Friday, January 31, 2014

precious moments

One of the most important things to do when maxing out your last bit of days somewhere is to spend quality time with those you are leaving behind.

A couple weeks back I got to do just that with my cousin, Mrs. London. We decided to let Gregory join in on our girly time since Mr. London was away in Glasgow working and we didn't want him to feel left out. (Truth be told Gregory is a sucker for Girls Night, give him a Mojito and some gossip and he's a happy boy.)

It was a bleak drive south and not much nicer when we arrived in Toulon. We settled in for the afternoon, there was an Eastenders special on TV that made the perfect background noise to our gossiping catch-up session.

Eventually our grumbling tummies got the better of us so we left Fifty to mind Napoleon and ventured out in search of sushi. If we had known that we needed an ark to navigate the roads as opposed to a car, we probably would have stayed put.

Alas, we arrived to the sushi place and settled into a nook in the corner facing out, the best spot for people watching in the busy shopping centre. But it wasn't too long before we noticed that while we watched the people, they were watching us. So it seemed anyway, it turns out, they were watching the solo diner sitting to my right. Some of the people watchers even came over to snap selfies with this guy. We were flummoxed and had absolutely no clue who this guy was but that still didn't stop me from doing this... 

Do any of you French dwellers have any idea who this is?

The rain and traffic caused us to have to take a detour on the way home. We were dangerously close to missing Mr. London's match so we pulled into a bar to watch it. And because we are total gluttons and sushi just wasn't enough, we stopped at the Thai restaurant on the way home. After all, it was right around the corner, it would have been rude not to. 

Our bellies full to the brim, we went home and relieved Fifty of his babysitting duties and resumed our positions on the couch. Gremlins was on telly... GREMLINS! The last time I had seen Gremlins, I was a wee bitty thing and it scared the bejeezus out of me. This time I found it HYSTERICAL! Oh my heavens... Stripe cruising on the tricycle... pure comedy!

Since it was already after midnight, we thought we'd be nice and wait up for Mr. London to arrive. And that's how we ended up eating our 2014 Galette des Rois at 2AM. 

Mr. London found the fève in his slice. I guess it was his lucky night because not only was he crowned king, but earlier that evening, he had won this (rugby fans will know what it is). 
And then because - well actually I have no idea why - Gregory and Mrs. London decided to dare each other to eat a chili pepper, obviously a completely normal thing to do at almost 3AM on a Sunday morning. Lucky for me, I had my phone ready to catch this precious moment. 

A few things to note before viewing this video; 1. My early morning filming skills are not the best, 2. The shouting at the end is Mrs. London yelling at Gregory because he was about to spit out the pepper and 3. The question Mr. London started to ask at the end was, who ate half of the bag of Rice Krispy treats I had made him. The answer is us. OOPS. 


Wednesday, January 29, 2014

I hear the train a comin', it's rolling round the bend

I am so happy January is almost over. Not that I'm wishing away time right now because trust me, I'm not, it's just that January is soooooooooo boring, and dull, and sad. BLECH.  And since it's so boring, and dull, and sad, I've been forced to also be boring, dull and sad and I've been locked away in my old barn house, drowning in bubble wrap.

But now that January is coming to an end, I have to face the inevitable, the last days of The LPV are upon me... thirty last days to be exact. But these are going to be a jam packed, busy thirty days...

First up, I had set a deadline for myself to have all of the boxes packed by the end of January and I'm patting myself on the back while I type this... it might actually happen. Like 96.5% of the stuff going into boxes is packed (I have no idea how I came up with that percentage, just go with it please, I am).

Most of the stuff we're selling, has been sold. There are a few higgledy piggledy bits to go, but I'm not worried. If they don't sell, it's not the end of the world (except for the car, that one is not higgledy piggledy and that HAS to be sold, but that is firmly on Gregory's to-do list).

The Six Nations kicks off this weekend and that is always a big deal in my house so I'll have the rugby to distract me from the moving brouhaha (here's hoping Philippe Saint-André can pull his head out of his heiny long enough for France to win a match) and then Tuesday is my birthday so that's a big deal. I'll be celebrating it with Gregory, The Croupier, Honey Jr and Honey's Honey... kebabs and Champagne are on the menu.

