This is the point where my diarising while actually in France flakes out, and I have to reconstruct it from a series of increasingly disjointed notes

Woke up hungover again to a text message from $Singer inviting me for lunch at C's.

Any and all resolution to straighten out a bit vapourised as the lunch turned out to come with wine, which it would have been plain rude to refuse.

I forget the rest of the details of lunch, except for the fact that coffee too was involved, and that I did make it to the jam at Tina's that evening. Tina played a solo set that night, as her (excellent) double bassist F. had gone off to a gig in Paris, and her drummer, T. wasn't around. Only that wasn't quite how the evening began for me.

For me, the evening began with Mlle. S.

I turned up slightly early at Tina's, still feeling very frazzled and shy from London, and feeling really odd about the fact that as a musician, I get to eat and drink at Tina's for free.

Not quite for free. I do play my heart out on whichever of guitar, bass or piano is around in return.

But still.

So, I walk in, and H. the tall longhaired German barman extraordinaire immediately wants to know what I want to drink. I say fruit juice, as I am trying to stay relatively sober for the jam. It's early, maybe 7pm, and hardly anyone is around yet. Hardly anyone, but Mlle S.

She is around my age, pretty, and mad as a box of frogs. We had an extremely broken conversation in a mixture of French and English, during which I was utterly unable to tell whether she was flirting with me or taking the piss out of me or both. It was by turns infuriating and beguiling. In short, she got me. Kind of. But this was just round one.

Which pretty much ended when Tina started playing, and I gave my full attention to the music, since the previous night she had indicated that she might ask me to play with her. Also, her songs and her singing are mesmerising at all times, even if she is in something of a folkish gospelish phase at the moment. Until now I've only seen her sing  jazz and blues, but she is the kind of singer who always gives a total performance no matter what the style is, running a gamut from silly voices and Harpo Marx moments through to astonishing vocal musicianship, and perfectly turned inter-song patter in two languages. So.

While she was singing, Mlle. S made a point of interposing herself between me and the stage, several times, all of which I ignored. Registered, but ignored.

I hate the fact that this may well have scored me brownie points with her. I can't stand those games. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Earlier on while I'd still been trying to work out whether Mlle. S was flirting or just taking the piss, I'd heard shouting from behind me.

[Unnecessary details of row between Tina and $Singer redacted. They made up in the end.]

And there was nothing I could do. But play.

That night after Tina finished her set without asking anyone to join her, S., A., M., $Singer and I all played in various configurations - S. on drums, A. on guitar and vocals, me on bass; the same with M. on guitar and vocals, the same with $Singer on guitar and vocals, then S. on guitar and vocals with A. on drums, me still on bass, then me on guitar and vocals, S. (reluctantly) on bass, and A. on drums.

Much fun.

Some post-punk band had been playing on the bar up the beach, but they had long finished by the time I got there, and the night ended with me and S. jamming on guitars on the patio outside the place until his girlfriend finally took him home and I stumbled to bed thinking "Damn, why did that Mlle S. disappear like that during the jam? How very mysterious..."