I’m Feeling Sad Right now

I am feeling quite sad today

It didn’t start out as such as far as a day goes, it just went downhill in the afternoon.  In fact the sun was making a late start, poking through the fog and mist, promising to warm our backs as it has been doing almost habitually of late.

We determined that a cruise in the Corvette was in order and put smiles on both of our faces.

V and I decided we were heading out just after lunchtime to attend the opening of an art exhibition where the camera was the tool of trade for these two artists.  It was held out in the country adjacent to a fine café so a late lunch may have been on the cards like the icing on a cake brings. And by way of teasing us, as we walked the 20-30 metres from the carpark to the gallery, wafts of grilled bacon filled the air. A smile returned to our face in anticipation.

A very dear friend of ours owns the gallery so it was another reason to smile as we would catch up with her, be amused by her and to get a family update at the same time.  Always a joy the catch up with any member of this family. Bubbly personalities, never too serious and always interesting conversation, one never left their company satiated, always wanting more and therefore always late for the next appointment!  Not to ever be trusted on the status of an electric fence however.  I have had the shocks to prove it.

She was busy when we arrived, talking art-stuff with potential purchasers.  Standing nonchalantly at the exhibition were a few couples wanking on about light and F-stops with the guys acting like they knew what they were talking about, holding glasses of wine and twiddling them in their fingers like they had seen on TV I suspect but with little appreciation for the juice….. or the art I felt.  The wives looking as bored with their spouses as I looked when at the Hamilton Embroidery exhibition I was conned in to attending a few years ago…… bored shitless.

Once we could prise here away from actual customers and potential paying ones, we engaged in far more important intercourse. For once, the finer points of all things equine had not been covered yet.  It was during this that we were escorted to a quiet place where we were informed that she was no longer with her long-time partner.  Any hint of a smile from any of the 3 of us was wiped from our faces.  It was shock and sadness that overtook me now.  Several hours later, it is sadness that I still feel.  Utter grief.

It is of no interest to learn of the reasons for the breakdown, and of nobody else’s business.  But I worry about them both and her two girls, both of whom had more to do with the departed dad than they did with their own dads. I actually think of the younger one as my other daughter. Unable to help other than offer anything that could help them with, I felt inadequate and sad, very sad.

As we left her to deal with other real customers we looked toward the café and its bacon and coffee fumes emanating from every crevice in the building.  The large birthday party had started to dissipate but not enough to result in spare tables for two bacon starved punters. So we were forced to retreat to our car and drive away feeling even sadder ….hungry and sad.

It is now 6pm. I have thought of nothing else.  Also, where will we go on Boxing day for the world championship of backyard cricket or badminton?  I am now worried and sad.

It has been said, ‘Tears are words that need to be written’.  I agree

My Sister is Dying

My sister is dying. Fading away like an evening shadow.

 

Not her hair being dyed or her singlets into some tie-dyed fashion statement either.  She is fading away from her whanau of her own free will as if she can do nothing about it. A form of suicide.  But she could avoid the gap she is creating by thinking of her original family instead of the new shiny friends and her pagan god, the mighty dollar.

Blood is thicker than water. But money is shinier.

She has always aspired to be as good as those that impress her with their money, their homes and the way they spend their wealth in front of her.  The unaffordable holidays, vehicles, clothes, booze, homes and jewellery etc are all major attractive forces to her, like a kitten under the spell of a distant laser beam, Julie is attracted to the glitter, not the substance.  Always has and like the kitten that finally ‘gets’ the laser beam, it is dropped in favour of the next shiny thing.

But these baubles of life that she coverts so much, have to be paid for …somehow.  This is the part of her life that is ironically, killing my sister.  Like some alcoholic or gambler or indeed drug user, there is always a way to find or fund your habit.  Often that funding involves underhand actions and stealing from your loved ones as they don’t suspect anything as they see you through those magnificent rose tinted glasses.  Your loved ones often will cover for you out of trust and love which is mostly not reciprocated.  Excuses can be found to excuse those whom are hurting those that love them the most.  Until the sponsorship runs out.

Elder Abuse is the modern term used to describe such actions towards their mother.  As many as one in ten older people in New Zealand will experience some kind of elder abuse. The majority of cases will go unreported. It is not specific to any one gender, religion, ethnicity, or income group. It may happen at home, in residential care, or in hospitals. Most of the time family member(s) are the abusers. Of those in New Zealand suffering, 54% of them will be linked to financial abuse, 79% will involve psychological abuse and often in combination.

