stone walls, large gold Buddhas and a waterfall in the old stone entrance hall. The patron was debonair and spoke good English. Seated at a table were a couple of suited businessmen in the company of lady, also suited, complete with brief case and with mobile phone pressed to her ear. She appeared to be of “Cote Ivoire” origin. We drank house champagne at 10 euros a shot and left feeling quite jolly.

Feeling pleased the drink intake had been kept to a minimum at dinner I elected to drive. I’d chosen to forget a number of Pelforth pressions consumed in my earlier bar crawl round the main town looking for a Tabac. We would get home before chucking out time I insisted.

On the other side of the Pont Neuf, which traverses the Dordogne, we saw the tell tale swivelling blue lights of the Gendarmes. They were pulling everyone in at the roundabout at Madeleine . There was no escape. I blew into the bag. I didn’t dare to see if had changed colour. I was politely told it had and that I was over the limit. This would surely prove my worst fears about this superstitiously unlucky date.

We were in a French registered car but when the gendarme who had officiated in the breath test asked me to produce my car papers I replied in English that they were not in the car but at home. His attitude changed. He called his boss over.

“You’re English?” his commanding officer enquired.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Give me your car keys,” he demanded.

Whereupon he walked round to the passenger window and handed them to Lyndia.

“Tell your wife to drive you home,” he said.

It was, after all, my lucky day!