Homework and another Prodigal(e)

Good soggy morning Blog and a jolly bonjour to my wonderful, attractive, intelligent followers….and also to my other followers,


You remember the Boomerang blog from a few weeks back? The charming email that I received from my neighbour accusing the Prodigal of being a degenerate (to be fair, she has a point) and of leading her innocent daughter astray? Well, guess what happened? The innocent daughter left her wonderful mother a note to say that she was going off to see the world (or crack her teeth – literal translation from French) with two of her friends and nothing has been heard of them for two weeks. Until yesterday. They got as far as Lyon – pas mal. Now if I were a mean person, I might email her mother and suggest that as she cannot keep her daughter under constant supervision, I am worried about the danger she might put my son in…………….IF I were a mean person, I might write that….

The Prodigal

So, credit where it is due, his behavior hasn’t been too awful.

This has nothing to do with the psychiatric appointment last week (3-4 hour round trip for a 15 min session – oh but he did get a party bag…a prescription for sleeping tablets and something to suppress the desire to drink alcohol). This improved behaviour has more to do with the Husband getting the Prodigal to dig a trench (6 foot by 6 foot…….yes, does look dodgy when you write down the dimensions but I’ve hidden the firearms) and other physical activities. The Devil makes work for idle hands (one of Mother’s favourites) but not if the idle hands are blistered and wrapped around a spade.


He has managed to partake in a bit of down time…….relaxing with say………armagnac. I do admire his connoisseur tastes until I worked out that this has cost us around 700 euros. He was slumming/sluming (?) it last night as I found 3/4 empty bottle of rose…..a PLASTIC bottle. Can’t imagine that would make you feel good. Probably good for cleaning toilets, blood and saucepans.

The Face

‘Is the Pope a saint?’


‘Are there any saints on the earth?’

‘Erm, what do you mean, Face?’

‘Yeah, you know saints. those ones who had done the 7 erm..things?’

“Are you being serious?’

‘Yes. 7 things. those saints. they’ve done them You know, baptism, confirmation…’

‘incarceration?’ pipes in the Prodigal

‘oh.please.Mary, mother of Jesus, GIVE. ME. STRENGTH.’

The Professor & the Lips

All good.

Plenty of fighting.

The Prof’s girlfriend came over on Saturday. He has been en amoureux for 3 years. She is about 2 foot taller than him which was displayed to scale in her Lover’s Drawing.

Fatty & the new dog

We are starting potty training (again. Yes, we started this a year ago. After poo was shoved into every crevice of the toddler climbing frame, I decided to put it off…. indefinitely).

So, as the weather WAS good, I put him in big boy pants. This was going well. He managed to retrieve his equipment to pee on the grass.

At some point, I saw him on his ride on, going around and around and around the outside table. Closely following him (when I say closely, I mean her nose was practically inside the back of his pants) was the new dog. SQUEALS of delight from Fatty as sometimes, his gain meant her loss.

‘Hey, what’s going on Fatty? And Lidl Supermarket Chain Dog, take your nose away from Fatty’s bum!!’

But she didn’t


he had had an accident of the nutella substance kind. It was spilling out the top, the back and under.

I took him from the ride on. His legs resembled an accident with a dark shade of fake tan.

The dog licked up the excess from the ride on. This turned my stomach a bit. I took off Fatty’s pants and pooy wellies.

‘you stand there, Fatty and I’ll get the wipes’

The dog unsated from the ride on appetizer, started to sniff out her main – Fatty’s pants.

She had them in her mouth, she was giving them a good chomp as I grabbed her, grabbed fatty as he made a break to get back on the ride on and screamed for the Face to come and help.

To hold onto a poo smeared, excited dog and toddler is tricky.

Good job the Face stood there gawping and shouting ‘eeeehhhgggghhhh. Yuk. I don’t want to touch THAT dog’

meanwhile, the dinner was burning, burning, burning.

The Face disappeared to answer the phone.

‘oh, mum, it’s the prodigal, he wants to talk to you’

‘put that feckin mobile down and get hold of that feckin dog and stop being so feckin useless’


Ok, my friends, that’s all from me today. Make sure you tune in tonight for the Euro debate between Farage and Clegg. It’s a debate that’s never been had – well, officially. Who will come out the winner and in fact, will the result mean that the UK will ever hold a referendum on the Euro question?

