This is the diary I kept on our recent trip to France.........................
Well, the milk has been packed, the cases have been cancelled and we are off at the break of sparrows in the morning, Paris here we come!
I have confiscated all the cash from him indoors as he is a magnet for footpads, vagabonds and general riff raff whose only mission in life is to relieve him of his hard earned pension, a bit like me then! This came about after he had his wallet lifted whilst we were on the underground in Brussels, I told him we were being targeted, it was painfully obvious but still, they got his wallet. I can tell you now that it made a happy woman very old! Needless to say they got nothing off me, I'm from Glasgow for goodness sake, my purse is my only erogenous zone, touch me there and I go mad!!! He has not laid eyes on a Euro since, if someone is going to rob him blind I see no reason why it should not be me! I must admit that as I was tucking our Euro securely into my 'money drawers' it did occur to me that was perhaps not what they had in mind when they coined the expression 'sitting on a fortune'!
It is now the middle of the night, we are running around like excited puppies, no floor wetting though and the 'puters are about to be shut down................
Just about to leave home this morning and HE switched of the hall light so I fell down stairs, sore hip but OK then got my hand trapped in the overhead locker on the aircraft and as He tried to help he elbowed me in my eye, so I arrived in Paris rather battered and bruised but otherwise fine. Now got blisters on toes but not one to give up, so, see what injuries I can accrue tomorrow, oh, and he's not been robbed yet by a stranger, just me, hee hee
Well, feet look like those smoked hams you see in Italian food shops. My poor little size 4 tootsies are suffering in the heat. They don't usually give me too much grief as I have the requisite number, they are in approximately the right place and they usually face the right direction but they are not happy bunnies. If I got captured by a tribe of cannibals they would starve till they got to the feet, then the whole tribe could feast on my trotters for a week!
Off to see the Mona Lisa then lunch at Train Blue, wow!!
Well, today's blisters are now playing host to yesterday's blisters! The only area on my right, little toe that does not have a blister is the nail but I feel sure that if it wanted a blister, it would have one, it just doesn't seem to want one for which I am grateful.
The queues to get into the Louvre were outside my fighting weight so we decided against standing in 30 degs to see a woman who has a facial expression that is less enigmatic and more 'I have blisters on my feet', I can look in the mirror and see that face any time so moaning Lisa is for another visit.
At our second attempt, we got into Notre Dame. I'm not good at queueing in the heat and we passed the previous day but this time there were almost no queues so, straight in. Ah, it all came back to me, Esmerelda and Quasimodo, Walt Disney has a lot to answer for in my life! We decided to light a candle, as is our usual thing in Cathedrals, not that either of us are religious in any way, well, not in any normal way, we drink religiously but that is about it so, I lit the candle whilst OH paid and I added our candle to the stands with hundreds of others, burning away brightly. I stood back to admire my handiwork and realised what a slightly bizarre scene this was. The saint above the candle was Joan of Arc and the image of all those lit candles at her feet was rather disturbing considering how she met her grizzly end although her stone facsimile looked rather serene and at peace. It made me think back to when my sister died and my mother asked me if she, my sister, was to be buried or cremated. I said I was not positive but felt felt sure that she would be cremated, my mother thought about this for a moment then replied, Oh I am glad as she always loved the heat!" There really was no answer to that one! I also love the heat and presume I will also be cremated when my time comes but I hope that at least I do it in the same order as my sister,i.e. die first, and not like the poor unfortunate Joan of Arc.
