Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
The perfect reply would have been, ' Well no, they were extremely disappointed, just when they were looking forward to even more devastation and an even longer time with a flooded home and no drinking water, the rain then goes and plays this cruel trick on them.' In fact the reporter ignored the ridiculous question completely and did his usual piece.
Jan got inspired the other day when Glyn cooked a paella outdoors, so we popped into Weldoms yesterday to buy a pan. Neither of us are big paella fans but Jan is keen to have a go. I can't wait.
Note the essential cooks tool of a glass in one hand. The finished article below.
Many thanks to Jacqui for showing me how to manipulate these photos.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Sommieres was heaving this morning and Elie tried to cope with the bar on his own. A big mistake. We had to wait ages for our beers and there were far too many tables not drinking. I'd love to take over the waiting on tables (and even gently suggested it) because I reckon I could double his profits, even allowing for all the beer that I would drink. At the moment it's not a very pleasant experience.
Glyn and Gill very kindly invited us round for aperos this evening, then all seventeen of us headed off to Le Castelas, the relais in Montmirat. How do they do it? A tasty four course meal for 11 euros. Having said that, I'm beginning to suspect a liberal use of msg because my ears were thumping in the middle of the night. Mmnnn, might need to watch that.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
The above will probably upset a few of my feminist friends, but I thought that it was funny. An additional tip, - if you don't have any Post-it pads handy, you could always write her name on her back.
Part of the process of getting married in France is the requirement to have a blood test, so James, Pauline and I popped to the doctor this morning. Not realising exactly why, my understanding was that they would both need a test. Not so, said the stand-in doctor. Only the female, to check that she has antibodies against x, x and x. He said the names too fast for me to understand. He took the blood and said, get yourself immunised if anything tests positive. He stamped the certificate and that was it. Great, it saved me a planned trip to Sommieres.
Next stop was the flower shop, which really tested my patience. So whilst the choice, colour and size of flowers, postions, ribbons etc. was determined, I decide to kill myself outside.
A Mexican bandit made a specialty of crossing the Rio Grande from time to time and robbing banks in Texas. Finally, a reward was offered for his capture, and an enterprising Texas ranger decided to track him down.
After a lengthy search, he traced the bandit to his favorite cantina, crept up behind him, put his trusty six-shooter to the bandit's head, and said, "You're under arrest! Tell me where you hid the loot or I'll blow your brains out."
But the bandit didn't speak English, and the ranger didn't speak Spanish.
Fortunately, a bilingual lawyer was in the saloon and translated the ranger's message. The terrified bandit blurted out, in Spanish, that the loot was buried under the oak tree at the back of the cantina.
"What did he say?" asked the ranger.
The lawyer answered, "He said 'Up yours, gringo, I spit on your mother and your sister."
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Friday, July 06, 2007
"our new Prime Minister could not shout 'Fire' in a blazing building. As the flames licked around his brogues, Gordon would rumble Scottishly: The British people expect me to be resolute, and I'm entirely resolute, in setting in place rigorous procedures to combat this conflagration which is burning my trousers, and indeed all communities must be united in mounting a robust defence against fire, a fire that gets to the very heart of my trousers and what it means to be British."
He has no idea how to present his facts in an interesting, amusing or blokey kind of way. He is, at best, exceedingly boring. I don't doubt for a second that he is very bright, works his socks off but purleese save me from this man. There was a time when I would have argued that how you dressed and what your personality was like, counted for nothing, but I was wrong. If you can't listen to a politician without falling asleep then he (or she, for my feminist friends) might just as well not say anything at all. And then you wouldn't be a politician!
And the moral is, never accept an invitation from friends in Belgium. You never know what might be served up. When I was younger I used to eat snails. I particularly remember eating tiny ones in a rich tomato sauce at the orphanage next to my Italian grandmother's place in Foggia, in southern Italy. In sending me to eat with the kids in the orphanage, they were probably trying to tell me something but I never caught on. Anyway, after one trip to Belgium that all changed. I was served the biggest, chewiest, most disgusting snails imaginable, and that was it. Snails were off the menu.
Talking of snails, we've been inundated with the pesky little critters this year. They climb up anything (like the apricot tree), as you can see above, and not just in ones and twos. Nobody seems to know what they're called. I've got a name for them!
Thursday, July 05, 2007
A few weeks back we were invited to a wedding in Cornwall and, as a joke, I suggested to the bride and groom that, to give the wedding that authentic Cornish touch, they should serve Ginsters pies because they are made in Cornwall. In the good old days, when I travelled a lot, I ate many such pies on petrol station forecourts all over the UK. This is how I developed a cast iron constitution and my gourmet tastes. Anyway, for a joke, Jan bought me a Ginsters Chicken Slice when we were in Brighton and served it for lunch today. A sort of gastronomic trip down memory lane. As I walked into lunch, I noticed that she was checking the sell by date and I had to point out to my beloved that the filling would get me well before any exposure to sell by date. She was not amused. But if you want a laugh, the lunch consisted of a very elegant vichyssoise soup, gently flavoured with lavender flowers from the garden. Dead posh and very tasty. This Epicurean delight was followed by my cold Ginsters Chicken Slice and salad. Who says we don't live well?