Cooperative Agricole

An Italian friend encouraged us to visit the local Coopérative Agricole, saying the prices were keen and the apples, in particular, were excellent. Today being definitely not swimming weather - high seas and a very cold wind - we decided we would take her up on her advice.

The locale was somewhat nondescript, like one of those temporary car parks occupying wasteland whilst planning permission is being sought for a building. Inside, though, it was an Aladdin's cave of odds and sods useful for farmers, from bales of twine through to rubber galoshes of a kind I hadn't seen in forty years. There was jam, too, and wine, along with olive oil, soap and large quantities of orange flower water (what for, I wonder?).

At the checkout, with a strange assortment of items, we watched as a customer tried to pay for a hefty pole, about two metres long and maybe three or four centimeters in diameter. He knew what he wanted it for, but the caissière didn't know what it was, and asked the other checkout operator.

Quick as a flash, and manifesting absolute certainty, he cried out, for all the Coopérative to hear:

"C'est un manche de fourche à fumier, ça."

Good to know there's an address where you can still buy one, should the manure turning urge come on suddenly.