‘If an idea is indeed sensible, it will eventually become just part of the accepted wisdom.’ Nigel Farage


Fingers or Mumfy



Dear Fing,

How are you doing? Been a while since we’ve chatted or been in touch.

The last time I saw you was 19th June 2010 at Bill’s wedding. Billie Jean was blaring from the speakers. There was a crowd of dancing, happy, tipsy people in a circle watching as two guys tried a moon walk.
‘Where is Fingers?’ , your family searched for you.
You appeared. With a jacket slung over your shoulder you did THE best moonwalk. Even Jacko would not have been able to find fault. The crowd went wild. You loved it (you show off, leo, you). We loved you!

You left us 3 years ago today. It’s funny as I am writing this, sitting on a bench in the town, the weather today is exactly the same as it was then – sunny and with all the hope Spring brings.
I like to think that you must have been looking at the sky as you passed.

I talk to you a lot, especially when I am running. If all 7 of your siblings do this as much as I do, it must be quite a din.

So, this is a short post. I just wanted to check in and say hi and maybe request that you visit me in a dream. It’s been a while since you did even if you did tell me that you are always with us when we get together. How could you not be? You loved a party.

See you one day?
The Problem Child
Ps did you find James Brown and Michael Jackson yet? Or are you too busy campaigning for heavenly intervention for West Ham?



An addition to the family



Good morning Blog,

Time check: 6.20 a.m.

Is this the best part of the day? Not from where I’m sitting especially from where I’ve been sitting started just after 5 a.m.  Why thank you, Fatty.

Remember the blog ‘And then there were three’?  – well, let’s just say ‘and then they were 5 plus 1 dog……plus another dog’

Oh yes, blog, we now have 5 boys and 2 dogs.

This new dog, also a black labrador and with a name that is almost identical to a supermarket chain, (Lidi…..sounds like Lidl to me) is untrained.

7 months old it has been used to ruling the roost, dog kennel, human dwelling, jumping up and scratching, sitting up at the table, evacuating its bodily waste wherever she likes (it’s a girl at least. I need all the female support i can get in this oh so very testosterone household). In fact, her behaviour is very much like that of the boys – so she’ll settle right in.  And on the plus side, she doesn’t leave dirty washing EVERYWHERE…….yet.

Q&A when bringing a new dog into the home

Do you know how far red wine flies when your glass is knocked by an airborne dog as you sit on the sofa watching tv?


I’ll tell you. It can cover an entire sofa, part of a (new) rug, two pairs of jeans (being worn), a dressing gown, a pair of Ugg boots and a t shirt.

Do you know how much weight a floating, unattached pool cover can take?


It can take about 25 kgs of dog. A dog who tried to walk across water.

How many children can fit in a dog cage?

Three. A 7 year old, a 6 year old and a larger than average 3 year old.


Coke is it

So, I have to let you in on a little secret and enjoy the benefit of my parenting skill, fails experience:

If Fatty doesn’t sleep during the day (and let me tell you how many times I BEG him to) then, as you most likely know, by 5 p.m. he is like an unleashed demon on anabolic steroids as we try to keep him awake.

In order to keep him awake until 6/6.30 p.m., I give him a small (oh and very small as let me tell you the mistake I made after giving him too much…….Camera 1, time: midnight – scene of Fatty running around and around the kitchen table) amount of coca cola – the official brand, and not Mc Donalds own cola.

This normally cuts it until 6 at least.

The other day, I opened the can, put it out of his reach (really Fran, did you REALLY put it out of his reach?), went off to run his bath, came back down and who did I see emptying the last of the can into his plastic cup?

Fatty: 1 Parent: -10,000000000000000000


the Prodigal

So with the imminent arrival back from holidays of the Husband, the Prof and the Lips, the Prodigal decides to unravel by taking the key of the locked office, unlocking it and taking out plenty of the (hidden) alcohol. Not the bottles – as I’d notice too easily – no, he decides to put it in the kids’ water bottles. Oh yes indeed. AND, he leaves these ‘hidden’ (boys can’t hide things as well as they can’t find things) in the garden and in the house.

Smart on so many counts? hmm.

