Jeremy Clarke Jeremy Clarke

Why French car-boot sales are good for my mental health

It is refreshing and enlivening to be among the poor for a change

Credit: Sophie Walster 
issue 19 September 2020

Hairpin bends in a stony forest. Downhill. Steep, then steeper. Smooth frictionless tarmac. I’ve got the car barely under control. A narrow bridge over a ravine. Single file only. A van hurtling uphill. A recessed drain — unavoidable. Bang, crash, wallop. The car continues but feels mortally wounded. We limp to a passing place 50 yards further down the hill and I cut the engine.

I get out and inspect the damage. A back tyre is as flat as a dab. It’s not my car. I open the boot hoping to uncover the requisite tools and spare wheel. Jack, spare wheel, warning triangle — present. Excellent. Wheel brace? Unfortunately not. Bugger. Phone signal? One bar. From time to time.

I call Michael, a neighbour. A French ring tone, then his voice. Thank the Lord. Could he possibly drive out here, bringing a wheel brace? Unfortunately Michael is stoned.

Get Britain's best politics newsletters

Register to get The Spectator's insight and opinion straight to your inbox. You can then read two free articles each week.

Already a subscriber? Log in

Comments

Join the debate for just £1 a month

Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.

Already a subscriber? Log in