So the summer here starts to draw to an end with temperatures set to a gentle bake, skies that grow hazy at night with the sweat and fatigue of the people here and with the last of the big festivals all vying for attention.
Yesterday we had the choice of hot air ballooning (with music by Wyclef Jean) or an Italian Fest with lots of sports cars, pasta and music by someone other than Wyclef (why do I always say his name as though I'm Tom Jones?), the Gay Pride community day with music by Michel Dorion or Festiblues with music by old guys who have had lives as hard and wives as battered as their guitars.
Having watched a scarcely attended drag queen homage to the 80s (Tine Turner good, Cher bad, Pat Bennetar a revelation), been depressed enough having lived in Michigan and both having the desire to still fit in our clothes we decided to eschew gay community, pasta and old guys with rough lives and rougher hands and set off for the Balloon Festival - or International de montgolfières de Saint-Jean-sur-Richeli.
And what a good decision. More inflatables than an It's a Knockout Special, fat kids refusing to jump from the bungee platform as mom tried harder and harder to fake credible adoption papers, a wine tent with outdoor seating and 100 hot air balloons taking to the air with near silent majesty. Really cool.
I have five days away now - a meeting in NYC and one in Atlanta... with lots of tricky flights in between - and I'm going to miss being here. Especially as Jude is finally back, the dog is finally well and we have a friend coming to stay for the first time in close to two decades (this friend, not any friend)
Oh well - home by Friday, and then a few days off before I have to head for Brazil.