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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2 thoughts on “Damn Frenchies”

  1. Sounds delightful. I note that you are, however, somewhat less than completely ingenuous in certain respects, and I feel it incumbent upon me to raise certain inescapable issues for the benefit of anyone who may not be aware of the facts:

    I. As I understand it, you are half French, and the hostility you express towards your semi-compatriots needs to be addressed in an honest and rigorous fashion.

    2. Detailed examination of the photos reveals that you were not in fact in France, but a highly detailed if imperfect simulacrum.

    3. I cannot be certain, but I have a suspicion that the same may be true of the version of Lydia which is visible in the bottom-left picture. For your sake, I hope the real one isn’t in that lake.

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  2. It’s true Andrew. He killed me! He killed me good and proper! Murder, murder, murder!

    Also, I didn’t really get lost. I meant to go on a 3 hour run until 10 o’clock at night and I entirely intended to be driven home by the kindly old French couple. I see nothing vague in my description to them of where I lived as being ‘near a lake’ …running into Damien as we drove around in the ‘land of the 1000 lakes’ (rough translation of Limosine) was admittedly nice… yes…useful, even…but I’m sure I’d have found my way back eventually. Probably.

    ;)

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