Dancing to the Rhythm of Love....

Sometimes you come across a song that just sums up a day, a year, a summer - this summed up my trip to France with my boys, me and them travelling through France on our own. Eating lunch on the side of the Peage, kicking footballs somewhere south of Alencon and sunflowers masses and masses of sunflowers, enough to make my boys sick of them and me shouting: "Look Boys! Look! Sunflowers!"
Yeah whatever Mum....

 

(Song: Plain White Ts - Rhythm of Love)

In praise of good wine….

What is it about wine? Why do we as a species rate it so highly? And who on earth invented it? What accident or providence led them to stumble upon it? Surely it is a gift from God for I can see no other reason for its discovery.

And why do we like it so, well for one thing it is alcoholic. And what does alcohol do for us? Well it makes us feel good, it puts us in another state; usually one from which we yearn to escape.

Wine is the key to escapism.

And in these rough and ready times with rioters and terrorists lurking seemingly at every corner who wouldn’t want to escape?

Today I escaped with a bottle of white. Innocent white, pure white. It was from the Loire Valley; a little know vineyard run by Isabelle Suire from Pouant where her father is the Mayor. She took over from her father not too long ago (2006) and the wine produced is sublime!

It is fresh and clean with a hint of mint or so my eldest says and who am I to gainsay him on his first trip to a vineyard and tasting? Wild mint does grow in the area. So perhaps he has a future as a master of wines when he is older? I think I could live with that. It certainly goes down well as I can attest. It travels too; well the 500 or so miles from the Loire to Suffolk doesn’t seem to have made a difference at all. It tastes of summer, of family, of sunflowers and lazy evenings. Swallows in the clear blue sky.

Isabelle has won  many awards for her wine and I would say rightly so; but the ones I can find all relate to her Red wine, which The Boy said tasted of cherries and strawberries. It was certainly good but I would say you would be a fool to miss her whites and as for her Cremant de Loire, well at only £6.40 a bottle it was a steal.

I did not meet Isabelle, only her father. He was wonderful, just as you would expect a Marie to be, especially as my son is only eight and was tasting wine as if it was going out of fashion but the rules one applies when one is at home quickly vanish when one is on holiday. And I was interested in my son’s view point. A palate untouched by snobbery by anything but exactly what he thought.

Yes, he heard us muttering soulful things as we tried to convince each other, or possibly just ourselves what we thought but his was an innocent view point and however hard he might have tried to impress, he was not so old that he could dissemble what was really there.

So when he said he tasted grapes, strawberries, mint, caramel and cherries, I knew he spoke the truth.

Of course he showed off, what eight year old does not in a group of adults who hang off every word?

He enjoyed it I hope, I did.

And so when I taste the wine I am transported back to the courtyard of Isabelle Suire, the great big oak barrels, the ancient bottles covered in dust and cob webs, the chill of the caves and the sultry heat of an August evening, the broken down ping pong table and the bar where my son took his first tasting. Who would not appreciate such a wine?

Just what they always wanted...

I've driven over 500 miles, I am in the middle of the most beautiful country god ever made. There is history in every step. Beautiful castles, stunning chateaux, brocantes, boulevards, canals, it fills your view and all my children want is to watch tv or else jump in the pool.
I feel we should be out exploring, getting a bit of culture, immersing ourselves in the French way of life. My lot want to play cards, eat crisps and drink coke but then again perhaps they already have...
I could have just hired a house with a pool in the UK or even gone to the local pool every day and saved myself the bother. But truth be known the is something about France and the French that makes even a pool side holiday so much more, well sophisticated.
So I will sit here in the glorious sunshine, drink my wine and nibble on olives while my children play in the water, everyone happy and everyone so chilled, yes?

A grown woman all on her own through France - part one

I'm a grown woman, on my own - well not quite I have two tetchy boys in the back of the car but I'm the one whose doing the driving, making all the decisions, free! And I can't help responding in that vein. I react in a different way on my own without my husband, but there again people would react differently to me if I were under escort...
It would never have happened.
Not that I was looking for it I hasten to add, well, how would you have reacted?
I'm on the Euro Tunnel, driving my car into the train and I see in front of me a tall tawny man in shorts and a Euro Tunnel coat. He's directing the cars to get closer to each other and as I drive up I notice that he's really very dishy indeed. In fact the disburse man I have seen in ages!
I drive up and am directed to move forward, more, a little more, I get nervous about hitting the car in front, it must show on my face as he looks up at me and smiles, my stomach clenched, and flutters. I go bright red. His grin deepens and I note he has the most beautiful blue eyes.
I get flustered, and try to concentrate. He raises his hand to tell me to stop. I do. He grins again and starts to move toward my window. I am confused. "What on earth does he want to say to me?"
He knocks on the window, I lower it blushing.
"yes," he says in the sexiest French accent, "you in first gear non?"
I am not quite with it, still bemused by this assault on my senses. " you Ok?"
I gather my wits but only just. "yes, yes i am fine!" my voice seems loud even to me.
"you have good journey, yes?"
I will now I think as I gaze into his eyes.
He grins at me again and I notice he has a very naughty twinkle. And then he is off. My brief flirtation over, but it was worth it unexpected as it was...
Yes it will be a good journey now, what a way to start a holiday!