Whilst he is on this roll, he decides to begin cutting through (I had to look that up – ‘through’ as I’d written throw and then threw…..Jesus!)  the tv power cable so that some of the copper wires are exposed. He then gets bored of that and tells the Face to plug it back into the tv and switch it on. Luckily, the never present electrician had recently updated that part of the electrics and the house didn’t catch fire….never mind, the effect it would have had on the FAce’s hairdo.

To be fair, he only left the iron plugged in once these last two weeks………..  and the glass cake stand which he smashed half of? well, only one person cut their hand on it as he left it where it was.

Today, we (me, Husband, Fatty, the new (untrained) dog and the Prodigal) go to Toulouse to see the psychiatrist. Call it a Mental Health Day Out. Actually, this is the Prodigal’s first session with a professional (other than chatting with Dr. Frances in my sister’s garden….thank you for that, Dr. I didn’t yet receive your bill).

I’m slightly concerned that us as a collective (Green snot faced not very charming Fatty, the Husband wearing his usual attire of paint splattered everything, the Prodigal looking like a Russian peasant, the untrained Dog and myself) will present an ‘interesting’ first impression…..

Coming Soon to a Blog in Front of You:

My next blog (maybe tmrw – what a treat for you!) will be about my brother, Fingers.

The question of Nationality

Max Clifford’s equipment (transcript from part of his recent court case)

So, keep well dear Readers and I’ll be back soon (unless the psychiatrist admits US today).


Exchanging wine for a boomerang?


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Howdy Blog and a very warm welcome to my new followers – may we enjoy 1,000s of blog entires together….

I’ve just lost you haven’t I?  You can’t answer as you’ve already spaced out and moved on to a better, brighter, funnier, more insightful Blog – in case you’re waivering, I’ll insert an extraordinary picture (which truly has nothing whatsoever to do with this post):


Things we now know that we didn’t know last week:

-Passenger planes can just vanish OR Governments/Army/Navy can not tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth….or nothing at all, as in this case.

-When large lorries, travelling at speed in the middle of a country lane where the road narrows, break hard and quickly, they skid for about 20 metres…..you can also smell burned rubber for about two miles further on up the road…….or was that coming from my foot as I JAMMMMED THE ANCHORS coming against the said lorry, with no where to go but a wall or a river?

-Bob Crow died. Who are Daily Mail reading London Tube passengers going to moan about now?

-When you invite lots of people to your house, perhaps consider that they might all turn up so be prepared – that showed me, didn’t it? And them…..

-When people (moi?….jamais) say ‘I’m going to sell this baby’, they don’t really mean it and the person they are having this lighthearted exchange with, REALLY shouldn’t take it as literal……because….I wouldn’t have sold the baby, I would have given him away.

The Family

I can feel that you are all desperate to hear news of the 5 boys and the Woofy?

So are the local police.

All right, all right:

The Prodigal 

I’ve not managed to find ONE empty alcohol container over the past 3 weeks. This means that

a)he has turned a corner and given up or

b)he is getting better at hiding them or

c) my eyesight is getting worse

d)he sneaks back into the neighbour’s house and ‘steals her wine and leaves his boomerang’ (her very words to me via a charming email about teenagers and alcohol and the dangers and how my son is leading her daughter astray….I should probably return the favour and reply with a charming response warning of the dangers of teenagers and say….oh…..marijuana and how her daughter is leading my son..if not, astray, then stumbling slightly off the Path towards the Righteous Parent? But I’m not enough of a bitch…actually, I am….but my Level of Bitch in French is pas bonne.  In English or French, I still cannot grasp what she meant by the boomerang – it’s probably the same case for her).


The Face

‘Prodigal, does that make me Jesus as I cured your jaw when I kicked a football at it?’


The Prof

Dunno as I’ve not seen him for nearly two weeks

The Lips

ditto – i do hear though that they (the Prof and Lips) have studied hard and are getting more serious about knocking the hell out of each other.  I’m very much a stand back (and block my ears and eyes) and let them get on with it . Up until blood is spilled or worse,  they’re about to break something I like, then I’ll step in.


Turned 3.

‘So Fatty, remember we said that on your 3rd birthday, you are going to throw away all of your dummies (soothers)?”

‘I DON’T WANT TO BE 3!!!!!!!’