And then next weekend (we're talking the weekend of the 8th here), we'll be bringing The Croupier and her fiance down Toulon way to watch Mr. London play some rugby and so I can celebrate my birthday with The Londons as well. But this time the Champagne will be accompanying fried chicken (my palate is obviously super sophisticated).

I can hardly believe it,  but from that weekend we slide right into Valentine's Day and the mid-February mark. I have no idea what's on the cards for us this Valentine's Day; maybe we'll go out, maybe we won't, either way only a week after that, my mother is arriving from Texas to lend that kind of support in my final Le Petit Village days, that only a mother can (I have a feeling I'm going to need it... I see 'blubbering mess' in my future).

But get this... not only is my mother coming, but on the 25th my brother arrives from Dublin! Yep, three days before we are due to move out of our house, my brother is coming to France to celebrate his birthday. Clearly, my family likes to keep me on my toes.

Then it's the end of February (why oh why does February have to be such a short month?!) and we'll be waving goodbye to Le Petit Village as we drive down to the Côte d'Azur for two days with my cousin, Mrs. London. And because a couple of days on the Mediterranean isn't a fantabulous enough way for me to say au revoir to France, from Toulon we're hopping on the TGV to Paris for two days of museums and macarons. And that my friends, will be that.

But that train keeps a-rollin', on down to San Antone.


Monday, January 27, 2014

Behind the Photos XII

I'm feeling nostalgic lately. But I guess with only thirty-two days left in The LPV, a big ol' case of nostalgia was bound to happen. And what better way to deal with the nostalgia, then with another Behind the Photos trip down memory lane. This one features a family trip to Auvergne in the Summer of 2010.
(Behind the Photos are also the perfect cover for the fact that not too many blog worthy things are happening around here lately. It's a two birds kind of thing).
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When we drive the six hours north to Auvergne, we pass this along the way. Every single time we drive past it, I can't help but think of Homer Simpson. And then naturally, I think of The Simpsons which makes me sad because while The Simpsons are on television here, it's without the VO option (when a show is available in VO, it means you can switch it to it's original language). The Simpsons simply are not the same in French. I can handle a lot of shows in French, like Grey's Anatomy, and Les Freres Scott (aka: One Tree Hill), but not The Simpsons. 

And this is how freaked out Fifty would look on the car ride up there. Look at his face! His eye are 100% full of worry in this photo. Car rides used to be a nightmare, he would get so sick. Thankfully, he's more used to them now but he's still a worrywart most of the time and that's why I'm more than a little stressed about his plane journey to the States. If this is how much he frets about a car ride, imagine him being loaded into an airplane! Ay yai yai! (We took him to the vet last weekend and asked why he was so nervous all of the time and she said it's just his personality, he's a nervous nellie.)  

When I arrive at French Maman's house, it never ceases to amaze me how different it is to being at Papa's house and even in Le Petit Village for that matter;  the architecture, the topography, the climate, the vibe... it's like being in a different world, but we're only six hours away. It's nutty. 

Here I am relaxing in French Nana's bar. All we do when we go up to Auvergne is relax. I read the paper and books, catch up on magazines, and drink Rosé splashed with pamplemousse (that's grapefruit to you and me) and chill. I'm so chilled, I don't even bother to do anything with my hair #curlygirl 

This ASM Clermont rugby ball sitting on its own special little shelf is in French Nana's bar. Auvergne is rugby country. They freaking love it up there. Even French Nana can fill you in on all of Clermont's stats and player gossip (bonus of owning a bar with lots of loose lips I guess). And last year when she was recovering from surgery in a hospital next to the stadium, she was thrilled that she could hear the cheers of the match being played next door. I love me some French Nana. 


Friday, January 24, 2014


There's this restaurant not too far from Le Petit Village called Lupin Blanc. We used to go there all the time (like this time, and this one, oh, and don't forget this one), but then the couple that owned it sold it and it changed a bit. Not loads, the food was still good but they messed with the simple, rustic decor and it lost its charmed (if it's not broke don't fix it... wise words to live by) so we stopped going and I didn't think much about it.

Then something magical happened a couple of weeks back (magical might be a bit strong but hey, I like the word), when a frown got turned right upside down thanks to Lupin Blanc.

January is a dull, dull, dull month anyway, but in the small villages of Provence, it's extra dull. As soon as the sparkle of New Year's is over, all of the restaurants here (well most of them anyway) shut down for the month. They're all closed, for pretty much the entire month of January. It's bubkis.