God! I need a holiday just to go on holiday!

ARRRGGGHHHHH I am trying to go on holiday and I am going to, if not already in the middle of blowing a fuse! Talk about stressful! God I need a holiday just to go on holiday!

First I have to get hold of all the paper work. Where is the Euro Tunnel paper that I MUST have with my boarding details and times? It’s somewhere among the piles of detritus on my desk. Buried under research and newspapers and stone cold cups of tea. I knew it was a bad idea to leave it on my desk but at least if it is there it’s not on the floor. But I had a deadline to meet and well I only finished that article at 9am this morning. Then there are the passports and the insurance documents, the wee triangle thingy is in here too I am sure. The boys were playing with it and I confiscated it. All things that get confiscated land up in my office….it gets crowded.

I think the spare bulb is in the kitchen, the bulb for the car headlights which you have to have when travelling in France.

You have to have a lot of things when you travel in France.

I swear I put the bulb in the Jug on the sideboard so I wouldn’t lose it the last time I mucked out the car but there again I could have put it in the tool shed with all the other odds and sods belonging to the car in a fit of being organised.

I mustn’t forget my Day-Glo cat sick coloured reflective vest so that when I do break down or my bulb goes people can see where I am – probably the wrong side of the road.

Oh god yes breakdown cover! Have I enough time to ring the RAC to see if I am covered abroad? Please let them say yes! And does O2 do abroad as well? Or will I come back to a bill the size of the US deficit? Do you think they’d let me default?

Do I know where I am going? I did look on Google but I got lost when I tried to make it bigger so I could see better. Basically I am heading for Le Mans on Saturday, tomorrow. Hope it’s not like Paris; I landed up on the peripherique for hours then got bored and did an impromptu  tour  at 3 in the morning only realising where I was when  I saw the Notre Dame. It would have been far more helpful if they had just left the lights on the Eiffel Tower, but I suppose they needed to save electricity. It was actually quite cool driving round the city when no one else was there I even got to drive through the Arc du Triomphe and down the Champs Elysee, not sure if that was entirely legal though…

I shouldn’t be going anywhere near Paris this time if I manage to read the map right A28 all the way from Calais then Abbeville, Rouen, Le Mans, Saumur and that’s it…it may take me a while as I am driving on my own with no trusty map reader beside me, no one to do the tolls and no one to swap the CDs for me.

And there will be two tetchy boys in the back….

Joy!

Is it any wonder I am a tad stressed and that’s just at the thought of the journey!

Heck I haven’t packed either never mind documents and other palaver.

Why am I doing this to myself?

Because my family will be there, that’s why. This is meant to be a lovely happy family holiday….you know that just by writing those words I am putting a curse on the whole thing….

Should I just take the valium now?

Great Expectations

It’s never good to have high hopes is it? Knowing what was to come after we arrived at our final destination in France, I had spent hours trawling the internet, researching, refining and finally choosing the best place to stay for our one night of freedom on the way down to Brittany.

I worked hard on Dear Charlie for months to allow me to do this and to spend something in the region of £200 for the privilege. This was going to be the one night that would make the next seven bearable. It was going to be fabulous, stylish, charming – it turned out to be unremarkable, uncomfortable and just a bit tedious especially for the Boys.

I should have known as a friend remarked so sagely when I trilled about my wondrous find: “Gays and children just don’t mix.” I hate it when that happens. You tell someone about all your plans and you are really excited by the whole prospect and then they pour cold water on them – oh but how right she was…

The thing is that we don’t go on holiday often basically because we can’t afford it with everything we earn going straight to the money pit that is our home or else on the boys’ education. It’s a lifestyle choice (or the fact that we are too proud to say we’ve cocked up somewhat but I believe that that IS a kind of lifestyle choice too). Anyway we pretend we don’t want to go on holiday and would rather stay at home. But really I long to go on holidays. I love to visit new places and try out new food. I like exploring and just getting away from it all. I like being abroad if only for the fact that I adore coming home again. But enforced staycations – well come on. Who are we kidding here?

