Hi Gang,
Sorry for the delay but normal, boring life just keeps getting in the way.
After over three weeks in the sun my hair had become rather blonde and sexy as opposed to it's normal more vibrant, vivid mouse colour. It looks quite racy but I think I'm a bit too old for such frivolities nowadays so, as soon as I get home it will revert to a more sober, boring shade because 'I'm worth it!"
The night before my cousin and her husband arrived back we did a tour of the 'estate' just to make sure all was well. Needless to say we bumped into la toad, not literally thank goodness. Hubs commented that is was obviously Madame Crapaud as it was the smaller of the two. I looked and decided that non, this was not le Madame, this was le bebe! It was so much smaller, yet still surprisingly bloomin' HUGE, so he agreed with me that it did indeed look as though Le Big Guy and Madame had met at some point in the undergrowth, et voila, a little one. I now felt a bit like Goldilocks and the 3 toads. "Who's been eating my porridge?"......."Well, not me because a) I don't eat breakfast and I thought everyone now knew this, b) I don't like porridge and c) I'm on a reduced carbohydrate diet, O.K?" Goodness, this was now a 3 toad household, methinks it's time to head for home.
All was spick and span when the rightful owners returned and tried to evict us but we were sitting tight, at least for a couple of days. I could no longer hog their computer to churn out nonsense when they had to maintain contact with children etc and pay bills so I just indulged in some last minute panic tanning. We did dinner, with champagne, for us all and had a great evening. The following day, Saturday we all went off to St Tropez on the boat. Such wealth, such ostentation, such decadence and this was just on the ferry across. It's great fun watching the paparazzi stalking everyone, just in case they are famous and of course the folk who are just professional poseurs are hilarious to behold. I see in todays papers that Ivana Trump is in St Tropez but we didn't see her or anyone else famous for that matter. The street market was on so we dragged the two bored looking blokes, who were following us about, round with us.On our way to lunch we came into the town square and there was a wedding taking place at the Marie. Lots of wedding outfitted people were milling around and they each had a red helium balloon. This looked good fun so we hung around to see the happy couple when they came out. The last of the guests were filing out, with their red balloons to await the bride and groom so we knew it
wouldn't be long. Suddenly a gendarme, resplendent in his full General De Gaulle outfit came out and stood on the steps. He blew his whistle to get everyone's attention and then made an announcement, in French, of course. I don't know what he said but from the laughter it was probably along the lines of "Now listen you lot, the poor bloke and his new awful wife will becoming out in a minute so I want you to give them a big cheer, no insults and no 'You'll regret it' or other such childish
retorts, O.K?" He then blew his whistle again and we all had to count down from 10 after which the happy couple came out, each holding dozens of red helium balloons. Everyone then released their balloons together which proceeded to float off to huge cheers and clapping. We were all just as involved as the official balloonatics and it was great fun. I have to say the bride was wearing the smallest wedding dress I've ever seen. Her shoe size must have been the same as her dress size, about a 4 I'd say but she did look lovely. Her dress could best be described as a wedding pelmet. The fabric looked exquisite and it must have cost her an arm and a leg even though neither an arm nor a leg featured in the design, just the merest hint of wispy fabric. I wanted to follow them all to the reception but everyone else wanted to go for lunch so I was outvoted.
Lunch was great, we wandered around and then it was time to head off back for the ferry home. A young mum and her little girl sat near us and the little girl then got out her book to read. It was in French but even I could see that it was a sex education manual for children, I nearly asked the mum if I could borrow it to let my husband read it. The illustrations were horrifically graphic and obviously an epilator had nor been employed, I had to look away in shock. The mum then explained that this was required holiday reading for 5 year olds in France! Blimey, it made D.H. Lawrence's literary offerings seem quite tame.
In no time we had to get packed and off to the airport for the return flight home. We don't have much luck with flights, they take us to the wrong airport, frequently, or they don't take us at all and tell us to come back another day. Anyway, the trip home was very uneventful and going through passport control was so much better than at Paris. We queued for about an hour for some stranger to give my passport a cursory glance before sending me on my way having decided that it was indeed me on the photograph. I knew it was me, I've always known it was me, I didn't need a total stranger to tell me that it was me, I could have told him that an hour before and what's more, him indoors is also him on his passport!!! What is the point of all that?
Back down to earth with a thud, and the pilot really did do a VERY heavy landing! Home to gardening, laundry and ever other thing that makes us go away in the first place.
It was a great holiday and thank you all for coming with us, I hope you enjoyed it half as much as we did.
I shall be back soon on a new thread with tales of being bandaged like a mummy by him indoors in the hope of achieving a smaller waist and a flatter stomach, me, that is, not him! Take care
Ballerina x