But on this one Saturday, when I really didn't want to cook, and we were aching to go out just for a little something special, I got an inkling. I said, "lets call Lupin Blanc and see if they're open". Gregory eyed me suspiciously (as he does) but grabbed the phone anyway and lo and behold, they were open! But get this, they were closing for a month the very next day... FATE!

We were shown to our table in front of the roaring fire fueled by old copies of La Provence and set upon the business of ordering. First up, the ever important apéro which usually means a Ricard for Gregory and a Kir Royale for me. I've been known to take a Martini Blanc in summertime or a glass of Champagne if I'm feeling extra fancy, but normally, I'm a Kir Royale kind of girl

Apéro was followed by the entrée which in France is not the main course but the starter (as if France isn't confusing enough). Gregory had the fois gras and I chose the Saint-Jacques; scallops simmered in creamy white wine and leeks. 

The photo doesn't do it the least bit of justice because trust me, it was gooooood. But as good as it was, it didn't hold a candle to my main course, which the photo of not only doesn't do justice to, but is a downright lie. (In fairness, the presentation was a bit on the blah side and when the plate was put in front of me, I felt my stomach drop a smidgen which was foolish because OMG y'all. OMG.)

Pasta parcels filled with Gorgonzola (one of my favorite cheeses even if it is Italian and not French... shhh) and truffles. My taste buds basically freaked out and I'm sure if they could have, would have done a peppy jig all over my tongue and right out of my mouth. 

We topped it off with a Crème Brûlée for me and Profiteroles for Gregory. (Gregory will always order the chocolate and I will always order the cream. Fact.)

I couldn't have been happier that night; happy to find a restaurant near us that was actually open in January, happy to have a date night, and happy to say a final goodbye to a place full of so many of my happy LPV memories.


Wednesday, January 22, 2014


// Last night, Star Wars Revenge of the Sith was on French TV. We were watching bits of it here and there and I was explaining to Gregory who everybody was (he still hasn't seen the three original Star Wars movies but I have promised to finally rectify that this weekend). I made the mistake of saying, "That's Anakin Skywalker, he's Luke's dad. This is before he turns into Darth Vader." And then Gregory looked at me and said, "Darth Vader is Luke's father?" Oops. (HOW DID HE NOT KNOW THAT?!?! I know he hasn't seen the films but c'mon!) 

// On the Sleepy Hollow season finale, Ichabod Crane said the word, 'poppycock', and I turned about fifty shades of happy. I love that word! POPPYCOCK, POPPYCOCK, POPPYCOCK!

// Lena Dunham posted this tweet, which I'm pretty sure is the greatest tweet of all time because it's 100% true. If you don't believe me, watch the clip below. P.S. Me + Jordan Catalano = Forever

Jared Leto has a psychosexual hold on everyone who watched My So-Called Life and it's really complicating this awards season

// Honey Jr and Honey's Honey are on three weeks holiday in New Caledonia and every time a photo of them lounging on some secluded beach sipping cocktails pops up on Facebook, I want to punch them. I love them, but I want to punch them.

// Our next door neighbor informed us that a possible new tenant would be coming to look at our house tonight (her son owns the place). Gregory asked whether it would be her or her son who would be showing the guy around. Imagine our surprise when she said neither, we would. I wasn't aware that we had become real estate agents. I hope he likes the 'super-duper quick, get the eff out of my house so I can finish cooking dinner tour', because that's what he's getting. #aintnobodygottimeforthat

// My house is currently packing central. I'm trying to get as much as possible done in January, so I can try and enjoy my last month in France or at the very least, make it as stress-free as possible. There are open boxes and bubble wrap everywhere. I can't concentrate on anything else because all I see all around me is stuff that needs to get done, it's a tad distracting and a little stressful.

// I have become a Monday - Friday blogger, that is all my head can handle at the moment. (RE: see above). I'm surprised I managed to eek this one out. Thanks for continuing to pop by and say hi, it means the world to me.


Monday, January 20, 2014

Raclette Redo

You know what's ridiculous... what's down right un-LPV-like? The fact that it's the middle of January, and I have yet to blog about a single Raclette. It's HOGWASH! It's not that we haven't been Racletting, because we have, loads of times. There was even a week back in late November that we Racletted three times and I was practically 98% cheese, I just haven't felt like blogging about any of these Raclettes.