We then walked to the awful tower where there was some sort of noisy protest going on. One of the many things I love about the French is, if they don't like what their government does, they take to the streets and do something about it. In England, if we don't like what our government does there is a collective 'tsk' and that's it! My aversion to heights also meant that we didn't get the lift at the Eiffel Tower either. I could've possibly been tempted to do that one but we decided against hanging around there due to the protest, flares, fires, shouting and general racket going on. Actually, it was the sight of the heavily tooled up police that convinced us to not hang around. I know they were probably not planning to shoot tourists but hey, you never know. For all I know they have a contest back at their station to see who can shoot the most tourists, oh, or is it the most travellers? Mmmmm
'Le Train Blue' was a different experience. I got togged up in my racy little black Italian number and I felt like the bee's knees. I've never actually seen a bee's knees so the impact may not have been what I hoped for. The restaurant was built in Victorian times and the architecture and decor are stunning but, for me, the most amazing part was that the original waiters are still working there. I've not seen that many white haired OLD men, wearing pinnies, since the last papal conclave. It is like being in the film 'The village of the damned' the geriatric version! The management of this company will never be accused if ageism in their recruitment policy!
I did ballet for 15 years and in spite of years of training, my toes are now bleeding, not a lot, but I just don't care anymore. Him indoors commented earlier today that I was limping but I denied it, then this evening he said that it was nice to see that I had stopped limping, didn't have the heart to tell him that I was now limping on both feet, not an an easy thing to do.
Tomorrow is just sitting on a train then having lunch overlooking the Med, bliss for me and my battered feet.
Rail travel is so much more relaxing than flying, there is no security for a start. We had fast passes through the security before we left but I think the use of the word 'fast' was against the trade descriptions act in this instance. Part of the problem is his indoors drugs, that always get them excited but when his case came through the scanner he was pulled aside for a full search. He was asked if he had packed it himself, was everything in it his and would he mind if the searched it. The answers were, yes, yes and no, in that order, so the lady, and I use the term loosely, unzipped his bag and the first thing she found was a black, strapless bra, next out was a chic little black and white number with a pair of sparkly shoes to go with it. Having already said that it was all his he could no longer say it wasn't so he just smiled his best, 'that surprised you' look and said nothing. It was obvious to any fool that the bra was far too small for him, he'd need at least a 42C, he'd never squeeze himself into the dress and the shoes would just look daft on him. I slowly glanced at him and smiled weekly, he gave me what could have been a smile but actually looked more like he was baring his teeth at me. Then the drugs, oh, goodness did they have a good time with those. As I say, the train was much nicer, all I had to do was climb back into my money drawers and go.
Arrived safe and sound, so lovely to be back at Valescure,.
Did my first 10 push ups of the day as soon as I woke up this morning, then I opened the other eye lid 10 times!
Had such a great night last night with my cousin and her mad husband and the laughter kept her neighbours irate for quite some time.
She has taken to de-fuzzing her legs a la francais style these days with one of those electric things called epi-something, sales talk for ripping the hairs out of your legs without any form of anasthesia. She did tell me that prior to the first attempt at gouging lumps of hair covered flesh from your legs it is advisable to have a stiff drink, or three. Then, when you have regained consciousness, the paramedics have returned to base and you are covered in life saving plasters, you can make an informed decision to do your other leg another time, leaving you somewhat inebriated and slightly unbalanced in the hairy leg region. It seems it gets easier, i.e. less painfull, each time you undertake this form of self inflicted torture but I don't feel inclined to try it myself although I was impressed with her ability to drink copious amounts of alcohol befor sun rise and still be seen in public with one hairy leg. I promised I would consider this form of masochism as French women are so chic and I'd like to look like them as opposed to a wild and ranting single-hairy legged Scot.
So, there I was early this morning, drunk as a skunk but with beautifully smooth, silky, hair free legs. I like this, I may have a stiff drink, or three, every morning before I shave my legs, I'm sure as anything not going to use one of those awful electronic scalping machines, sounds like they could drive a woman to drink,
Cheers,
Ballerina x
P.S. ,Lunch was fabulous just like those exquisitely chic French women you see, beautifully presented, tiny proportions and ruinously expensive! At least the waiters were all young and good looking, no Papal Conclave leftovers this time, xxx
See you all back here tomorrow for more the next episode x
Well, the milk has been packed, the cases have been cancelled and we are off at the break of sparrows in the morning, Paris here we come!