He made me think of how his father is when he has run out of Nicorette gum. I found him searching under things; lifting things up;looking looking looking looking with that crazy, addict look and yearning for his drug of choice (sillicone in his case).

He found one in the car and knew he had conquered and crushed my No Dummy Phase I stage (little hands clamped around a dummy have a strength that surely goes against all physiological possibilities).

Later, I found him face down on the floor under his little table……face down to hide what he had in his mouth.  No Dummy Phase II stage destroyed.  In the Tug of Dummy which occurred after this:  Fatty’s grip 1  Mummy 0.

Things that Fatty says:

‘Can I open more presents now?’  on waking up the day after his birthday.

‘if a shark wanted to eat me, I would turn into a snowman.’


‘Fatty, where is your other shoe?’

” is it behind my ear?’

The Woofy

She’s getting a bit porky around the middle but that’s not surprising as she spends most of her time hanging around Fatty who has an extremely generous  nature especially with a packet of biscuits and his breakfast, lunch dinner, knife, spoon, fork. He is also generous with sharing his sword with the Woofy ‘see she likes being hit with it.’ and sharing his sense of fun as he pulls her tail and goes ever so near to her ‘what’s that mummy? is that where her baby comes out?


OH and better not to forget, The Husband

Is still away. yes, I know, he has been away rather a lot but at least this time he took 2/5 with him. I know that you are wondering if he’ll buy me another family pack of chocolates by way of a present from his holidays. I’m feeling lucky. I think that he might.

Ok, thank you for reading. Feel free to leave a comment – if I don’t like them, I won’t approve them…..I HAVE the Power!!!!  Also, as I’m not going to edit (EVER) feel free to make the corrections. I’ll read them, take note and then empty my brain of them.

So, I’ll leave you with a line by one of my all time favourite characters (plus he reminds me of my brother, Fingers):

You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be led.

Batty Woman’s Day



I stopped to fill the car with petrol.

This takes some time…….and money…. in fact, so much money that it would probably be cheaper to hire a chauffeur.  And yes, this time I did remember to use the right fuel. I know that I did put petrol in a diesel car once – I remember. My husband reminds me regularly (EVEN THOUGH it happened 3 years ago).  He remembers with fondness….I can tell….that day that I turned up in a taxi, barged into the house and said:

‘there’s a taxi waiting outside to take you back to Nowhere town.’


‘The car isn’t working. It’s full of shopping. It was making a really funny noise’

Pause as he takes this in.

‘Oh and I think that I filled it with unleaded……I realised so stopped driving (after about 2 miles). Can you go and sort it out? ‘

ah….such lovely memories.

Anyway, getting back to today –

So I queue behind one woman at the pre pay pump (as of course, I have a right hand drive in a left hand drive country and she is at the pump I need).

She is having difficulties with the instructions. Do I help? No I blardey don’t. I change pump terminals (you know what I mean).

An oldish lady pulled up to use the other side of my petrol pump terminal (what is their proper name?).

She got out, looked at the pump, looked at her car, looked at the pump.  Here we go, I say to myself.

She opened the boot. She pulled the petrol pump towards the boot full of shopping. The celery shuddered. The baguette sagged. I thought to myself ‘ooh, very novel. That car takes petrol via the boot. Nice idea’  (hang on, which one of us is batty?).

Meanwhile, the lady on the pre payment pump is trying to stick her card into the paper dispenser….

My old lady, looks at the pump, looks at her shopping. Looks at her keys. PUts back the pump (yep, it does take this long to fill my car. Indeed) and then ………well, I was done so we’ll leave you with that cliff hanger. Suggestions via the comments section would be gratefully received. A ball of string and a pair of marigolds to the funniest answer.

Happy Woman’s Day!

And in other news…..


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Blog, my friend, I’m back a day earlier than usual. Does that suit?

As World War III approaches, I am glad to report that Life goes on:

-King Tuheitia is having a strop with the (English) Royal Bureaurocracy department who organised the Pit Stop visit (of Prince William, Mrs. Prince William and Prince William Jnr) to Australia and New Zealand.  As there is no King of Australia, although don’t you still have a Queen? and no, I’m not talking about Sydney during Mardi Gras. I’m talking about Queen Elizabeth II (how to rub an Aussie up the wrong way) –  I’m referring to the proud…..oh so very proud King of the Maori  (North Island, NZ). Now, I’ve probably just rubbed some Kiwis up the wrong way. Don’t worry, I’m bound to insult some French, Dutch and English during my travels around Nowhere before the day is out.