So today I thought I'd blog about my very first Raclette experience which also happens to be one of my first big French family dinners. Except I'm not really blogging about it, I already did that, I'm re-posting it because since it was originally posted all the way back in 2009, most of you wouldn't have read it anyway (except for you Mom... hi Eilo). Without further ado, I give you The Raclette Party & The Plonk.  
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This photo is so wonderfully old! I love it because 1. I'm totally overdressed for The LPV (I hadn't learned yet) and 2. this is back when my French was still so bad that I used dogs to distract me from the conversation. 
I should have known it was too good to be true... free wine. HA!

A couple of weeks ago when I found out that Tuesdays were pizza night in Le Petit Village, I also discovered that after purchasing four pizzas you can either have a free bottle of coke or a free bottle of wine. Happy days... Coke or Wine? This is not a tough decision.

So last Tuesday when the boyfriend picked up our pizzas (because I was too scaredy cat to do it myself) he also came home with our first free with pizza bottle of wine. I decided to leave the free bottle for a semi-special occasion. (Free with pizza - not exactly expecting Montrachet, but being in France, not exactly expecting plonk either).

Friday night turned out to be that semi-special occasion.

Papa and his Wife were hosting a Raclette Party for The Boyfriend and I, Boyfriend's Brother, his girlfriend, and some German friends who were visiting.

Sidebar - a Raclette Party is similar to a Fondue Party, lots of meats and veggies that can be put on individual mini skillets with oodles of cheese and cooked in small grills setup on the table. If you like meat, and you like cheese, especially of the melted variety, then this party is for you.

Never wanting to show up empty handed, I asked The Boyfriend if he would pick up some nice flowers, chocolates, or Champagne on his way home from work. Well The Boyfriend showed up home empty handed. When I asked what it was we would bring with us, he grabbed the free with pizza bottle of wine. Eyeing the bottle suspiciously, I was skeptical but knew that at this point it was our only choice.

We arrived at the house and handed the free bottle of red to Papa. He too eyed it suspiciously and set in on the counter. DRATS! Maybe Papa is familiar with what the free with pizza bottle of wine looks like. Trying to remember that it's the thought that counts, I told myself that at least we didn't show up empty handed.

Well The German's hands were full... Black Forest gummy bears, a slab of smoked ham, and a bottle of Rosé. Hmmm... so many lovely presents for their French friends, what could they possibly be over compensating for I wonder? Hmmm...

Now my free with pizza bottle looked really pathetic so when The German opened the bottle of Rosé I eagerly stuck out my empty glass and tried to hide the free bottle in the corner.

Everyone arrived and the Raclette got into full swing. We sat around the table busily grilling, talking and eating. My favorite dog Ruby was there, who likes me now by the way, but that could be because after every couple of bites, I would give Ruby a bit of cheese rind. Ruby loves cheese. Not surprised really, he is French.

The Rosé now long gone, we moved on to a couple bottles of white that went perfectly with the cheeses. Too perfectly in fact, because they were gone far too quickly and the next thing I knew, The German had grabbed the free with pizza bottle of red and was opening it.

This is not good, I thought. And oh how I was right, no it wasn't. It seemed like everyone, including me, took their first sip at the same time and the reactions around the table were all in unison... it was a nose crinkling, lips pursing, quick head shake kind of movement. Not good. Total humiliation. And then the biggest insult of all... Papa's Wife collected all of our glasses and the last bit in the bottle, and poured it all into the big jar of left over wine that she uses to make vinegar. There's never a rock to climb under when you need one.

Next time I'll get the free bottle of coke and kill The Boyfriend.


Thursday, January 16, 2014

Gregory vs. The Grocery Store

Gregory doesn't usually go to the grocery store on his own, but it's not because of any HE MAN, ME WOMAN, reason. It's simply because Gregory is notorious for picking up the wrong thing (even when he has a detailed list and makes one phone call home for each item on the list), or becoming completely confused (like the time he was supposed to grab celery and came home with one leek), or going rogue and ignoring the list altogether. (Does anyone remember the horse meat incident?).

