Wet whetter weekend

The visit of the Aviatoor and co-pilot to Lyon missed being perfectly timed by three days. Wednesday and Thursday last week: 26-28C sunshine; Saturday and Sunday: cool, damp and overcast. From midsummer to early spring in one fell swoop. Tant pis, we made the best of it all the same.

Our guests arrived late on Friday evening, and the wet theme of the weekend started immediately. G&Ts and a bottle of wine, beds crawled into at 2am. We woke late the following morning to rain drops spattering against the window panes. Undeterred, we ventured out and tramped the damp streets of Lyon, trabouled and climbed our way to the top of Fourvière hill, then braved a scary patronne to wine and dine on cheese, saucisson and cakes for a lunch which finished at teatime.

Thence back home where our visitors snoozed while I hindered la bienheureuse in the kitchen, but redeemed myself by eventually producing acceptable caipirinhas all round. Lovely lamb was followed by cheese and tastier than ever tarte tatin, all washed down with a bottle of vintage Vacqueyras, or three. And champagne. Slightly earlier but somewhat drunker, we fell into bed and dreamed of fat cats and folk singers feasting on three course banquets.

Another late breakfast, another damp morning (just), and another wander through the streets of old Lugdunum. And another ascent of Fourvière hill, but this time heed was paid to my hangover and we took the funicular. We visited the Roman amphitheatre instead of the 19th century basilica and, on a winding route down, we were accompanied by a stray homeless shepherd who had apparently lost his flock of sheep and goats. We took restful repose in the cathedral while we waited for the astronomical clock to strike four, then an even later lunch followed. All too soon it was time to head off to  the airport. The Fly Booy and his patient Chérie came but for two enjoyable days, barely enough to whet the Lyonnais appetite…