-A new bird species has been found…….somewhere…

And, my favorurite piece of news: ‘teacher tapes up pupils mouths’

Getting Dressed

I tend to throw on my running gear.

Most days I walk around in lycra.

My idea is this: if I put on my running gear, I’m more likely to go running.

My idea has holes shot through it every, single day as we arrive at 18.00, still lycra’d and the only huffing and puffing, elevated heart rate-ing that has happened  during the day is when I have gone to get some milk/sugar/bread/butter/custard and realise that there is none (in the empty packaging left in the cupboard/fridge/floor/workbench). These foodstuffs have evaporated, combusted because No-one (wait until I get hold of him) must have done it.

Today, I was out of clean lycra except 3/4 length blue leggings. I couldn’t risk these as the hair on my legs would like get caught up in the wheels of the trolley at the supermarket. 

At the supermarket

I’ve lost my sense of reason today as I allowed Fatty free …..free…FREEEEEE to run around the supermarket.  He nearly managed to trip up an old guy as we came through the entrance. The old man smiled and said Bonjour to fatty.

On your marks, get set, GOOo!!!!         And he’s off. Past the juices, up and around the frozen section, past the eggs and out of sight! HORROR of horrors – a toddler out of sight.

‘FATTY. YOU GET BACK HERE NOOWWW!!!!!!! ELSE THE BAD MAN WILL TAKE YOU!’  Whilst at the same time, my gaze is tempted by an offer on a steamer…..which I really, really do need…17 euros, 3 yr guarantee.really. ….ok, back to lost child.

So, the old guy we met at the entrance looked at me in absolute TERROR. He thought that I’d meant him.  He scurried off, turning back to scowl at me every so often.


I felt a teeny bit guilty.

But not ridden with guilt as I think almost everyone is a paedophile anyway….one day I’ll learn to spell that.

Adios, Au revoir, See ya.

Yes, the post is unedited YET again. Post the corrections via the comments sections. All gratefully received.



And then we were down to three (boys and a dog)


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Good morning  mon cher and happy Sunday to my thousands of followers,


The Husband, the Prof and the Lips have just thrown some belongings into supermarket bags (for life) and are heading north for the holidays.

This leaves me with the dog, Fatty, the Face and the Prodigal.

What this means to me:

Now, we’ll REALLY be able to get to grips with who pees around the base of the toilet; who never flushes; who is smashing, breaking, cracking, scratching, marking everything; throwing around contents of rooms, boxes, the kitchen and walking off and leaving it, the mess, unclaimed.  Two (actually, let’s make that three as the Husband has potential for some if not all of those) are out of the equation. 

The Face and Prodigal are onto this. They know that when half of the Tribe of Potential Blame is out of the house, they have to watch themselves…….. if they’re really desperate they can blame the dog, who, as far as I am aware is not able to climb up into cupboards and open tins of sweets, chocolate, biscuits, crisps and cleverly stuff the empty packets under sofas, cushions, down the sides of beds…..but I’ll keep an open mind. Labradors, after all, are well known for their capacity to be trained.

If you follow this blog, you’ll know that the Husband ONLY arrived back from Paris last Sunday. Also, if you follow this blog, you’ll remember that the last time he came back after a two week holiday trip, he was bearing gifts (for a not so very high class pole dancer). This time – this time, what did he bring me back?

A family size packet of maltezers.

The ‘dog’ ate half of them.

p.s. that photo has nothing to do with the blog.  I just liked it. It’s how my head feels most of the time – kind of stripy and spinning. Come to think of it, it’s how my hair looks too (yesterday the Prodigal did my highlights for the first time).

We confess our little faults to persuade people that we have no large ones

Francois de La Rochefoucauld (1613 – 1680)


Mouchoirs, tissues and misleading packaging


Bloggy, how the hell are you?