Well a couple of weeks ago Gregory was going to have coffee at a friend's house, a friend who happens to live right around the corner from a grocery store. I asked Gregory if he wouldn't mind picking up some cream. Due to Gregory's grocery store history, and the fact that there are approximately 129387 types of cream in France (that's me guesstimating), I decided to be super clever and snap a photo of the type of cream I wanted with his phone. This way he would know exactly what I wanted and there wouldn't be any confusion. (Do you see where this is going?)

This is what I took a photo of. 

And this is what he came home with.

If anyone can explain to me how this happened I'll be your best friend. Over and out.


Wednesday, January 15, 2014

behind the photos XI

When I look back on all of the big events that have happened in the four plus years that I've lived in Le Petit Village, I can hardly believe it; babies being born, the death of loved ones (a bit of a downer I know, but unfortunately part of life), and weddings, lots and lots of weddings. Today I thought I'd take a look back on two weddings; The Cousin's and Honey B's. Both of these took place in the summer of 2010, a few months after mine, but sadly, both of these weddings resulted in marriages that are no more, so I guess I can add divorces to the list of big events. Ain't that a kick in the teeth.

Photos or Gregory and I are very rare, hence the reason I'm including this one in this edition of behind the photos, because not only is it us, but we look pretty darn good too. Also, I'm mourning that dress. It's been passed along to Child Bride and will not be making the journey to the States. **sniffle**

There they are, The Cousin and Mrs.Cousin in their wedding finery. This photo was taken in the mairie in some town outside Marseille where Mrs.Cousin is from (I have zero recollection of what it's called or exactly where we were). In France you have to get married in a civil ceremony in your local town hall, and moving on to a church for a religious ceremony afterwards is entirely optional. (It was at The Cousin's church service that I found out Gregory had almost been betrothed to a Gypsy). 

I've always liked this photo; there is something 'kids in the hall' about it to me. Gatz, Honey B's future (and now ex) wife, The Croupier and Bubble lined up waiting for newly married couple to make their debut. 

Here's me with my first French girl friends. They were so nice to me (are still) and I remember feeling incredibly happy that they accepted me and were patient with my French. Making friends in a new country can be difficult, and I struck the jackpot with these two. 
P.S. It was REALLY windy that day. 

At the reception, Bubble was sat at a 'gypsy' table, I guess because they were all single at the time. Even though Bubble was friends with them, he wasn't friends-friends, so Gregory could tell that he was a tad uncomfortable, naturally, he decided to help him bond with them... 

The Gypsy is a really loyal friend to Gregory and if Gregory asks him to do something, he does. In this instance, Gregory told him to whack Bubble over the head with that plate, you know, for giggles, and The Gypsy did, and sure enough, we giggled. I was curious if this kind of loyalty extended to me, since I was Gregory's new wife, so I asked The Gypsy to do it again, and he did! It was awesome... poor Bubble.
Disclaimer: No Bubbles were harmed during the taking of this photo.

Is this not the coolest wedding car ever? Yeah, I think so too. It was for Honey B's wedding in Carpentras. 

And once again I got to hang with my French girls, except this time the bride changed. Not only did this wedding feature my favorite wedding car ever, it also featured one of my favorite wedding dresses. 
I have absolutely no idea what was happening when this photo was taken or what The Croupier's face is all about, but I don't care... I LOVE THIS PHOTO. It makes me laugh. 

While this was the third wedding in France I attended, it was the first where I actually managed to stay awake for the Croquembouches, the traditional French wedding dessert. This was at like 2AM. Who eats dessert at 2AM?! People at French weddings do, that's who. 


Monday, January 13, 2014

ringing it in

Everyone knows New Year's Eve is a notoriously overblown holiday. That's why the older you get, the more apt you're to keep the night low key... it's not because we're old and tired, it's because the night usually blows and we know it. 

But after last year's epic New Year's Eve meal, I had high hopes for the holiday and figured I had the recipe for the perfect evening... a long, multi-course meal surrounded by friends and family. Being that I'm in France, the home of the long, multi-course meal, I thought I was in like Flynn. Wrong. 

The Croupier's cousin has recently opened a small restaurant and auberge outside The LPV, and opened for the first time last year on New Year's Eve. The Croupier, her fiance, and Mr. & Mrs.Honey were among those who had gone to the bash and they all raved about it. So when The Croupier mentioned to us that she was going again this year, Gregory and I decided to go with The Londons, Honey Jr, and Honey's Honey rounding out our party posse. 

(Did I just type 'party posse'? Kill me now.)

