There are many tales surrounding impending disaster, where people suddenly have the compulsion to change a plan at the very last minute. An inner feeling of doom rises to the surface and shouts out “No. Don’t!”
Not boarding a plane that then goes on to crash, the ultimate example. After an event, how many times have we heard ourselves say “I just knew that was going to happen”.
Today we have a couple of places of interest in Perpignan to Scoot to. First up is the Palais de rois Majorque. We park in a side street directly alongside the massively high outer walls. Mr S usually leaves Beastie’s ignition key in his jacket, which gets stored under Scoot’s seat. Today he has a feeling something might happen to Scoot. What if Scoot is stolen, or broken into? Decides to carry the key with him.
The palace rooms are bare. Red brick stone walls. Terracotta floors. A chest here, or there. A couple of chairs against one wall. Look miniscule. Like dolls furniture under 30ft high wood-beamed ceilings. Emphasised by the huge acreage given over to each room’s footprint. It’s like walking through a ‘Vacant For Sale’, with no forward chain. Info boards in French and Spanish do little to stir the imagination as to ‘what it was like’. Both chapels are equally lacking, but at least shed a little light on the grandeur that would have existed back in the 13th and 14th centuries.
The barren nature of each room gets countered downstairs. Firstly, by an exhibition of artistic graffiti . . .
Then in one of the underground rooms, a weird light show for kids is in full swing. The palace through the seasons.
Finally, and with full info in English too, we follow the fascinating history of the garnet gemstone and it’s manufacturing process as adopted in Perpignan. The same strict 17thC practice is still maintained today.
In those days it wasn’t easy to pass your jewelry apprenticeship . . .
It’s now 2pm. Two hours have flown by, somehow. Two peckish tums head back to Scoot. The keeper of all things sarnie. Mr S decides to move him to a more salubrious location in front of the palace and a bench.
Scoot’s security Titan disc lock has always been a bit tricky to release. Mainly because Mr S has to bend so low to get the key in. This time it slips in easily. The central cylinder pops open as it should. But not the holding pin, which should release with it. A wiggle and a jiggle (of the lock) does no good. It’s decided to grit its teeth. Happy being where it is. Scoot is stuck in its steel gnasher.
At this point Mr S is not concerned – much. He’s an ace fiddler. He’s now lying side-on in the gutter, trying to use his X-ray vision. Hoping to conjure an imagined image of the inner workings. Constantly turning the key this way then that in an attempt to get some purchase, or fool it into thinking it should release. Ten minutes of optimistic fiddling go by. A passing dog stops. Sniffs to see what’s going on. Resists the urge to do what comes naturally. Moves on. His master’s voice calling. “Don’t you dare!”
Thirty minutes later the lock wins. Mr S concedes. Googles 24/7 emergency locksmith. His shop is just over 1K away. Mr S should have phoned first. His shop is locked. Shutters down. Obviously he’s out on an emergency job!
A phone call where neither party fully understands the other, ensues. A text is sent. Back at Scoot the scenarios start playing out in our minds. Will we need to get a taxi back? Will Scoot still be here when we return tomorrow? Will we need to call a tow truck? Even then, how do we get Scoot back up the ramp into Beastie’s backside? Will Monsieur Locksmith materialise? Has he read the text? Will he have the right tools?
It’s now 4pm. The grey clouds darken. Under Mrs S’s prompting, Mr S engages a young father. He’s out walking his baby. He willingly speaks to Monsieur Locksmith on our behalf. Success!!
Our perceived saviour arrives at 4.50pm. He emulates Mr S’s previous flawed attempts. Even a squirt or two of WD40 proves useless. Pulls out his black bag of tricks. Pins and needles of all wiggly shapes and sizes. Like the types you see used in a crime movie when a safecracker is at work. Sadly no stethoscope. All to no avail. Decides something with a little more oomph is required. A small dollop of gelignite peut-être?
Sounds like a very stressful afternoon! 😩
More for Mary-Ann than me Paul – my gut feeling said everything would work out OK 🤗