Missing

Okay, as I've mentioned in passing, Boyf is in France right now. He's working on the house my parents bought at the beginning of last year. The one that needed only cosmetic work. He's ripping out the ceiling because all the beams have to be replaced. They're riddled with woodworm and the upper floors of the house could collapse at, uh, basically any moment.

The past few days, I've had the house to myself. Until I had my bad dream last night and reacted like a total fool, I was loving it. (I'm back to loving it now, I just needed a warm body to press myself into to make the real world seem more solid; it's nice to have somebody you can wake up at 5 am.) Apart from that, I really enjoyed coming home last night to an empty house. My sister picked me up from work, because she's amazing. I walked in, got my things ready for work the next morning, made pizza, put on my pyjamas, and watched some Sex and the City repeats. It felt good. I was alone with my thoughts. Nobody was yammering in my ear. I could listen to music until 1 am. I could text my friends late at night without being complained at. If I'd wanted to, I could have cleaned the house from top to bottom or painted my nails without anybody criticising me for starting things at weird times.

I need my space. I like my own company. I enjoy making my own decisions and doing things on a whim.

Boyf called me in work last night. It was great to hear his voice. I got the stomach flip. He asked me if I minded if he stayed longer, and I told him of course not. Even though he's so far away, I know he's still mine. I have no insecurities about us. I can both miss him and appreciate the time apart. It's good. It's a good place we're in.

Let Them Eat Cake

I don't know if you may have gathered this about me already, but I am a firm supporter and believer in cake. During my holiday in France, for example, I scoffed quite a few chocolate eclairs and a very yummy coconut affair in this sweet little tea salon.

So, upon my return to England and the drudgery of work, I decided to share my passion and transport a chocolate cake back from the shores of France to the Hellmouth. We have one of those handy little fridges you can run off a cigarette lighter in a car and so we had it running all the way through the journey and all through the night in our hotel room in Ouistreham. And let me tell you: it's not quiet. The bugger kept me awake all night. But we'd bought some little cakes for Boyf's grandparents and other lovely people too so we thought it was worth it.

Yesterday morning, as I readied myself for work, I took the cake out of the fridge and sticky taped the box shut. I placed it in a shopping bag. Then I went into the hall for my coat, picked up my handbag, and ran for the bus, leaving the cake sitting in the conservatory, waiting to melt.

Ho hum. I rang the Boyf to tell him the news, and asked him to bring it when he picked me up from work so the late night staff could have it. Ever so obligingly, Boyf picked it up from my house and took it to his house, where he placed it safely in the fridge, then immediately forgot about it and picked me up sans cake.

In the end, his mother ate it.

Oh well, at least I remembered to bring in Studmuffin's bottle of plonk today, before she got her mitts on that!

Couture Club

So. A multitude of happenings and tidings both good and bad flood into my brain as I sit with my fingers hovering thoughtfully over the keys. What to discuss first? Well, after such a challenging and horizon-broadening experience as renovating an 18th century French house and living in a tight knit community in the Northern Loire for almost a month, I must confess that one of the most prominent ponderings on my mind at the moment is: what to wear to my Uncle Yank's wedding next month. He's getting hitched to his long time love, Li, at Gretna Green. He is, I am afraid to say, a bit of a snob and quite openly judgemental. Therefore I have to ensure that whatever I wear/say/do does not reflect badly on the family. For this reason, I shall be surpressing any urges to sing karaoke, grope the Boyf in public, and sever Judas' head using those little tiny pins you stick flowers onto your lapel with.

So critical is Yank's judgement that my Aunt Boy George - so called because she once won a Boy George lookalike competition (and still bears a strong resemblance in the right hat) - is opting for a makeover. She is buying a very posh, light coloured frock (I have only ever seen her in dark colours, usually black, and never a skirt or dress.) She is going for a spray tan (her confinement indoors during daylight hours has lead to the popular belief she is at least partially vampiric.) And she is having. A haircut.

I realise this all sounds pretty standard to you, but if you consider that the last time my Aunt Boy George had a haircut was ten years ago for my sisters wedding, after which she hastily styled it back into her old 'do, then you may understand - as well as you can do without seeing the offence to follicles everywhere her hair actually is - at least a fraction of my surprise and delight.