I bet that you are taking my recent silence as a good sign? A sign that all is well with the 5 boys, dog and Le ‘usband?  You’d not be far wrong:

There haven’t been any tricky exchanges with the Prodigal; the Face continues to frustrate me with his refusal to comprehend the difference between homework and revision but this will be a battle for at least another 3 years. I’ll never give in; the Prof continues to be (a) smart(arse) but kind – kind to the point of being a doormat sometimes. In fact, what do you do? Do you try and toughen him up? Or do you leave him the lovely way he is so that some cow of a woman walks all over him later in his life (aren’t I going to be an accomodating mother in law?)?; the Lips continues to score High Points on the Rev-o-meter of Fatty; the Fatty continues to get revvvvvved up by the Face and regularly tells someone (me? no, of course not. He tells me that he is speaking to the spider) to ‘SHUT UP!’

Supermarket packaging

So at the cash desk, unloading (somebody else’s – it’s possible – I did take the three youngest) trolley and I realise that I have forgotten THE most important item on my list – given the amount of snot there is within the family – tissues. 

‘Prof/FAce, go over there and grab me some mouchoirs (I say it in French just to be sure there is no misunderstanding).’

Off they run, full of brotherly love and care…….grabbing, pushing, tripping, scratching, tipping over trolleys, running into old women – in their bid to be the first one to bring back the tissues.

‘Here we go mum. We;ve both got some’

‘ah…..haha…erm (blush)…they’re not mouchoirs. put them back (without being seen) and try again.’

What they’d brought me was 4 packets of sanitary towels. I guess they would be more absorbent for the snot – perhaps we should have stuck with them. I could have attached the wings around the back of their heads, the pads on their noses…….it might just have worked…


Blog – this was a quick visit. I’m over and outing and off to the (not very) big City to collect the Prodigal. I’m not hopeful about the state he’ll be in as he left the house with 10 euros and works within spitting distance of Aldi  – the retailer of 32 cent beers. Jesus!


A bientôt.


‘And what is it that you do?’


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Dear Blog,

You know what? When I was asked this question back in December by an up and coming…..in fact, probably already HERE, Artist, my response was:


Her interested gaze flickered and died.

I tried to shrug this off and made a comment along the lines of being a domestic slave but I may as well have just switched the off button on myself.

Although I cannot claim that I am particularly interesting or brilliant, I have never before had to answer that question with that response.

The fact is, in the world that is not motherhood, I don’t do anything. 

Or do I?

This got me thinking:

-is it so bad to just be a mother? Not if that is what you want; if that is something you do well (ahem); if that is something you find totally fulfilling.

-Do I just want to be seen just as a mother? No.

-Why should I care how I am seen? Now, on the whole, I don’t but I also hate to be overlooked (4th child out of 8 – explains that one).

I’ll discuss this again (no doubt, relent-less-ly).


A new dawn


Now, this is what I do, most mornings:

I see the dawn (sometimes).

‘This will be the day that I get fit, become intelligent, learn French, German, Italian, English grammar, good manners, learn to be a fabulous cook (yep, never happen in a day, will it?), will have a spotless and organised house (again, never happen in a day, month, year, decade), will be a faultless parent, charming and supportive friend, will begin (again) my marathon training, will put all of my 7 gazillion photos into photo albums………and so on.

As I look out at the sun setting, I slump down onto the (dirty) kitchen table and am glad that I achieved:

-remembering to pick up the kids, dirty pants, dirty towels, burned the dinner.

“A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.”
― Winston Churchill

Ok – just realised that Thursday is my blogging day. Lucky you, dear Readers, you might get two dollops of ME this week.


Liberty, equality, fraternity – anyone?

Bonjour Blog,

Comment ca va?

Impec-ca-b-le and glad to hear it.

A quick thank you to my new follower, Cristian Mihai and for the L(y)ikes I received from people I don’t even know. I will never cease to be amazed that anyone (who isn’t a friend or family or whom I have no power of blackmailing) will even bother to read the rubbish I publish on this site. I am, however, grateful. Fame at last…..

Ok, so making news in France this week:

-Floods, floods, floods together with aerial footage of the same blardey wave-battered phare (or lighthouse to vous et moi) that the news programmes have been showing for WEEKS (and that’s ALL the news programmes). I guess they have the budget for a collective chopper but not enough euros for one each. They also seem to be scrabbling and scratching around for news stories as they dedicate around 25 mins to weather news.