Now, this isn't a story of things going wrong in one comedic disaster after another, this is simply the story of a sucky night and failed expectations. It began at my house with a bottle of Champagne and some nibbles while Mrs.London and I got our pretty on (Gregory and Mr.London were nowhere to be found... I'm sure they were off somewhere wrestling or shooting each other). 

See, look at us smiling like fools full of hope. "Turn back," I want to say to the photo, 
"take off your makeup, ponytail the hair, put the onesies on and get comfy... you'll be better off.
If only I had a time machine.

Eventually the boys returned home, spiffied up, and we met up with Honey Jr and Honey's Honey and kicked off the New Year's Eve celebration.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I was surprised to see that the tables had been put together into a large connecting banquet table that spread about the room in a 'U' shape. Not what I was expecting, but fine, the 70+ people were sharing an experience, we might as well dine family style as well.

The evening was costing €67/$92 per person. I know that €67 isn't a huge amount for a night out in Paris or Nice, but in The LPV, for €67, I expect to be dazzled so imagine my surprise when I saw that the apéro table consisted of plastic bowls of nuts, some bits pieces of toast, a couple of types of tapenades and olives. For drinks, there were a few bottles of whisky, juice and Perrier put out... and the worst offence... boxed Rosé.

Here's the thing about boxed wine in France, it can be good, it can be very good, I myself am a huge fan of it and always have one on the go in my house. But on New Year's Eve, when I'm paying €67, I don't want to see boxed wine, let alone bad boxed wine. In a country like France where good wine is inexpensive, bad boxed wine is a crime and this was bad boxed wine, so bad, that Mrs.London and I mixed our Rosé with Perrier to turn it into a spritzer.

I decided to stay positive though and said that surely the boxed Rosé was only for l'apéro, nice bottles would definitely come out for dinner. I was wrong.

It was about 10:30 when we were finally instructed to find a seat at the big table (after two hours of milling about without even music to entertain us). Baskets of bread came out along with white wine... white wine that like the Rosé was presented in small, non-labeled, bottles... more boxed wine.

The white wine was to accompany the smoked salmon, which was pretty good, and the homemade fois gras, which wasn't. Gregory said that the fois gras was one of the most disgusting things he has ever eaten. This is coming from someone who will eat just about anything and has a high threshold for 'disgusting'. If Gregory says it's disgusting, it's disgusting.

Since we weren't really eating, and there was a L O N G lull until the main course, we found other ways to occupy our time. We played with babies, made moustaches with feathers, and decorated our faces with tabletop beads.

Eventually the party hats came out and we saw that it was getting awfully close to midnight (11:50PM and still no sign of the main course). The countdown rang out, and we wished everyone a bonne année! 

We danced for a bit and tried to work out if we were going to be getting a main course or not. Finally, at 1:30AM, Capon (castrated rooster), truffled mashed potatoes (which looked like truffled, liquidy mush), and boxed red wine made it's way out of the kitchen. 

None of it was good, in fact, it was the opposite of good, and we were tired and disappointed, so we decided to call it a night before the cheese plate and dessert could disappoint us as well. 

On the way to the car we made funny shadows of ourselves; this is Mrs.London being a wolf. Scary isn't she? #thisishowboredwewere

But even though the food, wine and ambiance were all terrible, at least we rang in the New Year surrounded by loved ones (Gregory, Honey Jr, Honey's Honey, The Croupier, Mr. & Mrs.London... you know, my loved ones) and when it comes down to it, that's all that matters. (Although a decent glass of wine wouldn't have gone amiss).


Thursday, January 9, 2014

nothing of any consequence

// Life has been kicking my ass lately, K I C K I N G  I T. That's why you haven't seen me since Sunday, I've been busy having my ass kicked. It kind of feels like I'm desperately trying to hold onto a boat that's being tossed about in a storm. But, storms don't last forever. Eventually this will all even out and I'll be back to my regular scheduled program, in the meantime, please bear with me.

// On Stephen's Day/ Boxing Day/ Day after Christmas/ or what have you, Gregory was ill. He was pasty and tossing his cookies all over the place, it was a sad, sad sight. Lucky for him, he had Mr.London tending to his sick self; bringing him medicine, and dry toast, and fretting. Watching Mr.London tend to his sick besty really was quite adorable #bumdersforlife 

// I keep looking at Fifty and thinking, "this poor little guy has no idea what is about to happen"... a ninety minute flight to Paris followed by a ten hour flight to Houston, and then stepping out into a whole new world... oh boy! He is going to F R E A K the F out. (P.S. if any of you have any advice on flying with a pet, please let me know.)