Julie, for your information; any act that causes harm to an older person is elder abuse. At its most extreme, abuse may be criminal, but it can also be more subtle. Yours is not subtle.  It is greed and an easy way to make money by depriving your mum of her right to look after herself with finances put aside for this stage of her life.  76% of abusers are close family members and almost half are females. Even researchers have your number.

I know not how you sleep at night.  What was once a very tight and loving bond between you and your mother has been broken with your words and your actions.  Telling your own mother to forget she ever had a daughter is not your decision to make.  It was an act of psychological warfare against someone whom has done more for you than you will do for anyone else in your lifetime and loved you unconditionally for half a decade. Shame on you.

You can repair this however, you can pay back what was agreed to and with your partner in crime make good on an agreement made around your dining table some 13 years ago. From there, bridges can start to be repaired.  At the moment though, it is you, the troll under the bridge that the rest of the family have to avoid as we get on with our lives in an honest way.

It may have been you that wished to put her head in the sand and hide from reality, but it is you and our memories of you that are fading in your family’s eyes and minds and we have done nothing to exacerbate this situation.

Pity you can’t say the same.  Maybe it is RIP Julie after all.

Nearly all Over

23 July 2017

Hong Kong and Kowloon Skyline

Well that was money worth spending.

By the time most of you get this, we will be in the air, winging our way home…. Hopefully. Sunday morning, we had a note stuffed under our door which advised us of the potential scale 8 tropical cyclone passing right over us.  By breakfast time, the local government had issued a warning and posted that the cyclone was indeed hitting level 8. It advised that all shops would be closed (V is most upset) and that all public transport would be shut down (that is how we would get to the shopping so V was now distraught!).  A whole day in our room or get soaked wandering the streets like some homeless person looking for Housing Corp housing (oh, that’s another story).

So it gave us time to reflect on the last 5 weeks.  Hong Kong is a tale of two areas and some more.  There are Dings and Dangs, Wings and Wangs  and of course Pings and Pongs everywhere.  Anyone with a name with more than 4 letters is foreign …we almost pass as locals if it wasn’t for our civilised non-Mao Tse Tung look alike hair doo’s and our odd shaped eyes. This is both a vibrant modern city and a dirty, smelly and backward facing one too.  I’m just not into millions of hobbits with almond eyes in my personal space.  The woman and girls have no sense of respect and are only interested in holding up everyone as they worship the mobile phone like some deity. At dinner last night we watched three early 20’s woman eat their dinner with 1 hand and phone in the other so they could take photos of each mouthful they and the other two took.  Knives should be deleted as necessary items of cutlery as forks will lift the food to your mouth and you either stuff everything into your mouth or you nibble like some rat to get it into your stomach.  We were astonished at the supercar per population ratio. McLarens, Lambos and Ferraris everywhere. But the transport system is to die for.  They tunnel and bridge everything that can’t be driven easily….brilliant.

The Dutch and their fucking bicycles!  How they ride them as stoned as most seem to be is a skill to be harnessed but they are a danger to everyone else.  Trained by the Japanese, these Kamikaze pilots ensure they have your undivided attention as their attention span has been artificially mellowed. Walking home from the Red Light district one evening, a tram stopped beside us and as the doors opened, a fug of dope smoke fell out and crop dusted our fellow pedestrians in a 15 metre radius.  Those on the train be they smokers or not were just sitting there with a silly smirk on their faces….probably thinking of snacks.  We loved Amsterdam and everything was a pleasant surprise, even the cannabis Trumpets/Cornetto’s in the ice cream freezer in the various shops.

France is fantastic, even those that live in Paris were lovely and tolerant folk.  A bit dirty but nothing that a little Cif (French Jif) and a waterblaster couldn’t fix.  If only Britain could purge themselves of some of the twats that call themselves British, it too would be a paradise.  Those reliant on handouts (including government supplied cars) need a reality shot as they (mostly) are a blot on the landscape.  The Eastern Europeans scare the bejesus out of me.  They look like fattened Russian spies and they wear too much cologne and gold jewellry to be trusted.

We have loved our time, loved all those that have helped us and interacted with us especially our new emergency taxi driver Simon.

