The tourist information office of the small French country town looked closed. Peering between the posters on the window glass, I couldn’t see a light on inside or furniture or people. I tried the door anyway and it gave way. The office was open. In the corner of a large expanse of tiled floor was an office desk. Seated at the desk was a woman aged about 20 absorbed in a fat paperback called Think and Grow Rich.
My appearance on her office tiles seemed to astonish her. She leapt out of her chair and almost ran to welcome me. Did she speak English? I said. Yes, of course. How could she help? I said that I had read somewhere that the town boasted an Olympic-sized outdoor swimming-pool and I was wondering where I could find it. She said yes, I was quite right, the town had a magnificent municipal outdoor pool. Unfortunately, it closed at the end of last summer owing to a lack of public funds and it is staying closed for the foreseeable future. I like a nice swim. In fact, one of the reasons I had chosen to come here was the Olympic-sized public pool. ‘Shit and bugger,’ I said. She couldn’t agree more. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is very shitty.’
My question was definitively answered, but she didn’t want to let me go without a bit of a natter. She seemed desperate for human contact. ‘Where are you from?’ she said. ‘England,’ I said. ‘Where?’ she said. ‘South-west,’ I said. ‘Sheep, cows, badgers. Many badgers. More badgers than cows even. In places, more badgers than humans. Do you have badgers here in France?’ ‘Yes, there are badgers,’ she said.
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