Good morning campers,
Chris, welcome to old git's corner,
Julieathome, don't worry, you will soon find your way around and my head is as back to normal as is possible for me, thanks and consider yourself one of us,
Miffy, are you really going to try one of those leg mowing machines? You are a braver woman than me, let us know how it goes and we'll send you some painkillers and an oxygen mask!
Well, we were going to go to Frejus today but as there are storms due to rampage through here about lunchtime we will go tomorrow instead. Frejus is a lovely town, just as you imagine Provence to be. It used to be the seat of the Holy Roman Empire and there are loads of old relics still there so we feel quite at home. In mediaevel times it suffered raids by Barbarians and Goths, Mrs Hitler snr's ancestors then,and like my mil it has existed in some form or another since the first century. Actually, that description of Mrs Hitler snr was a bit unfair, there is nothing Goth like about the woman, she is shaped more like a rubic cube, without the little coloured squares, but with attitude. There would be no point in asking her to kiss Mr toad, she would sooner eat him.
You would imagine Frejus would resemble modern Rome in some way, no! No Basilica to get hearded round along with, what felt like, 20 million other tourists. I remember panicking as young Ghengis and I were getting pushed further and further apart in the melee. I shouted at him, "I feel like a sardine" and he shouted back "You don't like fish!"
Rome has loads of statues and a lot of them are of the human variety, something I've yet to see in France. Strange occupation that, just stand around all day, do nothing useful and people give you their hard earned money, must be like being an M.P.
Him indoors has now lost 3/4 of a stone and will possibly lose the same again before we go home. The sad thing is that before the aircraft has even touched down he will be foraging, like a brown bear, for food, every scabby dog withing a 5 mile radius will put on a disguise and go into hiding and if I don't open our front door fast enough he will have it off it's hinges and slapped between two slices of bread in an instant! I blame his mother!
Off for a swim now, see you all later,
Ballerina
but sadly my sign off has to be just off to the compost heap - your friend dhana , better known these days as Worzel or Stig of the dump! 