While this may sound very superficial of me, I have to take a moment to record how well Aunt BG has been doing in turning her life around. She was never an alcoholic, but after my uncle died over a year ago from liver failure, she gave up drinking completely. She lost loads of weight, and looks and acts like a different person. She looks much healthier and seems happier. She has withstood peer pressure from her friends and family to start drinking again, and has shown true grit and determination to better herself. She wants to start travelling further afield and get more out of her life. Aunt BG, I applaud you!

So, I was thinking white trousers in the style of Heidi Range?

Le Freak, C'est Chic

Super quick post: sorry for the disappearing act - again - but I have been living in France for the past month without internet access (or Big Brother!) But I am back now to bore you with renovation stories. There will also be photographs. You have been warned.

I don't suppose anybody missed me at all??? Well, I still missed you!

Travel Log, Episode Three: Back to the Future Anterior

This concluding part has been a long while coming, but that’s mainly because I didn’t get any more time to jot anything down while I was there, so this is the condensed version from memory. I mainly just want to include it for myself so that I can look back and remember, that’s basically the point of my entire blog really. So here it is, part three:

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…

Screwed

Boyf and I have been attempting a romantic week-long break in France for a while now. We agreed the date as 8th October and set about arranging our busy schedules around it. I booked the time off work, planned to shop in advance (didn't work, not sure what I'll be wearing now), and as of yesterday the ferry is booked and we have 2 possible cottages awaiting our arrival (still to be decided.) All sounds pretty sorted apart from the fact that I now have to go without him, because his stupid boss won't give him next week off. In fact, to add insult to injury he is sending him to work away next week and offered him this week off. He does this on purpose; he's such a hater. So I'm off to France as a third wheel. Whatever, it's better than cancelling the time off.

Last week Potter and I were discussing The Turn of the Screw. He asked me if I'd read it and then we both expressed how long it takes to read, despite being a really short novel. It's not even like the language is archaic or difficult; I think it's the syntax he uses, but for whatever reason, it just takes a long time to process. I had to read it in a few days for uni so I probably missed all kinds of significant bits, as it's something you need to take your time over. I remember the boyfriend was scared of the cover and used to make me hide it of a night, which reminds me of Friends when Joey kept The Shining in the freezer (and when I accidentally tore an arm off a teddybear when I was younger and hid it in the wardrobe.) I wish I had more time for reading. There are so many books I haven't read yet and so many that are crying out for a re-reading. Maybe I'll take a book to France to keep me warm since I'll be flying solo.

In other news, Potter attended a fondue party last night. Who knew the 70's were back?

From Henry James to the X Factor. We watched it last night, being the crazy kids we are. We so need to get a life! It was Saturday night for goodness sake! It can be pretty funny but I don't know if it will ever top the high point of the series so far, which has been the two Welsh girls that were on it a few weeks ago. They made me laugh out loud. Simon (of the Cowell) told one of them (go on, guess!) that she looked like Vicky Pollard. When they were interviewed afterwards, she was pretty angry and complained that Simon had no room to talk, since "he's not all that", to which her friend nonchalantly replied, to my complete amazement, "Oh I dunno, I'd still do him like!" Class.

Quote of the week: "I can't remember the last time I rubbed my eyes." Lila, on wearing mascara.

Travel Log, Episode Two: Postcards from France

Thursday 23rd June

I am sitting by the river Aveyron in St. Antonin Noble Val. The Men are fishing. I've just wandered across the bridge into the town. The grass IS greener on the other side! However, the view is better from here.

Tuesday, we went to Rabastens and to Gaillac, both pretty medieval towns, churches etc. We had lunch in Gaillac, then got preparations for our barbecue/summer solstice party. We're such druids! So, the bbq took forever, we're a bit out of practise and were using this weird woodchip stuff. It was worth the wait though - we had a feast of burgers, steak, chicken, pork chops, trout, prawns, salad, potatoes, and corn on the cob. And we're not even on the Atkins diet! The owners, Betty and When You Call Me You Can Call Me Al (she's his bodyguard, he's her long lost pal... if you don't know the song you'll think I've lost it here) were also having a summer solstice shindig. We reckon they had togas on round the pool. We could definitely hear Jive Bunny and much hooray-ing. They hired waiters for their do as well; they turned up carrying their tuxedos! How posh are these people!

NB: My travelling companion has just nestled an ice pack in her cleavage. It's bloody hot!

