Posts

Wobbles...

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Well it looks like this fabulous weather is going to last quite a bit longer if the weather man is to be believed.  This is great news for me as it means that my shorts and flip flops will not be retiring after their short sojourn to La Belle France.  It also means that my suntan might last a little longer than Donald Trump's combover in a stiff wind which is also good news.  Of course, if history teaches us anything, the minute I get the tent up at a Binland event I'm helping out at in August, the heavens will open and I'll have trench foot for the next few weeks and will be sporting a permanent scowl.
Anyway, I shall enjoy the weather while it's here.  We were at a dear friend's birthday party on Friday evening, and were still dancing well into the night WITH NO COATS ON. We Brits are so used to preparing for every eventuality, but on Friday night, there was no evidence of a single sock, welly, cardigan or wrap.  No one was asking for a warming coffee or cup of te…

Under pressure...

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Coming back home on Wednesday night after my week away with Miss R, I started fretting as to what condition my house would be in, having left it in the 'care' of two adults of the male species.  As a precaution, I had already booked Lady H (she with an eye for a Dust Bunny) in for the Wednesday morning to try and bring some semblance of sanity to the kitchen, but would it be enough?
Walking through the front door just before midnight, I was greeted by a beautifully tidy hall.  The same could be said for the kitchen and the lounge which all smelt lovely.  The cushions were still plumped up on the sofa, there were fresh flowers on the kitchen table, and a large heart had been drawn on the chalkboard, welcoming me home.  I did wonder whether I'd walked into the wrong house, as further inspection revealed an empty airer in the laundry along with an empty ironing basket.  This was incredible, and I promised that I would be effusive in my thanks when the husband woke up in the mo…

Burning up...

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It was back to good old Blighty on Wednesday night.  Miss R and I had decided that as it was our last day, Wednesday should be the day we 'went for it' in the suntan stakes.  Now I tan fairly easily (this is an understatement - first whiff of a bit of sun and I resemble a walnut) so had been using some sun oil (with protection before you gasp in horror) on Tuesday with some dramatic effects.  My skin had gone a lovely bronze colour and there was a definite line where my cozzie had been.
Miss R, on the other hand, does not tan so easily, and has to invest in expensive creams and a lot of time to reach the colour I get from opening the curtains on a  sunny June morning.  But because she has already been abroad this year, she reckoned that she now had a 'good enough base tan to use the oil'. 
And so it came to pass that Miss R and I slapped the oil all over on Wednesday, and lay back on our sun loungers alternating our time with snoozes, drinks, dips in the sea and food.  W…

Words...

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If Miss R didn't make such a passable cup of tea every morning, I may have resorted to pushing her out to sea on her sunbed yesterday afternoon.  Over the last week, as well as talking to each other so much that we've made each other's ears bleed, we have played every card game known to man (along with an invented family favourite of ten card rummy).  Yesterday, the two of us, having drunk enough beer to raise concerns for the organisers of the 2018 Berliner BierFestival, turned to our phones to listen to music.
Now Miss R and I have many things in common, but music is definitely not one of them.  Her tastes tend to veer towards Michael McDonald, Barry Manilow and Tom Jones (when she's after some more modern stuff) whereas I am a frustrated rock chick, pounding out the Arctic Monkeys, Fall Out Boy and a whole lot of Eminem when applicable.  One of our favourite holiday games is to sing the words of a song, and see how long it takes for the other one to 'Name That Tu…

Move over darling...

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Yesterday was a very long day for this old bird.
Miss R and I had decided to do a Thelma and Louise (without Brad Pitt unfortunately) and hire a car to take us to Le Lavandou, a small town where most of our childhood holidays were spent.  There was no fancy hotel for us back then, just a static caravan, the inside of which could melt a pair of PVC shorts in seven seconds (it was the 1970's before you start worrying about the clothes I wore back then).  
Miss R had hired a Mini convertible, mainly for the reason that it was a car she and I both have experience of, so finding the petrol release wouldn't be difficult (unlike a Triumph Dolomite she used to have) and the roof folded back, perfect for the beautiful weather.  Climbing into the car at 7.45 yesterday morning, I relaxed in my passenger seat, comfortable in the knowledge that Miss R was a competent, safe driver.
This lasted for about fourteen minutes till we got onto the motorway.  She was going so fast that I gave up on w…

Comic strip...

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Yesterday was spent mostly recuperating after Saturday's mini Tour de France which Miss R talked me into. I'll be honest with you, movement had to be kept to an absolute minimum as the cheeks of my derriere were hurling abuse at each other, and my thighs, if left to their own devices, could crack a walnut unaided.
She was most attentive all day, keeping me plied with drinks, pizza and suntan cream; I can only think that guilt got the better of her and she was doing everything she could to get back into her sister's good books.  Naturally, I adore my sister, so she's never out of my good books, but I decided to milk it for all it was worth, even letting her make me a cup of tea when we got back to the room.
We spent yesterday prostrate on a couple of loungers in the Beach Club like two well oiled slugs, flicking the pages of the magazines which Miss R always brings along.  I always have a bit of a problem with Miss R's choice of literature as it errs on the side of cr…

Up, up and away...

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As the years have passed, I have learned that Miss R is not always completely honest with me.
'Want to go on a little bike trip around the coast?' she asked me a few weeks ago.  'It's on electric bikes, so you won't have to do anything'.  On the basis of this, I agreed, gullible fool that I am.
There were twelve of us altogether, and checking out the older ladies, I decided that I would be fine.  I mean, just how hard could it be.  Well ladies, it turned out that the older ladies were all Dutch, and therefore riding a bike before they walked, but I still hoped that I wouldn't lay shame at the front door of the UK as I followed the tour leader.

An hour and a half in, having negotiated cobbled lanes, traffic lights, policemen (don't know what he shouted at me, but it wasn't pleasant) and a steep hill two miles long, I was close to throwing up over the road barrier.  The sweat was pouring down my face, and for one brief moment, I did consider chucking Mis…