The local market morphs with the seasons and is as good an indication of the start of spring as any other, official or not.
Today the egg seller was playing the bass clarinet as he waited for customers, by the cafe someone was playing the accordeon and i was earlier than holy to make sure i got the best bread on offer before the crowds descended.
I could have relaxed a bit, the clement weather had even brought the Dutch baker out of winter retirement and there were loaves a-plenty.
It felt like a cliche French market, all cheese and olives, music and baguettes. And If there were any doubts about Spring - bunches and bunches of Daffodils.
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