Wednesday, we went to St. Sulpice and wandered around the market. Some bloke on a jewellery store started chatting away to us in French, so we gave our standard response - blank stares accompanied by a chorus of "Ummmm, Anglais?" We suck. So then he pointed to an array of wooden pendants and then to my bare throat and said: "You have nothing for the summer - but I have!" I have to say he was spot on that I could have done with a bit more accessorising that day, but I was thinking of tan lines. I decided not to buy anything - 20 euros for a shell on a bit of string, I don't think so! But he was a cheerful soul. We found a little park with an old ruin or a new folly in, we weren't sure, and took some photos of the Tarn, then ended up in yet another church before it was unanimously decided that it was too hot. We hit a patisserie and headed back for a long cool dip in the pool. We followed a jolly looking pheasant down the path towards it. As well as several reconnaissance missions from the wasps, the swallows started swooping in to take sips from the pool.

It's so hot I recall some advice a tutor gave me for travelling in hot weather. He said that in India he was told to 'walk like an elephant', with slow, graceful, deliberate movements. I related this advice to my travelling companions today. They seemed unimpressed. I think they were wondering about the old trunk/spraying action elephants cool themselves down with. Not very practical for us.

As tea time approached, we decided to eat out. We checked out the restaurant reviews in the welcome pack and narrowed it down to about three. Decisions, we also suck at. We discovered we had no hot water left so I had to wash my hair in cold water, then sit under a hairdryer in like 100 degrees. I put on one of my favourite skirts and a coral coloured top. When we reached Giroussens we were really impressed with the fab views of the Tarn.

The restaurant was air conditioned and the manageress was really friendly. I had a gorgeous Greek salad. Oh, and afterwards a friend joined us for drinks.

Today, we've been on a bit of a Magical Mystery Tour. We wanted to find a place by the river to chill, so we asked Ding Dong (the owner - separated at birth from James Hewitt) if he knew of anywhere. He sent us fucking miles away! We stopped at the hilltop village of Cordes on the way here, and walked all the way to the top in the midday sun. What was that about Mad Dogs and Englishmen? It was beautiful though. On our way back down we saw a troupe of elderly people getting the bus to the top. Older and wiser. We were looking out for a brocante on our journey but they all seemed to be shut, even after two. I don't know what the plan is for tonight, but I'm getting hungry! The owners are interviewing potential new managers for their property today - the old ones got the sack before we turned up! Oo-er. Boyf asked them if anyone could apply :) I can't believe we've been here nearly a week! Anyway, must dash, I can hear the pool calling me and I've the route back to plan!

Friday 24th June

On the way back, we stopped at E.Leclerc and bought electric fans for the bedrooms! We also caved in from hunger and had a McDonald's - I know! But it was right there! I had a Royal Deluxe [insert Tarantino segue here] and a strawberry milkshake. We headed straight to the pool to dangle our legs in when we got back, and very hot legs they were too! A hare sprang out from the bushes along the path to the pool and once there, we made friends with Henry the Hedgehog. I'm starting to feel like Bill Oddie or someone. [While Googling Bill Oddie I found this! I like this Pavarotti one.] Have I mentioned that mornings toad? :P The water was warm, and I couldn't resist stripping to my undies and getting in for a quick dip. Held onto boyf so I wouldn't get my hair wet as I'd blown it dry for our trip to Toulouse the next day. My bra went immediately transparent but apart from that small oversight I was wearing boy pants so was probably more covered than I am in a bikini. Owners returned late in the night with some other presumably married couples. We speculated as to whether they were putting car keys into ashtrays as we sipped at our keg of Heineken.

Today was another hot one, but not as brutal. We drove into Toulouse for an automobile-related headfuck. The underground car park was horrible! Claustrophobia inducing, dust-filled, dark, and came complete with complimentary freaks harassing people for change at the pay and display. *Shudder* The streets were pretty so we wandered around until we eventually found Pont Neuf. Handy tip: be smarter than us, take a street map. The best view is from the Brasserie de Beaux Arts

....to be continued...

Travel Log, Episode One: The Flying Menace

Monday 20th June

I'm just watching my boyfriend search for his remote control plane (I know, what is he, 6?) across the field. It's crashlanded in a small wooded area that borders the estate where we're staying. Boys and their toys. I'm sat in an old pashmina sipping red wine in the middle of the French countryside. The place is fabulous; I can't believe how beautiful the house we've rented for the next two weeks is. It's stunning. Our bedroom has stable doors (appropriate :P) At night, I fall asleep listening to the hum of crickets (Sometimes, they break into the room though. They're fricking huge!)