I have confiscated all the cash from him indoors as he is a magnet for footpads, vagabonds and general riff raff whose only mission in life is to relieve him of his hard earned pension, a bit like me then! This came about after he had his wallet lifted whilst we were on the underground in Brussels, I told him we were being targeted, it was painfully obvious but still, they got his wallet. I can tell you now that it made a happy woman very old! Needless to say they got nothing off me, I'm from Glasgow for goodness sake, my purse is my only erogenous zone, touch me there and I go mad!!! He has not laid eyes on a Euro since, if someone is going to rob him blind I see no reason why it should not be me! I must admit that as I was tucking our Euro securely into my 'money drawers' it did occur to me that was perhaps not what they had in mind when they coined the expression 'sitting on a fortune'!
It is now the middle of the night, we are running around like excited puppies, no floor wetting though and the 'puters are about to be shut down................
Just about to leave home this morning and HE switched of the hall light so I fell down stairs, sore hip but OK then got my hand trapped in the overhead locker on the aircraft and as He tried to help he elbowed me in my eye, so I arrived in Paris rather battered and bruised but otherwise fine. Now got blisters on toes but not one to give up, so, see what injuries I can accrue tomorrow, oh, and he's not been robbed yet by a stranger, just me, hee hee
Well, feet look like those smoked hams you see in Italian food shops. My poor little size 4 tootsies are suffering in the heat. They don't usually give me too much grief as I have the requisite number, they are in approximately the right place and they usually face the right direction but they are not happy bunnies. If I got captured by a tribe of cannibals they would starve till they got to the feet, then the whole tribe could feast on my trotters for a week!
Off to see the Mona Lisa then lunch at Train Blue, wow!!
Well, today's blisters are now playing host to yesterday's blisters! The only area on my right, little toe that does not have a blister is the nail but I feel sure that if it wanted a blister, it would have one, it just doesn't seem to want one for which I am grateful.
The queues to get into the Louvre were outside my fighting weight so we decided against standing in 30 degs to see a woman who has a facial expression that is less enigmatic and more 'I have blisters on my feet', I can look in the mirror and see that face any time so moaning Lisa is for another visit.
At our second attempt, we got into Notre Dame. I'm not good at queueing in the heat and we passed the previous day but this time there were almost no queues so, straight in. Ah, it all came back to me, Esmerelda and Quasimodo, Walt Disney has a lot to answer for in my life! We decided to light a candle, as is our usual thing in Cathedrals, not that either of us are religious in any way, well, not in any normal way, we drink religiously but that is about it so, I lit the candle whilst OH paid and I added our candle to the stands with hundreds of others, burning away brightly. I stood back to admire my handiwork and realised what a slightly bizarre scene this was. The saint above the candle was Joan of Arc and the image of all those lit candles at her feet was rather disturbing considering how she met her grizzly end although her stone facsimile looked rather serene and at peace. It made me think back to when my sister died and my mother asked me if she, my sister, was to be buried or cremated. I said I was not positive but felt felt sure that she would be cremated, my mother thought about this for a moment then replied, Oh I am glad as she always loved the heat!" There really was no answer to that one! I also love the heat and presume I will also be cremated when my time comes but I hope that at least I do it in the same order as my sister,i.e. die first, and not like the poor unfortunate Joan of Arc.
