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turned on her heel, disappearing into the gloom of the interior of the café. I breathed a sigh of relief when she returned a few minutes later with a glass of ice-cool beer, condensation running down its sides. 'Trois euros, mademoiselle,' she said placing a till receipt in front of me.
    Â Â Nearly three quid for a glass of beer? That's a bit steep, I thought, it's not even a pint. No wonder they don't binge drink in France! I rooted round in my purse and handed her the fifty-euro note. 'Sorry,' I apologised, 'it's all I have.'
    Â Â The waitress's glare was only marginally warmer than a nuclear winter as she flounced off into the bar, before returning a few minutes later with a small saucer piled high with euro coins.
    Â Â 'Sorry, it's all I have,' she said with a sarcastic smile.
    Â Â I took the change without comment. Not much point upsetting her any more than I already seemed to have done. Sitting back, I contemplated my surroundings and fellow patrons of the Café du Midi. If I closed my eyes, I could almost be back home, there were so many English voices. Must be a popular spot with holidaymakers I thought, sipping on my ice-cold beer. Picking up the menu to see what was on offer, the prices seemed eye-wateringly high for a small village café. It was important to pace myself on the money front until I found a job, so eating here on a regular basis was definitely out for the moment.
    Â Â Opposite, the little village shop seemed to be in darkness. Funny, I thought, you'd think they'd be open to take advantage of all the lunchtime trade. A sign on the corner pointed to La Poste , the post office and another to a quincaillerie . I had no idea what that was and made a mental note to add it to my growing list of words to check out in my dictionary.
    Â Â Stretching out my stinging legs, I pulled my skirt up slightly in the hope that the sun might do something to disperse the ugly-looking white lumps that had spread across them from ankle to knee. I closed my eyes and tilted my face up towards the sun. A cold beer and sunshine in April. Heaven.
    Â Â  'Mince alors!' exclaimed a male voice behind me. (I made a mental note to look that one up too). 'What has happened to you this time? Another accident? You are certainly accident lying down!'
    Â Â Julien! I scrabbled to pull my skirt down. Lying down... lying down? I was nonplussed.
    Â Â 'Oh, accident prone. Accident prone, that's what you mean.' Google Translate had a lot to answer for.
    Â Â 'Some lunatic Frenchman nearly ran me over and I had to jump out of his way. I ended up in a ditch... for the second time today. It's becoming something of a habit. No real harm done,' I continued, noticing his concerned look, 'just fell into a load of stinging nettles. Hurts like shit... merde ,' I added.
    Â Â Julien smiled. I hadn't noticed the dimple in his left cheek before. It gave him an air of vulnerability that I found very attractive. To be honest, I found just about everything about him attractive.
    Â Â 'Can we join you? Louis will be here in a minute.'
    Â Â 'Yes, of course,' I moved my bag so he could sit down next to me.
    Â Â 'Are you eating?' he asked.
    Â Â 'No, not today. Another time maybe.'
    Â Â 'And you are settling in all right?'
    Â Â 'So far, so good. Well, apart from all the ditches I keep falling in to, I suppose.'
    Â Â From behind my sunglasses I studied his face. He really was gorgeous. There was something about him that made me want to just reach out and touch him. 'So…' we both said at once. I laughed, feeling suddenly very self-conscious.
    Â Â 'Ah, l'anglaise again,' said Louis as he pulled up another chair without waiting to be asked and sat down. The moment was lost.
    Â Â 'Something to drink?' asked Julien, nodding his head towards my half-empty glass.
    Â Â 'Oh, thank you but no. If I have one more drink at lunchtime, I'll be sleeping all afternoon. No, one is my limit,