It’s the Twilight Barking outside. Have they all been reading 101 Dalmatians? Are there lost puppies to find? Why, then, are all the dogs up and down the road all barking their collective heads off? All except mine, though. Yes, Tiggy is laid out under the hedge as usual, with one ear up and one ear down, listening with disdain to all the plebby dogs and their demented woofing as if she’s miles above it all. Well, I suppose she may have been born in France but she’s in an English family now, the old stiff upper lip wot, wot, ‘barking at the moon is so common you know’. Huh, are we ever in denial. She knows as well as I do that as soon as some spotty student strolls past hoping for a quiet walk home from the station after a hard day slogging over a hot text-book she’s going to jump up and bark like a one-headed Cerberus, scaring the cheese out of him. I’ve had to put up signs warning people that the innocent looking hedge they are sauntering past is about to come alive like the gates of hell. I’ve even heard screaming out there before now. And lately she’s taken to trotting in the house afterwards with her tongue hanging out and her tail wagging as if to say ‘I got another one, Mum!!’ Bless.

Well, I am supposed to be doing the house insurance form at the moment but I really can’t be bothered. I mean, I have actually placed a value on all our worldly goods, but I did it my own way and now I have to re-format it all to fit the nightmare form I have been sent. Apparently I have until next Tuesday night to complete it so I can afford to procrastinate a bit longer. Besides, why should everyone else have all the fun? Nobby has been in Budapest since Sunday and I know he’s currently watching Angelina Jolie ‘avin’ it large in her new film and the kids are still messing about instead of sleeping, as usual. I dunno where they get the energy from frankly. Our day would have floored an elephant – swimming, dog walking, playdate and a trip to the farm – and I’m pretty wobbly myself… but not them. Pickle just found the energy to jump up and down on an up-turned washing basket. Until it broke. That’s when I found the energy to take the stairs two at a time to find out what the almighty noise was. Poor little lamb dissolved into tears at that point. I tried to comfort him by saying Mummy wasn’t too upset about the broken basket because that means she can go shopping to get a new one. At which he let out an extra loud sob wailing ‘but I HATE shopping!’ Oh well, I tried.

Speaking of shopping, I have had another run-in with the infamous French Customer Service. Our lovely Krups coffee machine - a must for the discerning espresso drinker - has been playing up lately. I dug out the receipt, convinced that we only bought it last autumn or something only to find it was last March and the damned thing is out of warranty. Blast. (May I refer you back to a prior rant about all things electrical? I love it when I’m right. ) So I took it back to Darty (French version of Dixons) in case they had any words of wisdom to help me get it fixed before we fly the coop next week. Oh, this one was a pearl.

‘Vare are you moving to, Madame?’

‘Hungary.’

‘Well, I ‘ope ze water is better in ‘ungary zen. It’s the water ‘ere in France; it eez so ‘ard eet wrecks all zees machines de café.’

‘Yes, but I have always used filtered water in the machine.’

‘Ees no matter. Filter, bottled, eets all ze same.’

They really should change the name of that Service Desk to just The Desk. He told me I could send it away for an estimate, which would take two weeks and cost 22 euros. Then if I decided I’d still like to get it repaired it would take another two weeks. The part about me leaving France in less than a fortnight was clearly lost on him. As Rose would say, it was about as much help as t*ts on a nun.

So, I think I will get back to the sofa and another episode of Friends, ‘up yours’ to the insurance form. I have sorted out the spare room, tidied the playroom and extracted my son from the wreckage of an ex- laundry basket this evening while the kids play and Nobby ogles Jolie’s jubblies; I think I deserve another episode. Unlike Rose, Nobby has never understood my obsession with Friends (a bit like me and his football, by the way) but now I have the entire set he had said he may try a few episodes, see if he can get into it. ‘After all, they’re only 22 minutes a go.’ Ever the numbers man, that’s my Nobby. Personally I think he’s missing the point and I can’t wait till the football season restarts so I can tell him ‘after all, it’s only a game.’

Dare me?!!