We then walked to the awful tower where there was some sort of noisy protest going on. One of the many things I love about the French is, if they don't like what their government does, they take to the streets and do something about it. In England, if we don't like what our government does there is a collective 'tsk' and that's it! My aversion to heights also meant that we didn't get the lift at the Eiffel Tower either. I could've possibly been tempted to do that one but we decided against hanging around there due to the protest, flares, fires, shouting and general racket going on. Actually, it was the sight of the heavily tooled up police that convinced us to not hang around. I know they were probably not planning to shoot tourists but hey, you never know. For all I know they have a contest back at their station to see who can shoot the most tourists, oh, or is it the most travellers? Mmmmm
'Le Train Blue' was a different experience. I got togged up in my racy little black Italian number and I felt like the bee's knees. I've never actually seen a bee's knees so the impact may not have been what I hoped for. The restaurant was built in Victorian times and the architecture and decor are stunning but, for me, the most amazing part was that the original waiters are still working there. I've not seen that many white haired OLD men, wearing pinnies, since the last papal conclave. It is like being in the film 'The village of the damned' the geriatric version! The management of this company will never be accused if ageism in their recruitment policy!
I did ballet for 15 years and in spite of years of training, my toes are now bleeding, not a lot, but I just don't care anymore. Him indoors commented earlier today that I was limping but I denied it, then this evening he said that it was nice to see that I had stopped limping, didn't have the heart to tell him that I was now limping on both feet, not an an easy thing to do.
Tomorrow is just sitting on a train then having lunch overlooking the Med, bliss for me and my battered feet.
Rail travel is so much more relaxing than flying, there is no security for a start. We had fast passes through the security before we left but I think the use of the word 'fast' was against the trade descriptions act in this instance. Part of the problem is his indoors drugs, that always get them excited but when his case came through the scanner he was pulled aside for a full search. He was asked if he had packed it himself, was everything in it his and would he mind if the searched it. The answers were, yes, yes and no, in that order, so the lady, and I use the term loosely, unzipped his bag and the first thing she found was a black, strapless bra, next out was a chic little black and white number with a pair of sparkly shoes to go with it. Having already said that it was all his he could no longer say it wasn't so he just smiled his best, 'that surprised you' look and said nothing. It was obvious to any fool that the bra was far too small for him, he'd need at least a 42C, he'd never squeeze himself into the dress and the shoes would just look daft on him. I slowly glanced at him and smiled weekly, he gave me what could have been a smile but actually looked more like he was baring his teeth at me. Then the drugs, oh, goodness did they have a good time with those. As I say, the train was much nicer, all I had to do was climb back into my money drawers and go.
Arrived safe and sound, so lovely to be back at Valescure,.
Did my first 10 push ups of the day as soon as I woke up this morning, then I opened the other eye lid 10 times!
Had such a great night last night with my cousin and her mad husband and the laughter kept her neighbours irate for quite some time.
She has taken to de-fuzzing her legs a la francais style these days with one of those electric things called epi-something, sales talk for ripping the hairs out of your legs without any form of anasthesia. She did tell me that prior to the first attempt at gouging lumps of hair covered flesh from your legs it is advisable to have a stiff drink, or three. Then, when you have regained consciousness, the paramedics have returned to base and you are covered in life saving plasters, you can make an informed decision to do your other leg another time, leaving you somewhat inebriated and slightly unbalanced in the hairy leg region. It seems it gets easier, i.e. less painfull, each time you undertake this form of self inflicted torture but I don't feel inclined to try it myself although I was impressed with her ability to drink copious amounts of alcohol befor sun rise and still be seen in public with one hairy leg. I promised I would consider this form of masochism as French women are so chic and I'd like to look like them as opposed to a wild and ranting single-hairy legged Scot.
So, there I was early this morning, drunk as a skunk but with beautifully smooth, silky, hair free legs. I like this, I may have a stiff drink, or three, every morning before I shave my legs, I'm sure as anything not going to use one of those awful electronic scalping machines, sounds like they could drive a woman to drink,
Cheers,
Ballerina x
P.S. ,Lunch was fabulous just like those exquisitely chic French women you see, beautifully presented, tiny proportions and ruinously expensive! At least the waiters were all young and good looking, no Papal Conclave leftovers this time, xxx
See you all back here tomorrow for more the next episode x
)
... Off to watch Richard E Grant on BBC4 ... on the French Riviera !!! 