So having the opportunity to go away, even if it is with the in-laws was just too good to pass up and it was all supposed to be so perfect….

But when the start of your holiday doesn’t quite match up to your expectations it seems kind of prescient. We arrive at the Chateau and well it is rather bijou, more hunting lodge than castle. But things look up when our host offers us a drink although I should have worried a bit by the fact that he darted inside to do this leaving us to struggle with our baggage and to dump it untidily in the middle of the hall.

We were left bereft and had to venture into the house with some trepidation to find him with open bottle of champagne talking to two other guests. I was slightly non-plussed to be handed a glass of insipid white wine instead of champagne but didn’t get much chance to drink it as the boys rushed in having been released from their seven-hour confinement in the car. Let’s say they were overjoyed to be free and their exuberance was palatable.

The look on the owners face said it all and my heart did a double flip and belly flopped to the bottom of my stomach. Despite being forewarned about my boys and despite me being reassured that children were more than welcomed – it was clearly not the case. Although no words were said it was made abundantly clear that children and probably my boys in particular we barely tolerated.

I asked feebly where we were to stay and my host graciously deigned to show me stepping over our luggage at the bottom of the stairs raising only one eyebrow, and then preceding me up two flights of wooden stairs wincing at the sound of the two small elephants that accompanied us on the trip.

It sort of went down hill from there on in really. What with my boys shouting out they needed feeding, entertaining and of course needing a poo, and mine host was sort of there in the back ground - wincing. A lot.

And the final straw was being handed the bill the next day and realising I had to pay nigh on £15 for a couple of glasses of warm white wine and two small cups of orange squash that both my boys had pronounced yucky. I felt terrible with no way of redeeming the situation.

However, the gods move in mysterious ways and the next morning as I was about to leave and in the middle of shaking hands with the patron, I caught a glance out of the corner of my eye of a tray with our glasses on from the night before, still sloshing with wine.

I am afraid I disgraced myself unutterably and I probably ruined any chance of ever returning to the establishment again. Reader, I sank both glasses there and then and proceeded to wolf down the boy’s rejected orange squash as well to the horror of all. I have no idea what made me do it but I caught Dear Charlie’s eye and that was it we could hardly suppress our giggles. We made an excellent departure, heads held high and on to the next adventure.

Going Topless...

There is something wonderful about going topless; it’s exhilarating and, well just liberating.
Dear Charlie says I don’t do it often enough and complains that I am not exactly spontaneous. In my defence I have been known to do it abroad while on holiday, in fact I went topless on a train all the way across France on our honeymoon.
Yesterday I went topless on the school run and had to endure looks of approbation from all the other Mummies who either couldn’t or wouldn’t do the same.
I blame the credit crunch and the eco-stasi.
Mostly the eco-stasi.
The eco-stasi would put the kybosh on most things really but I suppose the thing that drives them nuts is when people flaunt it.
Yesterday I flaunted for all I was worth and I felt great. I had a smile on my face so large the sun probably had to put shades on.
It was absolutely fabulous!
I do love driving sports cars. I especially like driving my own without the top on. I know it’s not the thing to do, that I really should be trying to save the planet and not drive a thirsty little fuzz bomb around the lanes of Suffolk scaring all the locals but I really really needed to blow off a little yesterday and well it seemed so harmless.
It’s not the fastest sports car in the world and for sports car aficionados it probably doesn’t rate at all but for me it’s a taste of all the things I once was or thought I was before children, before commitment, before mortgages and well before I knew the planet really could be saved by regulating how I drive and remembering not to put black plastic bin liners in the recycle bin.
Babe, as she is affectionately known, is an 11-year old Mazda MX5 – the first of the non-pop up headlight versions and she is so sleek. I love her lines. She is a work of art to me and if it wasn’t for her Dear Charlie and I would never have got together in the first place – seriously!
Way back then DC had a problem he couldn’t get a girlfriend and he wouldn’t go out with me in case he ruined our friendship despite the fact that that was all that I had longed for, for years. But hey there are none so blind who cannot see.
So that summer Operation Girlfriend was launched. DC underwent a makeover, went to cordon bleu school to meet girls and bought a car. Having looked at Mercedes, BMW, MG and the like, he finally settled on the new Mazda MX5 ‘cos he could fit his golf bag in the boot.
The car was to act as a lure to attract attention, preferably from girls, and in preparation we decided a road trip would be a good idea. So Dear Charlie and I hopped in the Mazda and drove through France down to the Pyrenees and fell in love – finally!
So when I drive the Babe magnet, I cannot help remembering what she means to me and now 10 years of marriage later it reminds me how thrilling it all was to be free and topless of course!