// I was talking to my sister yesterday (she lives in the Berkshire town that Gregory and I will be moving to), she was telling me that her cat is sick and when she took her to the vet, the vet wasn't positive what was wrong. The vet turned to my sister and said, "Have you talked to the Animal Communicator?" THE ANIMAL COMMUNICATOR. I am moving to a place where vets recommend your animals talk on the phone to somebody to tell them what's bothering them. OH WOW. It's like Northern Exposure except in Massachusetts instead of Alaska (Massachusetts is cold enough thank you very much). Obviously, with things like a 'animal communicator' being the norm, I'll have plenty to blog about. Thank you Blog Gods. 

// I'm worried about the weather. With the exception of a cold snap back in November, it's been a pretty mild winter so I'm sure that sometime in mid-February, the temperature will probably drop to about -23976 ° C. 

// I know I shouldn't be complaining about a mild winter what with the polar vortex going on and all, even the name sounds scary. Poor Gregory has been tracking the temps in the Berkshires and he's more than a little frightened for next winter. Looks like Le Petit Marseillais is going to have to put his big boy pants on and toughen up. 

// I'm one of the few people that was over the moon when Charlie Hunnam got the part as Christian Grey in Fifty Shades of Grey (you may recall this overly enthusiastic facebook post), and as much as I think Jamie Dornan is a cutie patootie, my heart just isn't into it anymore. I might even sit this one out. There I said it. 

// Speaking of Facebook, just in case you didn't see my post, dear Ruby passed away last month. He had gotten so old and arthritic that unfortunately it was time. Papa's house isn't the same without him, it feels cold and empty. I miss Ruby something fierce, but now I like to picture him haughtily floating on a cloud while sipping Montrachet and passing judgement on all of us paupers down below (Ruby was a tad snooty). 

// The end of 2013 brought me the greatest gift... an iphone. Yes ladies and gentleman, I feel like I can finally come out of the blogger closet because I've been smartphoned. And less than a month in and I'm already addicted to instagram... @cestmoisaralouise if you're interested. 

// Even though it's already January 9th , I still have to tell you about NYE in The LPV, so you know, stay tuned.


Sunday, January 5, 2014

woe is me

I've been kind of m.i.a. from my blogging life lately. Sure I've been eeking out a post here and there but  forget about reading any, there has been zero time for that. I guess the holidays and preparing for an international move does tend to suck all of the sand from an hour glass, but still, I've been feeling a little guilty and lots out of sorts. I'm tired and discombobulated and I don't like it one bit.

So when The London's asked Gregory and I if we could dog-sit Napoleon while they went away for the night I jumped at the chance... a night on their couch watching their Sky TV while I munched on some KFC (no KFC near The LPV) and caught up on my blog reading sounded like the perfect Saturday evening. You know that saying the best laid plans... yeah, it was like that.

Before The Londons could shoot off to the mountains to ski, Mr. London had to play a match. Gregory and I would get to Toulon early, leave Fifty to watch Napoleon, have some lunch on the port (one of my favorite things to do even if it was lashing rain), watch Mr.London do his thing, and be on the couch in our comfies by 5:30. It was perfect.

All was going to plan until the last two minutes of the match when Grenoble scored a try against Toulon giving them a one point lead and securing a victory. I looked at Mrs. London and said, "Guess you won't be going skiing." I was only half joking but then Mr.London emerged after the match with a sad puss on his face and confirmed that the skiing was indeed cancelled, he had to report for training at 8AM in the morning.

I quietly kissed my relaxing evening goodbye as we headed out for sushi. Of course sushi led to drinks in the bar next door which of course led to a few more drinks back at the house which of course led to a Sing Star session until 3 in the morning which of course wasn't 'sing' star at all, it was more like 'shout' star.

So now it's Sunday afternoon, I'm more tired than I was when I went to Toulon and I still haven't read a single blog post... or packed a box, or sorted through any papers, or done any laundry...

I also haven't had any KFC either.

Ta Ta for now, if anybody needs me, I'll be having a nap (and feeling guilty).

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