WHEW! Guess what I just figured out? In my advancing age, it now takes me two whole nights to recover from one night out. No longer can I shake my bonbon on the dance floor until 5AM, sleep for three hours, and wake-up feeling normal with a spring in my step. Nope, I can't, those days are over. Now, massive amounts of tea/ coffee/ juice are required for me to find my giddy-up, and it's a slow giddy-up, with a hitch in it. That's dumb. And that's why today's post is going to be heavy on photos, light on words, because while I have had two nights to recover from the hot mess that was Friday night in Toulon, my brain is like a fuzzy wuzzy slug, so allow me to present to you; Toulon: a photo essay.
(DISCLOSURE: these photos were taken over two separate weekends; the first weekend in January, and this past weekend; Friday the 25th and Saturday the 26th.)
(SIDE NOTE: I'm going to show you a photo, and then ramble on about some information pertaining to the photo, or what we were doing before/ during/ after said photo was taken.)
These salt and pepper shakers signify the love between The Husband and Mr. London. SHHH... don't tell Gatz... he's pouty enough already (Pouty enough to phone The Husband at 7AM on Sunday morning demanding to know where he was and what he was doing. The answer was sleeping, emphasis on the word 'was'.)
This is the port of the village where Mr. & Mrs. London live. It's pretty, isn't it? It's where Mrs. London and I like to go for lunch. We sit in the sun, and chat. It's lovely. It's our peaceful escape. It's also where we bumped into another rugby player; he asked us what Mr. London was up to, Mrs. London said he was with The Husband, doing work at the new house (RE: The Londons are moving to a new house). "Oh really" the other player replied, "because I saw them about an hour ago, driving around the port, waving a bottle of Cristal out the window". B U S T E D.
This is Mrs. London and me having a Mojito before Friday night's match. I'm including this photo for no other reason than because I like it. My hair looks shiny and bouncy.
These are our babies that we left behind when we went to the match. The little one is in charge.
And this is the match;
There's Mr. London ready to pounce, and next to him is Freddie Michalak. Freddie is not unattractive (don't believe me... click here... you're welcome).
That's where I'm going to end my essay today, but there will be a Part Deux, and here's a preview...
That's Brother-in-Law, in a Hello Kitty mask, sitting on an office chair, about to be pushed down a hill.