Here I am at the foot of the Luberon
                             hiding from the sun. I saw an Irish

                             car today, with a pair of Micks,
                             anaemics, my wife said.

                             Florescent like a pair of corpses
                             with an  O' Thule coffin on the roof.

                             Dubliners, they were, Bram Stoker
                             country and possibily vampires down
                             for the tomatoe picking season.

                             It's the same every year, we go there
                             and they come here. Ryan Air white-

                             outs they're known as on the
                             Riveria, burnt as toast in a
                             day and cursing the french.