Just another weekend in France

“We’re back!” I shouted, with undisguised glee. Well, I sent a text – not quite the same, I realise, but inside I felt like a small blond child… no, wait, that’s not what I mean at all … inside, I felt like I was leading the hoards of the underworld stomping up the garden path to the front door of an unsuspecting country, singing some long-forgotten old-time religion song. No wait, it wasn’t that either…

I do love France; I just can’t stand getting here. I’d rather spend an hour and a half in the Strictly Come Dancing audience, listening to Brucie in all his drivel-ridden glory, than travel via Ryanair ever again. Three hour drive to the airport, 4am start, adverts dropping like bombs on Belgrade, and a landing that should have earned the pilot the nickname of “walk away” (well hey, they say that any landing you can walk away from is a good one). And all for one quick weekend in the everything’s-closed-cos-October’s-out-of-season countryside of the Haute-Vienne! Seriously, you thought Sunday’s in France were ‘quiet’? Try a Sunday in October out in the rurals! Nope – the next weekend is going to be somewhere with a little more verve.

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