18 October 2006

Les francais adore...

ooh, all sorts of stuff. But mostly nice wine, good cheese and cepes, if the last week is anything to go by. Me, well, I like nice wine, good cheese and cepes with the best of them and I think French bread is rather spiffing too. They're also not fazed by a small grinning child waving and shouting "bye-bye" at every possible opportunity. Which at the moment wins lots of points in my book.

In fact, France was pretty good. It was sunny, there were opportunities for small people to play in the paddling pool and sandpit with no clothes on (oh, yes, embarrassing photos a go-go), there were lots of interesting places to wander round and new food to try, and there were grandparents to enchant. It was all rather good. Apart from the seven-hour delay at Bergerac airport on the way home. If you've ever been there, you'll know it's just an arrivals shed and a departures shed with a bar in between. Tricky place to amuse a one-year-old for seven hours...

Anyway, now for something completely different. I was going to segueway neatly into a new topic, but it's late, and much as I love writing all this stuff, quite frankly I'm looking forward to getting into a freshly laundered bed. I could go on about the niceness of new sheets, but instead I'll shout "baking", point you at this link to the Guardian (which incidently has a fabulous headline) and then run quickly in the opposite direction. Don't get me started on baking. I've got a banana and hazelnut loaf rapidly diminishing in size on the kitchen worktop, and I'm planning an apple and rye cake at the weekend. I will shortly be the size of a large French cheese. Maybe a camembert, maybe a Roquefort. I haven't decided yet.

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