See you soon….we hope

V (Ping) and Me (Pong)

 

 

Putting in the Hard Yards

19 July 2017

Amsterdam

Doing the miles this week.

It all started on Sunday when we had to vacate our gite in Southern France to return to England for a night so that we could repack and head to Amsterdam the next day.  This mammoth trip involved 12 hours on the road using rental car, taxis (2), trains (2) and the underground in Paris.  Like some military exercise, we knew how many minutes we had between rides and thus the pace was picked up when necessary and with much gesticulating, the 5 of us agreed long enough on which direction was probably the best to head to catch our next mode of transport.  We made it though.

The next day involved a simple drive to the London City airport on the banks of the Thames.  Due to traffic snarl-ups, we ended up driving on and off a car ferry that went from one side to the other and almost at the airport.  By this time we just wanted a sit down but and hour later, we were able to check our voluminous bags and head upstairs for the usual immigration and security regimes. It appears the Brits are more than a little gun shy currently, both V and I had our bags emptied, items of clothing removed and rescanned and rescanned. I had to remove my belt and shoes and place them in to a plastic bin held by a bombing suspect family member.  As I did, he moved the bin and a shoe fell out.  So I picked it up and as I went to hurl it in he moved it again.  Luckily my shooting was better than his catching. He then looked up at me (he was also vertically challenged from the weight of his bomber jacket I suspect) and asked if I was alright.  I acted all grown up and told him it was but wanted to tell him that he would never make my football team as goalie or did he need a hand to hold the tray? Allah my arse.

Amsterdam also gave us a wait at both ends.  The KLM ground staff need to take a clog up their arses. Over an hour to check in and over an hour to produce our bags at the other end.  This meant our taxi driver had to wait around also but he charged us so he was at least placated.  Even tying a tie for him for his next job didn’t seem to help.

V and I are about museum’d out after today.  We hit the Rijksmuseum at 9.30, the Heineken museum and tasting at 12, the market at about 2, the diamond museum 3,30 then the Van Gogh museum at 4.30.  Probably a record but we are so smart and so enlightened as a result of it.  Very much enjoyed learning about Vermeer (Girl with the Pearl Earring etc) and Rembrandt. Seeing these paintings that are so old and famous sent shivers down my spine.  Just about got the hang of avoiding being collected by cyclists and scooter pilots.  Not only do the trams that run up the middle of the road have the right of way, if you stray on to the clearly demarcated bike lanes, you will be lined up and bowled by these two wheeled projectiles….and they ride on the wrong side of the road so come at you when you are right-left-righting when you should be left-right-lefting!

There is the smell of dope everywhere and dope products for sale next to the souvenir t-shirts and clogs in the numerous shops including some in a museumwinkel we went into today,  Pot flavoured chupa chups for god’s sake.

Going to see how to make clogs today.  With the management structure at work skewed towards those that chew tulips, I feel it will be a good career move to learn such skills or at least purchase some.  Take care,

V and Me (Hans)

We are Supporting the Locals

14 July 2017

Check out those Prices

Another day, another wine. Another wine always means another cheese

Rather than be seen to be taking advantage of the well-priced wine and goodies, we like to think we are trying hard, exceedingly so actually, to support the local growers and producers…le vente directe or du Producteur au Consommateur.

We have visited a lot of markets and supermarches and been buying up a storm….. to keep the locals in business of course.  At an average €3 a bottle (NZ$4.75), we are having to up our fluid uptake to help the local economy.  But even at those prices, the red wine is still more than drinkable….so we do.  Vanessa picked up a litre of Rose the other day for less than NZ$3 and pronounced it to be better than wines at home costing 5 times that.  Then there are the comestibles from the local boulangerie, fromagerie and markets where a baguette will cost you less than a Euro.

Of course buying all these delights forces us into having gourmet sessions to reduce our growing stockpile and to also discuss the merit of a particular $4 wine versus another of similar value.

So determined are we to understand the back story and history of our food, we chose to drive for 2 hours the other day (admittedly, 40 mins of it was when we got lost) to learn about the art of gavage or force feeding ducks and geese so you can produce the king of pates, foie gras.  The brochure said ‘degustation gratuite’ and we have learned quickly that whenever you see that it means free tasting!  So we lined up with 20 or so others to be enlightened when this charming young man I recognised from the brochure turned up and commenced the lesson … in French. Completely in French. La petite histoire was a waste of time except for the degustation gratuite.  My finely tuned French language skill could pick out words such as duck, goose, foie gras, wine, walnuts and acorns (duck food).  The wine was terrible, like some 70’s Lincoln rd Dally plonk dad used to drink.  Vive la France.

