Wonderful, wonderful Tartapain bakery, Yffiniac!
Not only do I say this because they produce excellent wholemeal, moist and soft-crusted, small walnut and raisin loaves, and another similar with sweet dried fruits, a big round gallette au four and a lovely light oily baguette they call a guilette which is a little like ciabatta, to say nothing of kouign amann nearly as good as you get in Finistere, not only because all the girls who sell the bread are young and lovely, and all the boys who bake it are young and comely, but also because they have just done a marvellous thing.
On approaching the counter today, I looked down and saw my purse was not in its habitual pocket in my bag, which was gaping open. I ran back to Tom, who gave me his wallet, then retraced my step back to the petrol station over the road where I had first got out of the car. My conviction, however was that I had never replaced the purse after taking it out that morning for a stamp, and I remembered it had been lying on the table, so I didn't worry unduly, and we went about our business.
On getting home, no purse. Not under the car seat, nowhere. I rang the petrol station, no luck.
I rang the bakery. The joy in the girl's voice when she told me they had found it, and repeated my phone number back to me was nearly as great as my own. Now Tom's gone to fetch it. I feel like that woman in the Bible who found a lost coin and called all her friends to round for a party, probably spending the refound money in the process, and spending all the 70 odd euros in celebration, including champagne and flowers for the lovely young people at Tartapain!