Strange Country

Hi, yeah, I know it’s been weeks since I last sat down and blogged. I haven’t been hiding under a rock, I’ve just been chasing my tail as usual, but after what just happened the nearest boulder is looking rather attractive.

The bloke at the Post Office just refused to serve me. Was I making a scene? Was my child pulling all the cards off the display? No – he refused to serve me because I wanted to post something. ??!!*%&??!! Apparently there is now a machine for weighing and franking your parcels and the service desk does not expect to handle them any more. I am practically speechless. This has got to be the all time prize winner of screwiness I have encountered in France.

And I thought I’d seen it all with the woman in the fur coat in the forest. I haven’t seen her since but I do keep coming across blokes pissing up trees. I turn up for a nice relaxing walk with the dog, sometimes we even drive to other parts of the forest for a bit of variety and nine times out of ten there’s a car parked nearby with its engine running and a guy with his back to me, hands at six o’clock, pretending he’s examining the moss.

I know, when you gotta go, you gotta go and I admit that I have taken advantage myself sometimes when out with the children – that little voice that whines ‘Mummeeeee, I need a wee weeee!’ while you’re miles from the nearest loo can push even the calmest Yummy Mummy over the edge so it’s a relief to know that you can hold them over a drain or take them behind a tree without getting in trouble here. But some people really take the piss. Rose’s mother was once waiting for her outside the local shop, in the car, parked next to a tree. When she noticed that someone was beside her door, on the same side as the tree she looked up… and came face-to-todger with a chap taking a leak, blissfully unaware that he was in mortal peril from an outraged Hungarian Mummy inches from his family jewels. Somehow the shock was too much and she let it pass but thank goodness she doesn’t have a heart problem!

Anyway, speaking of mums, I had mine here all last week (and Dad) which is why I’ve been so slack about catching up here. During their stay we celebrated two birthdays, visited Versailles palace, hit the sales (girls only, Dad stayed home with the kids, sensible man), completed 14 school runs, tried the latest grocery shopping experience: the ‘Drive Thru Supermarket’ and planned, prepared and supervised a party for 14 seven-year-old girls. (My little girl is 7, can you Adam and Eve it?! No wonder I’ve started going grey.) So my poor parents have gone home for a rest, it really is no holiday coming to visit us! The birthday party went very well thanks to all their help, the kids are somewhat more civilised at this age, even if they do still knock apple juice over and smear crisps on the sofa. I think it was only the dog who really disgraced herself by digging under the fence and running off to play with the neighbour’s German shepherd. He doesn’t get out much that one as he’s purely a guard dog and he must have thought all his Christmases had come at once when she broke in. When Nobby finally managed to retrieve her I swear she had a guilty grin on her face.

Meanwhile Peony has given birth to a beautiful baby girl (in hospital I am pleased to report). I went over to meet her for the first time today, armed with cake for her Mum and siblings and lots of pinky-schminky gear for her. Poppet was fascinated and helped herself to several cuddles, mercifully without asking me if she can have a baby sister herself. (How can I put this gently? Er, NO!!! I’m sticking to dollies me.) Pickle was more interested in chasing the cat than admiring the baby, typical boy. I finaly heard the more accurate account of the birth than the ‘it was all over in 10 minutes, ah, she’s so beautiful!’ I got from the new Dad. Another typical boy; oh well, I doubt its much easier to watch than to actually do the labour.

Anyway, I have also recently been introduced to a fabulous drink available from IKEA. It’s called Glögg and I guess it’s the Swedish equivalent of mulled wine. Only with a LOT more cognac. So I here’s a Glöggy toast to Peony’s new baby, welcome to this strange country we live in!