Vanessa has taken to the Confit Duck, even having the confidence to order it at restaurants (using her newly found French speaking skills).  When done poorly it is like KFC for duck, when done well it is a crispy leg and thigh of soft ducky greatness and mostly served with salad (lettuce) and frites (chips).  An epicurean delight. We are still over ordering on the baguette needs of the group, feeding the local chooks most days with our superfluous daily bread.

On a Tuesday and a Friday, a little French woman beeps and toots her way up the hill in her van, stopping to tempt us with her freshly baked goodies.  You can buy any number of varieties of bread but we have a liking for her croissants and pain au chocolat.  This morning V and I had one of each because we could, because we hadn’t had breakfast and because they are about €1 each!  Washed down with a coffee and a glass of Pamplemousse (grapefruit juice). Not sure if the juice was local.

Today is Bastille Day, a day our family has celebrated since my sister was born (July 14).  So this evening, we are off to the local village hall for a soiree to celebrate both.  It includes free wine to go with the €12 BBQ.  There is a trend.  They butcher animals from this rural town and the town pitches in to feed everybody. The horse from the paddock next door has gone this week….just wondering.  V has an extra zing in her step today as the posters promoting the event make a big point that Rose will be available and free. Let’s support the locals!

 

Next time we speak, V and I will probably be in Amsterdam as our English and now French sections are coming to an end.

V and Me (Jean Pierre)

The Cultural Sector of the trip

10 July 2017

Somewhere to stay in France

Another day, another train.  Another train, another destination.

This time, we are heading for the south of France and our booked gite in a wee small town called Cahus.  A long story cut short, but the owners are old work colleagues and rellies of Debs Moffatt.  It should be a 2-3 hour journey then a couple of hours (note: this does not factor in potential got lost delays) in a rental car and Bob’s your uncle.

 

It was sad checking out of our Parisienne base, we have had a hectic but enjoyable 4 days exploring the city and avoiding the major tourist spots and the annoying crowds of rude people however we did relent by spending a day at Disneyland Paris (no longer Euro Disney apparently). Spaniards and Italians with their booming voices, the Japanese with their fucking sun umbrellas, stupefied looks and complete disregard of others around them and lastly those overly tattooed Pommie woman and their boyfriends/husbands all dressed up in their ‘leisurewear’. All ready to take the pitch and represent their favourite team, regardless of their physical unpreparedness.  I have yet to work out why the woman have tipped out their scrapbooks all over their bodies and had the mish-mash of drawings and sketches permanently inked for all to see.  No themes, no stories being told; just 10s of unrelated pictures in the loudest colours like some form of graffiti.  I don’t get it. Disneyland had 4 or 5 really good roller coasters and the queues were no bad at all with only 1 ride taking more than a half hour wait.

We managed to get lost every day.  Incomplete and erroneous maps are blamed but by asking/pleading for help, we managed to find most of the sights that needed to be seen.  A cultural day was had at the Louvre and Musee d’Orsay where we were able to see the famous paintings and sculptures on offer.  Very impressive.  The afternoon was topped off by getting lost for 2.5 hours trying to find the Hard Rock Café.  In the end, we stopped walking and took to the Metro but even then, we had to ask the Chemist for final directions.  The trip home was a lot smoother by sticking to the subterranean methods rather than legs up on the surface.

We went on a small tour party (3 of us and a driver) to the Palace of Versailles and then the afternoon in Giverny in the north to revisit Claude Monet’s home and garden.  We both enjoyed those and even though there was lots of walking to be done, sitting in an air-conditioned van in between was pretty good.  The van had a mechanical issue coming home where the cover that sits under the motor etc came off after a previous off track excursion had done some damage.  This meant a very slow trip home whilst the cover rubbed on the road sounding like a locomotive more than a diesel Mercedes van.

So we are off to the French wop wops; taxi to the train station, train to Limoges (about 3 hours), taxi to the airport because on a Sunday there is only one place to pick up the rental car …half a bloody hour out of town, source the car ….a bubble car (Holden Trax) then a 2 hour drive to our place …saw lots and had a ride that was as challenging on the neck and senses as anything Disney could fling at us.  Never mind, wine and smelly cheese saw us in bed at midnight.  Look out rural France, we have arrived and looking for some of that €3 wine we like.

