Damn Frenchies

Well, France successfully brought out the Daily Mail reader within. After a few days I was stomping around wondering why these Frenchies didn’t speak a proper language (i.e. the same one as me), why the shops were always closed, why all the milk was UHT, why cappucinos were made with whipped cream, why the peasants were so unfriendly (possibly calling them peasants was a bad start) and why the cows were stalking me.

Notable events – Gasps of awe whilst looking at beautiful lake, Lydia getting lost while jogging, group worrying about lost Lydia, cycling up long dark lane searching for Lydia, Lydia rescued by kindly old French couple, finishing Curse of Chalion, reading The Atrocity Archives, playing ball on string with Bruce the dog, worrying Bruce would expire of over excitement after too much ball on string, reading Kafka on the shore, writing scene in Mud and starting next scene, watching the rain, hiding from the sun, walking along infinitely long French lane, joyous sighting of shop after four days of rural imprisonment, realising shop was closed due to ridiculous French opening hours, seeing my first real boulangerie, eating giant Pain au Chocolat, finding French bookshop, eating horrible Croque Mousieur.

Holidays are always great for thinking, and I’ve made a couple of interesting decisions whilst lounging around the luxury abode. More details in days to come.

I’ve stuck some photos up on Facebook here, and here is a little taster…

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