Nîmes. The French Rome.
Team Condor and Team Philosophe picnic on grass, next to a fountain.
Across the road from the Arena de Nîmes.
Can I go to the fountain? asks Terence.
Yes, says Belle, opening the picnic basket. Don't fall in.
I have to, says Terence, but not loudly.
What have we here? asks Vello. It smells delicious.
Bull meat with capers, onion and anchovy, says Belle. Served with asparagus.
Marcel Proust wrinkles his nose.
Asparagus.
And paté Nîmois, says Belle. You'll love this, Sweezie.
Bull first, says Sweezus.
What a delightful setting, says Gaius. A well-preserved Roman arena.
They still hold bull fights there, says Grace Swan.
Sweezus stops chewing.
They cook the meat for ages, in red wine, says Belle.
Sweezus starts chewing again.
Arthur picks up a pelardon. Bites into it.
A strong scent of goat wafts around the picnickers and across to the fountain.
Poo! says Terence. What's that SMELL?
I heard Terence, says Belle. But I can't see him. Where is the little monkey?
I'll go, says Nietzsche.
He walks across to the fountain. Terence is in the water, rinsing out string.
You fell in, says Nietzsche.
No, says Terence. See these? They got tangled in Mouldy's wheels. He came last yesterday because that happened.
Let me help you, says Nietzsche.
He is not usually helpful.
What has changed?
Grace Swan is watching.
What a lovely man he is, thinks Grace Swan.
She looks at him, rinsing out string in the fountain with Terence.
She looks at her son Sprocket, who is sharing a goat cheese with Arthur.
What would he think if she took up with Nietzsche?
Vello is offering her a glass of Rosé de Tavel.
Favourite wine of Philippe le Bel, Louis XIV, the Avignon popes, Honore de Balzac and Earnest Hemingway, says Vello.
A knowledgeable man.
Did you read that on the label? asks David.
Grace sips her Rosé de Tavel.
Marcel Proust has taken his wig off, and his long clown shoes.
His feet are bare. His left big toe has a blister.
No socks? says Grace Swan.
I lent them to Arthur, yesterday, says Marcel, smearing tapenade on a crust of fresh bread.
Nietzsche returns in time for the opening of a bottle of Perrier.
The famous bubbles.
They finish off with croquants Villaret, extremely hard almond bicuits.
No one breaks a tooth, luckily.
It's that kind of day.
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