 

V and Me (Jean Pierre)

Bonjour France. We are here now

 6 July 2017

Eurostar French countryside

Sitting in the middle of the English Channel, somewhere along its 50km length and at 70 meters below the surface in places never fails to impress me.  Having been on the Eurostar some half a dozen times has still not diminished my amazement at the feat of engineering achieved by two countries that still despise each other.

We spent a whole day riding the trains and underground, popping up to get our bearings periodically like a couple of Meerkats.  We were on a mission and the holy shrine was the triangle that Oxford, Regent and Bond streets form, and all the shops they attract.  My phone nearly overheated, screaming at me to slow down, I had done that day’s and most of tomorrow’s steps….by lunch time.  I spent the day following V, but looking for seats in woman’s frock shops as she stroked and ohhh’d and ahhhh’d at all of it.  I met some lovely people and often offered sartorial advice to anyone standing in front of a mirror looking undecided.  It was the least I could do.  V has stopped counting how many new tops she has adopted….it is easier that way apparently.  I have 3 or 4 new ones myself.  I think I’m all but done now. I spent a glorious half an hour with an old chap sitting in his wife’s wheelchair in M&S.  His wife has a miracle each time she enters a clothing shop and is able to hobble around the racks with a youthful spring in her step he told me.  He then finds a corner, sits in the wheelchair and offers advice.  It was a joy to listen to an 80 year old expert in shopping

We have finished our English leg of this odyssey and now are embarking on 4 days in Paris doing Parisian things but without the terrorist twist hopefully. Then on Sunday we head south a few hours to our holiday house that we booked in the middle of French woop woopland.

In preparation, we went visiting Sarah last night and had a repast of cheeses, pates, baguette, charcuterie and wine.  We all passed with flying colours and feel suitably ready for the next phase of our sojourn. Practice makes perfect. Driving out to Sevenoaks, required a very English country journey past towns called Badger Mount and Pratts Bottom. I found them childishly amusing.

We are in carriage 1, First Class I might add on this 10:42 to Paris.  Unfortunately, carriage 1 is the last carriage going when going this way so required a 200 meter walk along the platform to reach our seats.  What’s the bet it will be the opposite on the return….going the other way but still at the back. They are a lovely sort of person in First Class…V is very much at home. 5 minutes after leaving we were delivered a breakfast including a croissant and coffee served by our own French crew.  I felt a Bonjour was in order even if we were still in England.  No sign of the refugees trying to jump the channel illegally.  Funny that burning the camp and building higher fences seems to have shifted the problem from Calais. We didn’t see any evidence of them a couple of weeks ago either when we made our mercy dash to Champagne. Problem dealt with I’m thinking.

We are staying in the Latin Quarter of Paris; the 5^th arrondissment for those that know the place well.  Very close to the Notre Dame and also the largest Mosque in town. We are not looking for action, but it might be closer than we booked!

We decided on a K&V walkabout, heading for Notre Dame.  In 40^o heat, this was silly as it involved many wrong turns and ‘track-backs’.  We stumbled on a rugby shop selling Chiefs gear for €59, the giant Pantheon and numerous gift shops selling the same as the shop either side of it but they all had to be visited and investigated… just in case.  We also managed to book a couple of tours so our few days are now fairly chocka full of all things art and culture, leaving the gastronomy tours for another time like next week.  We fished our walk with a nice dinner at the Bistro around the corner where rude waiters and diners alike made for an educative if not enjoyable evening repast.  It is nearly 11pm, only just gone dark and currently 26^oC.

Au revoir et bonjournee

V and Me (Jean Pierre)

 

Pirates and London

 

31 June 2017

Padstow Harbour

 

We all heard it.  V was taking the piss out of a West Country person’s accent on the telly.  Having repeatedly told me off for doing so, even when being served by them, she had succumbed.

We jumped in Gloria the Golf and headed for the West Country the morning after getting back from France so had to quickly drop the outrageous French accent for the one that Poldark used to use or those that make great ciderrrrr from tha own arrrples if you follow the drift.  We were heading to Padstow.  A seaside town made famous by Rick Stein and smugglers and pirates.  It is a quick 5-6 hour trip usually.  Gloria’s GPS was set to tourist mode and we set off.  After an unintended 2^1/2 hour sightseeing trip through London and its glorious traffic queues and diversions, we made it to something that resembled a motorway but was more like a carpark!