-the return of Sarkowzy. Now, timing is everything and mon Dieu, would you believe that his return to the  flashbulb focus of the political press just so happened to fall on the same day that Flanby (or President Hollande) arrived in the U. S. of A. ?

-Taxis of France (that’s not their official collective name but it will do) want to have a law passed which means that private taxis or chauffeur taxis as they are known can only collect their Fare (if ordered online or by telephone and Fare representing the actual person or thing being carried) not before 15 minutes after the booking. Yep – because it’s not fare…..I mean, fair to the taxis which are available to be hailed on the street. Very equality. Very liberty. And extremely fraternity.

-oh and finally, I think I heard something about a law being passed which makes it easier for shops to make their staff work on Sundays.  Now, this is progress. Down here in Nowhere, some shops (and not just little ones) still close for 2 hours at lunchtime. So if you are in one of these shops and about to spend 2 gazillion euros on something as the clock strikes 11.59, you will be asked to leave. I kid you not. Welcome to the France of the 17th.. 21st century.

– actually, finally again – neknomiate has yet to reach France. If it does, I can imagine that it won’t take on. I really can’t see any respectable French youth downing a pint or a litre of wine mixed together with some blood of a virgin..oxo cube..raw egg…snot of a toddler (I can help supply this). Unless……unless the wine is say, English or Californian. The blood of a virgin would also have to be non French. From what I hear, there aren’t too many of those who reach their teens…

News from the family

-The Prodigal returned from England with, if not quite his tail between his legs, then definitely trailing on the floor.  I don’t watch Crimewatch UK but if you do…….   We had a good few days since his return – if that can be measured in the empty alcohol containers I have found in his room – only 5. Onwards and upwards.

-The Face – well he is outperforming (a brain dead piece of roadkill) at school. Last week we had marks of 9/20 and 1/10.  This week he has made great effort and scored 1/20 in French:

‘Do you have any HW the Face?’

‘No, remember I have study period for 20 hours today and yesterday and the day before that….. Also, my maths/french/science/English/Geography/history teachers are all sick/’

‘Right but you have been telling me this for the entire term. Do they have a terminal illness…each? Are they also all blind so perhaps unable to see their un-brailled keyboards to put in your 18/20 marks?’


Lying GIT.

The Professor – well, this charming 7 year old continues to help me help the Lips to do his homework. Yep. And when I don’t understand something, he takes over. I don’t feel any shame…..just pure delight after years and years of battling with the Prodigal and the Face to do work, I have ONE (out of five) willing (and able) child. Yipp yippppppeeeeee. The downside?  As I typed an email reply the other evening, he sidled up to me (silently…of course) and after I had pressed ‘send’ said ‘what do you mean ‘only two hours until bed’?’

‘what do you mean, what do I mean, only two hours until bed? have YOU been reading my emails?’  Bugger. I didn’t think his reading in English was very good. That showed me.

‘yeah, I sometimes read them.’


The Lips – him and Fatty could be compared to Coyote and Roadrunner…actually, that isn’t true. FAtty isn’t fast (unless I am shouting at him to ‘STOP AND COME BACK HERE NOW!’ Ok so it could be compared to Coyote and a legless (literally and not drunk), fat roadrunner or better still, two coyotes. It is in-cess-ant. The winding winding winding up up up………….

FAtty – will soon be three. I asked him what he wants for his birthday:

‘erm…an orange hoover……a motorbike…..a poo…that’s a toy poo…..some paper….some letters. Actually, I don’t want the toy poo… I’ll have a sword instead.’

The Husband is still in Paris. The Husband is having a go at being a down and out but within the walls of a nice if bare apartment in the centre.  What I mean, is that the Husband looks like a squatter who has found a nice apartement….  Unwashed, unfed, unloved? There is no talk of the sex shop down the road this time. He may have thought about it but I doubt they’d let him in.


Yes, I just had to get in a quick moan about my sleep situation. Even the dog refuses to listen to me now. So, I shall pick myself up from my near delierious state and say that SLEEP IS FOR GIMPS…..WIMPS……and the soon to be demented.

Ok, so I’ll probably post this UNEDITED AGAIN – one day (far off from now) I might stop chucking around commas and semi-colons and colons and full stops and be less flippant with my grammar……..but I’m making no promises.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”