Rural sorts...

After spending what seemed like an eternity in Agen on a teacher-training course, I was glad to be almost home when I passed a particularly attractive residence, complete with owner, tending his pristine front garden. At first we both appeared content with the simple Bonsoir but then I saw him throw down his tools make for my direction. As he neared me, I assumed I had to offer something more that bonsoir given that we were pretty much the only two people outside at 8 o’clock in the evening. I saw a nice looking sports car in the drive and so asked if it was a MG. By this stage it had become apparent that we were opting for a brief exchange of pleasantries whilst admiring the car, which tuned out to be a ’65 Fiat, made in America but bought in Mainz, as far as I understood. The brief exchange of pleasantries became a half hour chinwag, covering anything from immigration in the UK to the cheating mind-set he considered universal among modern sportspeople.  I struggled to comprehend his sentiments behind his ridiculously strong accent and mouthful of tobacco but I managed to gauge a feeling of gratitude on his part. He seemed glad to have a genuine conversation with someone, because, as far as I could make out, he was alone, save for the slobbering mutt he kept chained to the tree.  Once I had finally managed to end the conversation, I too felt grateful that this complete stranger had wanted to talk to me. I felt a little guilty for wanting the exchange to end so quickly as I remembered that he had been one of the first locals to initiate the conversation.