Finally on our way, we hit traffic jams like I haven’t seen in a long time.  There were accidents and people out of their cars lying on the road and on their cars.  We thought those lying on the road were taking this terrorist pedestrian attack prevention measures a bit far.  The traffic whilst mainly going in the opposite direction was caused by those leaving the Glastonbury music festival that finished up the night before (think hairy armpits and smelly).  We did drive past Stonehenge but there was no way we were stopping as we would never get going again.  The perimeter fence at Stonehenge must now be over a kilometre from the stonemason’s unfinished project so the public get the same view that we did….from the road.

We arrived at Padstow some 8 plus hours later and tried to find our hotel.  Tucked down a side street only wide enough for a small car and no parking provided, it took a bit of work to get checked in and then park the car out of town on the top of a hill.  Walking back down was a breeze.  Tomorrow will be unpleasant to say the least.  The old fishing village was quaint and Rick Stein had his name on about 20% of the buildings.  There were cream teas and pasties and fish and chips for Africa and pubs for the rest of the world. I have refused to eat my chips with a little wooden fork that they give out, preferring my stubby little fingers every time.  Everyone sounded like a pirate and within minutes, V was giggling at them and I had become fluent Johnny Depp ….aye Captain, eyell ‘ave a ciderrrr and a pastie.

Dinner was a honeymoon treat at one of Rick’s eateries….Rick’s Café.  He was not there that night but we didn’t starve.  The next morning we went to the south coast and had a look at the Eden Project, where in an old quarry, gardens from across the world had been planted under these gigantic domes (like golf balls).  This was fascinating and like a real version of the film about life on Mars. We stayed at an old home built in 1860 that night.

A quick trip into London on Thursday saw us at the Borough Market as were thought it safe from terrorists now.  Did see a lot of cops and ‘undercover’ security personnel though.  An obligatory stop at the Hard Rock café was made before we quickly scurried off before the rush hour idiot’s session started.  V’s suitcase is filling.  Her wardrobe will be quite fresh by the time she gets home.  Party Saturday night, special brunch up some tall building Sunday then we have just two more days in London before we hit France for 11 days.

Ohhhh arrrr, take care.

V and Me

 

 

It is all about the bubbles

26 June 2017

At home at Taittinger’s

It was out with the full noise ‘bonjours’ again over the weekend when we took the car on the train to Reims and Epernay. This part of the world is famous for just the one thing….Champagne!  The first day was on the train at some ridiculous hour before breakfast and 30 mins later, we were driving off in Gloria the Golf heading to a large Supermarket in Calais.  They do cheap booze and wonderful French food.  No other reason.

Arriving in Reims (pronounced with a Gallic throat clearance at the beginning) and the house of Taittinger where we indulged in a champagne or two and also squeezed in a tour of the caves.  Veuve Clicquot, and a reckless 30 minute downhill walk to find food in a typical bistro before a small Champagne house near where we parked called Martel beckoned and was answered.  Whilst we had consumed baguettes by this point, we had not purchased one despite the temptation on most corners.

Then it was in the Gloria and off for the half an hour to Epernay (pronounced in an outrageous French accent … ep  PEAR  nay.  Pretend you are Renee from ‘Hello Hello’, it comes naturally). After circulating the town several times trying to find the hotel parking and this after checking in and receiving instructions, we could settle her in her accom for the night.  Parking and hotels being adjacent is a foreign concept here.  Epernay was ours to explore all arvo but Saturday after lunch means most things are closed until this evening if at all. Dinner was sourced at a typical restaurant on a busy roundabout within spitting distance of Moet and Chandon’s ‘house’.  On the menu along with all the normal French fare was horse meat. I let this opportunity go as much as I despise Cheval and chose to munch on bobby calf and V dined on pasta. V told us she liked this ‘Franch’ food…her first public attempt at speaking French whilst under the influence.  She has now ordered many things and purchased much in the country now, relying on lots of gesticulative movements and what she can read.  We re now at the same level!

With a little bit of wee leaking out, the morning saw us pacing up and down Avenue de Champagne waiting for our appointment at Moet and Chandon at 8.45am. Perrier and Jouet and Pol Roger are neighbours and we could have continued but just seeing them just cements the street dripped with my kinda class. The French accent what not as strong as the man yesterday and therefore V was able to understand more of the process on the tour even having the courage and knowledge to answer a couple of the questions… with confidence.  Mind you, the subject was Rose Champagne and V has been paying attention.

We then headed for Dunkirk.  A place I am drawn to for no personal reason but for the history and the significance of the place.  We arrived early afternoon and set about finding parking in a town where restricted access was the order of the day. A stroll up the promenade with restaurants, cafes and carnies in front of some magnificent beach homes that had survived the war on one side and tacky beach huts on the other side, blocking the view of the sea.  Fat and tanned retirees were spread out at the back of the huts, sheltering from the wind just made my thoughts of the place so, so wrong.  My ideals were shattered.  This was not a memorial, a sanctuary to all those that lost their lives, this was a cheap and shoddy ‘Hi De Hi holiday camp’.  Disappointed but happy that the place was heaving with people and fucking dogs, we stopped at a waterfront café for Moules et frites (Mussels and chips) and V had a Salmon Lasagne.  I’m glad we made the effort, I just couldn’t imagine how different it must have been back then.  We’ll have to wait for the movie which is due out next month.

 

Bonjournee …. V and Me

The Pork Pie has Been Sourced

22 June 2017

 

The Hallowed Pork Pie

 

The demand from Vanessa that we only fly Premium from now on is testament that it was worth my last years’ bonus being splashed out on airfares.

The Dora the Explorer conference can’t have been on this year as our flight to Hong Kong was not full of Dora lookalikes of all ages as was the last time I flew in this direction.  It was fairly uneventful as flying goes but the early morning champagne before breakfast for the honeymooners was much appreciated.  Not sure what the plebs in cattle class were eating but you know it is going to be good when you get a menu to choose from and 2 kilos of chilled cutlery each time a repast was offered. My suitcase weighed in at 19 kilos but of that 19, the contraband chocolate and all things Pineapple Lumps accounted for 9 kilos.

Holy crap.  The flight from HK to London was a very long 13+ hours.  We took off early morning, a little late as we had to wait for some rough weather to pass but as soon as we did, we were offered a light meal as opposed to a breakfast then the lights went out and we were in darkness including the shades on the windows all closed.  I think the little HongKonese staff toddled off to bed themselves, so the movies got a thrashing again.  Very weird indeed.

First day on the loose (Wednesday), we headed to the nearest sizeable town to sort out phones and stuff and to let the wallet open and close freely.  Praise the Lord, pass the tambourine and Hallelujah in no time at all, we had found the mini pork pies that I covet so so much. As they were priced at 3 packs for a few pounds, we took them up on their offer.  At the point of writing this, I have report we have lost a pack so are down to a dozen of these morsels.  V has declared her love of them too so competition for them is now at all 4 of us vying for them.  Before we could settle down, we were frog marched to the ‘Allotment’ where we saw the politics and selfishness of fellow gardeners first hand.  Using sprinklers thus taking water pressure away from others… how inconvenient.  The lads have been very industrious with vege and fruit growing.  We are being force fed strawberries and berries and salads almost hourly.

Today saw us toddle off to Camden town to indulge in the wacky markets.  It took me back to the days of strolling through the Cook St markets in Auckland with Annie Wyness ….incense and beads competed with the obligatory t-shirts, hoodies and food stalls.  But they had much more and V managed to but a top from nearly every stall even though she has a suitcase full of them already. One can never have too many tops and jandals.  We did a lot of walking in the middle of the road as it seems safer that way with all the mad men running down pedestrians.  The poms seemed to appreciate it and tooted at me often.  I think they had empathy for us or they were just pleased to see us. Waving to them just seemed to encourage more tooting….what a friendly bunch we thought.  We avoided all potential bomber looking people or those with big coats and backpacks …. Can’t trust the bastards is our motto.  Anything that looked like a rubbish bag was also treated with care.

Going wine tasting tonight ….because we can and is our want. Tomorrow is unplanned at this point but an early night tomorrow as we are off to Champagne at stupid o’clock Saturday morning.  The things we put ourselves through in the name of culinary research!  A quick weekend trip and a stopover in Dunkirk to soak in the history…. Well it’s on the way.  Apparently there is also an obligatory stop required in Calais before loading the car on the train, to a supermarche for some duty free alcohol.  We are not wasting any opportunity.

Take care, we are…. V and Me