Where was I? Ah yes, Toulouse. Toulouse is big and busy and easy to get lost in. Boyf didn’t like it at all. We took some photographs at Pont Neuf and strolled back through the city towards the car. I almost had a bit of a Marilyn moment over a large grid in front of a crowded café. Back in the horrible car park, we were accosted by scary tramp man. We left in our car quickly. On the way out of Toulouse, a lunatic driver smashed into a parked Mercedes and then almost reversed into us. Boyf - who is very prone to road rage - was surprisingly calm. He was glad to see the back of the place, but I’m glad we visited it and there were some pretty sights to take in there.
The next day we went to Albi, primarily for the flea market that we never found (perhaps it was a literal flea market and they were shopping for new dogs to inhabit or carrying bags of groceries, too tiny for us to see? Don't look at me like that.) The Cloisters at Albi are really pretty and we preferred it to Toulouse, even though the church, known as God’s Aircraft Carrier, is quite ugly - some of the interior looks a bit 60’s to me. Anyway it was meant to look ugly apparently, to scare people into being pious. Good old religion eh? We dined at this little cabin thing by the river, which was crap and took FOR EVER. We then zoomed back to the villa and had a dip in the pool to cool down. We’d done the same the day before - the weather got really hot and sticky in the last week.
After washing my hair in cold water (the hot water would run out really quick) we decided to go out for dinner and got our glad rags on. It was still boiling hot so I wore my long white skirt and a pink silk top. We drove into one of the local villages (past Fabi Dog, a superbly named dog salon) and found a hotel with a lovely outside eating area and sat next to the fountain. We ordered our steak well done and the chef ran it through a lukewarm room. The French do not like cooking things well done and have their steak bloody, which makes me retch. I tried to eat some but it’s all chewy and fleshy. I feel sick thinking about it. The starters and pudding were nice, but we went home hungry, deciding to stop ordering steak in French restaurants. On our way home we drove through the gorgeous sunflower fields that surround the place we’re staying. Beautiful! They look so sunny and happy.
The next day we had a chilled day by the pool. We also went and stocked up on supplies and checked out another nearby village that the guys thought might be a good fishing spot. Then we went for a walk and took that photo of me trying to push the hay bale Guillermo :P
The day after a couple of us went back to Albi. We bought scrumptious ice creams and ate them sitting in the Cloisters. It started to drizzle (despite still being really warm) so we went and visited the Henri Toulouse-Lautrec museum. My shoes squeaked really loudly on the new floors in the lower part of the building. It had undergone fairly recent restoration; the upper floors were all creaky and uneven but old and more fitting. I bought postcards. Boyf was going to fish while we were there too, having drooled over the giant catfish on our previous visit, but wasn’t sure if it was allowed and didn’t fancy having to explain himself to the authorities in French. A sweet old French couple carrying a big ancient camera with a huge flash offered to take a picture of us on my digital camera as we left the museum, but the woman had no idea how to work it and we eventually just pretended that it had worked and thanked them very warmly. They were nice. So since we were being all cultured like, we stopped at a couple of wine places and brocantes on the way back to the villa and my boyfriend was delighted to find this self service wine pump:
Tres classy! We decided against buying any. When we got back it looked like it was going to storm so we went kite flying. Duh. Boyf then got the kite stuck on the roof. Overall, not a very clever afternoon.The next day, after obligatory pool time, I accompanied my boyfriend to the bank of the River Tarn. I read Christina Crawford’s Mommy Dearest and he caught three fish, had his photo taken with them and then threw them back to swim another day. We also played spot the noisy frog:
Then came our last full day in France. After the boyfriend’s triumphant day fishing, The Men wanted to go back to the River, so we girls went too and sunbathed. Then we went for a wander in the sunflower fields and had our last dip in the pool, which ended in catastrophe when a dead rat was discovered and everybody scattered. I know. It just mars the entire thing doesn’t it really? Our little idyll just completely lost its innocence in that moment. It was very definitely time to go home.
Now this is out of sequence as I’ve only had the photographs to go on since I stopped making notes, but at some point amongst all this Boyf got stung on the hand by a wasp while using the outside shower, and we spent two nights watching fantastic electric storms, which we also caught on video. We played lots of Trivial Pursuit, ate loads of pistachios and drank lots of red wine. The storms were amazing and among my best memories.
In the morning we were up early for our drive to Le Havre. At this moment you need to conjure up the sounds of Chris Rea’s The Road to Hell should you want to imagine any part of this ten hour car journey. Curiously enough, we videoed quite a lot of it, well about five minutes which is a long time to be looking at road on a TV screen. Blur, George Michael, and Queen can be heard from the CD player, but you should still be hearing Chris Rea. I spent the ten hours with a map spread across my knee, and at one point my face when trying to turn it over. There was some light relief when we stopped for a pee break (ho hum.) I told my travelling companion we should probably dig out some toilet paper from our luggage before we went. She went ahead of me and I followed her over, going into the stall next to hers, where I pronounced the words: “Oh My God, are you having a laugh?!” and she broke into fits of giggles, having been awaiting my reaction. The loo was literally just a hole in the floor with two ridged bits for you to stand in and, well, squat. “Have you been?” I asked. To which she replied that she had. “How?” I wondered, so she came in and demonstrated her technique. I was worried they wouldn’t have any loo roll, they haven’t even got any loo’s! WTF? So elegant. When we FINALLY! got to Le Havre, we checked into our hotel and went looking for somewhere to eat. We eventually found a pizzeria with very expensive beer. Then we went back to our room, had a nightcap and settled down for some much needed sleep.
The following day we got up early (again!), had breakfast and boarded the ferry. When we got there we decided to use what was left of our cash to go Club Class and paid for a cabin. 
The guy at the reception desk was just like Marjorie Dawes from Fat Fighters, played by Matt Lucas in Little Britain. Boyf asked what came with the room, but the guy got distracted so I said “Dust!” This became our catchphrase for about the next six weeks. Apologies to all who know us. In our cabin we were excited to find dressing gowns, but decided that Brittany Ferries are much better than P&O cos you get a mini fridge :P Boyf immediately donned a robe and I used one of my scarves to fashion a cravat for him, which we found very amusing in our own little way. In the Club Class lounge we could have one glass of complimentary champagne each, and more tea, coffee, and shortbread than you could shake a stick at! The journey went much faster, and we were suddenly in England again, listening to Live 8 on the radio. And that’s where the story picked up again…
1 comment:
I've only just spotted that fucking frog!
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