NB: My boyfriend has managed to lose his plane in nettles as tall as he is. He's run in the house to put some trainers on so he can retrieve it. His plan is to wade in up to his neck.

So, while boyf's occupied, I just thought I'd update you quickly on the past few days. After a monster car journey or two and a ride on the ferry that dragged like no other, we reached the vicinity of Toulouse. Saturday was so hot, the inside of the cars were nightmarish. But I, in my role of Chief Navigator, got us here without a hitch. It was really easy because Orleans and then Toulouse are signposted for miles. It was a bit of a bittersweet moment to see the first Toulouse sign, 500 odd km away though!

For anybody who may be wondering, the exact distance from Liverpool to Toulouse is a fucking long way.NB: My boyfriend has trotted across the field in tracksuit bottoms, carrying what appears to be the broom for the kitchen floor. In a minute, I'm going to have a chocolate eclair! :)

So, the owners (who unwittingly provided us with much entertainment during our stay) showed us around when we arrived and went over the safety rules and stuff for the pool. Mr. Owner is rather strict and has lots of rules to impress upon us. I don't think he was expecting 20-something scousers to turn up. The pool by the way, is lush. There are views of the surrounding hills and valleys, and some village with a church spire in the distance. It's a heated salt water pool (so nice!) framed by a wooden deck and olive trees. The only drawback is a deceptively sweet looking pool house and shaded seating area with citrus fruit growing all around it. This area just happens to be infested with wasps. I have never seen so many wasps IN MY LIFE! And yes Mr. Owner, I have been to the country before. Wasps are one thing, wasp nests are another. Anyway, the owners seem nice but are unbelievably posh. Mr. Owner is so like James Hewitt it's unnerving. A chorus of 'ding dong' is all you can get out of one of my travelling companions after an encounter with him. They have a girlfriend over to stay at the moment, and their 'chums' in a nearby village can offer us wine tasting :P But Ding Dong did bring a set of French boules over tonight for us to play. Bizarrely, we already have some. And Mrs. Owner, Felicity (actual name!!) greeted us in her dressing gown, which somehow made her immediately likeable?

So, Sunday. We're calling it Day One, since it's our first full day here. Day One, I go around to the pool with boyfy and am almost immediately stung by an angry wasp. I've never been stung before. It fucking hurts. How powerful are those little suckers? Why, I never knew! As I said to Guillermo upon my return to England, wasp sting is such a bad way to describe it. It's more like having a needle thumped into your arm with a baseball bat. Not that I'm dramatic or anything. Anyway, boyf goes and fetches some venom extracting contraption from Ding Dong and Flick, which they'd told us about upon our arrival. It sucks your skin up inside a tube and then this horrible yellow venom stuff comes out after you've pumped it for a bit. The boys experimented on me a bit with it as they weren't really sure how to use it and insisted the instructions were in French, which I could see was a blatant lie as I could read them from where I was sitting. Afterwards, I had a quick read myself. It advised that it wasn't for use on eyelids or genitals, so my plans for the rest of the day were straight out of the window. As if anyone would! For the rest of the day, and ever since to be honest, I am terrified of all buzzy things with wings, and can't relax for a moment by the pool. I spend most of the day in the middle of the pool flailing my arms wildly about when I think anything either creepy or crawly could be near me. Sorry boyf. But it still managed to be gorgeous, apart from the fact that I have a red stripe of sunburn across my hairline where I missed it with the sunscreen. Dang.

NB: Boyfriend is heading back, plane in hand, mission accomplished. I wonder if it's broken?

Today, Monday. We are up and out later and slower than expected because of boyf's screaming Stella Artois hangover. We also sat dangling our legs in the pool last night drinking champagne with strawberries, after a little stroll to the local church and beyond. Bliss! Off to Bessieres to the French market today, where we wandered around like tourists and bought some fruit and veg, including some Bugs Bunny-esque carrots and two enormous lettuces. Then we had to go and get our shopping in, so we hit E.Leclerc (only place we can find our fave champagne) and had a quick look at Villemur sur Tarn. We bought some more champagne, shedloads of grub and afore-mentioned eclairs. Then we hit the pool again and I faffed about a bit with my newly purchased Finding Nemo float! No, really! I can't swim :P Ah, flashbacks to childhood! Since then we've stuffed our faces, been for a stroll and spotted a hare, a deer and a lone sunflower, and I made our beds. They're gorgeous!

NB: My boyfriend is just topping up my glass. Au revoir for now!