personal life to Serge. He might be able to use them against him in some way.
  But Serge had his mind on other matters. ' Putain, that aperitif, it's given me an appetite. When were you thinking of eating?'
  'Of course,' said the old chap, 'I'll go and fetch my sister.'
  He got up and went out into the yard.
  'See, they may be poor,' said Serge, 'but they live like kings, these peasants.' He slapped his rounded belly. 'I'm just about ready for some home-cooked grub.'
  The farmer reappeared with the little hunched-over woman bobbing behind him. She began to bustle about in cupboards, head down, barely glancing in our direction. She emptied a clear glass jar full of a yellowy white viscous liquid with grey lumps in it into a heavy iron pan, sprinkled it with herbs and began to fry the lot up on the stove.
  Serge rubbed his hands together. 'Mmmm, that smells like gésiers if I'm not very much mistaken.' He nodded at me. 'But not much interest to you, eh, Johnny? I don't think you're ready for a nice plate of chicken gizzards just yet.'
  He turned to the old boy. 'My friend here is from England where they've got some very strange ways. He refuses to eat meat, would you believe it?'
  The farmer looked at me with renewed interest. 'We have some pork if you don't like gésiers ,' he said kindly. 'We don't meet many English people round here.'
  'If you've got any bread and maybe a piece of cheese that would be fine,' I said.
  'Estelle, did you hear that?'
  The little old woman half-turned and smiled at me before fetching a big country loaf and some Brie which she placed on the table. Then she served up the gésiers, which Serge attacked like a ravenous wolf.
  ' Putain , you don't know what you're missing, Johnny. This is delicious.' He poured himself a glass of red wine and washed down a mouthful of gizzards.
  The old woman put a pot of coffee on the stove, produced a large cherry flan and cut us each a piece. Serge ate his with gusto, licking his fingers and slurping his coffee. When he'd finished he burped loudly and pulled out his well-thumbed notebook.
  'Now, to get things sorted out properly for the survey. It's just you and your sister living here, is it?'
  'Yes, just the two of us.'
  'And you are M'sieu �'
  'Perrier⦠Jacques Perrier.'
  'Ah, yes, and your sister is?'
  'Estelle Perrier.'
  'Good, good⦠excellent,' said Serge, scribbling away.
  I was beginning to find this pantomime embarrassing and looked away. The little old woman was waiting just outside the door, hiding in the shadows, shyly watching us.
  Serge drained his cup of coffee, slammed shut his notebook, stood up and yawned.
  'Well, I think that just about concludes our work here. You've been most helpful. Don't worry, I'll mention to the mayor how cooperative you've been.' He shook the farmer's hand. 'We'd better be on our way. Say goodbye to your sister for us won't you, Jacques?'
  As we set off along the track towards the van Serge was jubilant.
  'There, what did I tell you, Johnny? Who needs to go to restaurants to eat when you've got hospitable peasants like that around?'
  But I was beginning to feel upset about how we'd used them.
  When I looked back the old man was waving us goodbye. The sad little figure of his sister was standing behind him, framed in the doorway, watching us go.
We drove off with Serge cheerfully humming the popular Serge Gainsbourg hit, 'Sea, Sex and Sun', punctuating the chorus with a series of foul-smelling belches.
  'Those gésiers were out of this world, Johnny. Beats me how you can pass up on such delicious bouffe .'
  I was still feeling bad about how I had colluded with him in conning that nice peasant and his sister out of a free meal. I certainly wasn't in the mood to get into
  But Serge had his mind on other matters. ' Putain, that aperitif, it's given me an appetite. When were you thinking of eating?'
  'Of course,' said the old chap, 'I'll go and fetch my sister.'
  He got up and went out into the yard.
  'See, they may be poor,' said Serge, 'but they live like kings, these peasants.' He slapped his rounded belly. 'I'm just about ready for some home-cooked grub.'
  The farmer reappeared with the little hunched-over woman bobbing behind him. She began to bustle about in cupboards, head down, barely glancing in our direction. She emptied a clear glass jar full of a yellowy white viscous liquid with grey lumps in it into a heavy iron pan, sprinkled it with herbs and began to fry the lot up on the stove.
  Serge rubbed his hands together. 'Mmmm, that smells like gésiers if I'm not very much mistaken.' He nodded at me. 'But not much interest to you, eh, Johnny? I don't think you're ready for a nice plate of chicken gizzards just yet.'
  He turned to the old boy. 'My friend here is from England where they've got some very strange ways. He refuses to eat meat, would you believe it?'
  The farmer looked at me with renewed interest. 'We have some pork if you don't like gésiers ,' he said kindly. 'We don't meet many English people round here.'
  'If you've got any bread and maybe a piece of cheese that would be fine,' I said.
  'Estelle, did you hear that?'
  The little old woman half-turned and smiled at me before fetching a big country loaf and some Brie which she placed on the table. Then she served up the gésiers, which Serge attacked like a ravenous wolf.
  ' Putain , you don't know what you're missing, Johnny. This is delicious.' He poured himself a glass of red wine and washed down a mouthful of gizzards.
  The old woman put a pot of coffee on the stove, produced a large cherry flan and cut us each a piece. Serge ate his with gusto, licking his fingers and slurping his coffee. When he'd finished he burped loudly and pulled out his well-thumbed notebook.
  'Now, to get things sorted out properly for the survey. It's just you and your sister living here, is it?'
  'Yes, just the two of us.'
  'And you are M'sieu �'
  'Perrier⦠Jacques Perrier.'
  'Ah, yes, and your sister is?'
  'Estelle Perrier.'
  'Good, good⦠excellent,' said Serge, scribbling away.
  I was beginning to find this pantomime embarrassing and looked away. The little old woman was waiting just outside the door, hiding in the shadows, shyly watching us.
  Serge drained his cup of coffee, slammed shut his notebook, stood up and yawned.
  'Well, I think that just about concludes our work here. You've been most helpful. Don't worry, I'll mention to the mayor how cooperative you've been.' He shook the farmer's hand. 'We'd better be on our way. Say goodbye to your sister for us won't you, Jacques?'
  As we set off along the track towards the van Serge was jubilant.
  'There, what did I tell you, Johnny? Who needs to go to restaurants to eat when you've got hospitable peasants like that around?'
  But I was beginning to feel upset about how we'd used them.
  When I looked back the old man was waving us goodbye. The sad little figure of his sister was standing behind him, framed in the doorway, watching us go.
We drove off with Serge cheerfully humming the popular Serge Gainsbourg hit, 'Sea, Sex and Sun', punctuating the chorus with a series of foul-smelling belches.
  'Those gésiers were out of this world, Johnny. Beats me how you can pass up on such delicious bouffe .'
  I was still feeling bad about how I had colluded with him in conning that nice peasant and his sister out of a free meal. I certainly wasn't in the mood to get into