After being beguiled by a pretty sexy looking poster about a truffle fair in the foothills of the Black Mountains yesterday, we (Ezra and I) decided to go. It would be a fun and educative trip out: aged weather-beaten men with wooden crates full of earth-encrusted knobbly GOLD (might as well be) truffle hounds/pigs, wonderful ancient music involving sheep-stomach bag pipes, and so on.
In fact it was stuffed with small stalls of all the usual stuff you see round here, ear-aching tannoy'd chart music and very few truffles.
We left and at Ezra's request went to wander around the railway station at Bram so he could feel the thrill of a TGV passing at 200 KM while standing on the very narrow platform there.
As it was Sunday, we only saw a small rusting goods train passing at the speed of an ambling cow.
However it was all worth it just to be able to take a photo of the most depressing disco in the world, somewhere on the road between Carcassonne and Toulouse.