Bonsoir Blog,

We’re still holidaying (is that a word?) up here in the Department of Somewhere.

Here’s a list of some of our enjoyable activities:
-Making the kids cycle to the next town on their gearless, pygmy bikes and deciding, just for fun, on the return trip to take the road less travelled …. Or never, ever since Time began, travelled by anyone other than say, a rabbit. It was bumpy.
It was boggy.
It floods at high tide.
The extremely narrow ‘track’ was lined by brambles on one side and an electric fence on the other (to stop holidaying terrorists from entering the local airport?) and as we all tested the fence to see if it was live, we were glad to report that it wasn’t.
The kids didn’t moan……. Oh what I mean is that the kids moaned non stop.
The Husband, full of an unusual amount of vigour, took on this treacherous course with a smile (plus 20kg of dead weight called Fatty in the baby seat (DO NOT EXCEED 15KGS) attached to his bike).
Ah, happy memories.
Luckily, the hunting season started the next day..

-My husband, in having PAID for a summer pass for the pool at the Tennis Club (imagine this scene: the Tennis Club is FULL of fab-u-lous, beau-ti-ful, coloured jean wearing Parisians and my husband quitted la maison covered in plaster, paint etc.) cycled over to the Club yesterday with Fatty (DO NOT EXCEED 15kgs) comfortably if not snuggly attached to the bike, the Prof and the Lips in tow on their pygmy racers.
A car (audi big boy car) cut it’s corner and nearly hit the husband and Fatty (Id put my money on the car coming off worse in that collision).
The husband and the Audi driver exchanged pleasantries and it crossed the husband’s mind if he could swing a left at the driver without wobbling Fatty off the bike.
Happy to report that my innocent, gentle children (well… in an ideal world) didn’t witness this act of violence
However,
The Husband is now scanning every single Audi that passes (up here, this means every other car) and is utterly obsessed in correcting this WRONG.
He is talking of Audis in his sleep, he throws the word Audi into every sentence, he has joined the Audi Appreciation Association in the hope of finding this driver:
-‘What colour was the car?’
‘Black … No maybe grey but dark.’
-‘oookkay – and which model?’
‘A big one.’
-‘ what did the driver look like?’
‘Like a Parisian visitor.’

Luckily,
This year, my husband had been distracted by not one
But THREE women (‘they were just friends’) from his past; his very murky ‘I dont remember much about it’ past; the ‘I’ve been holidaying up here in Somewhere since I was a small child all the way through to my lusty teens and 20’s, past’.
One of these ‘just friends’ approached me in the local supermarket to ask if I could remember her to my husband and then left (to get into a large black, grey Audi?). How did she know who I was?
This ‘just friend’ turned out to be a not very insignificant girlfriend going back 20 years.
Never heard about her before.

Is this the reason for the Husband’s diet?

Or,
Is it more to do with this portrait of Papa by the Lips: