Friday, August 20
The France Diaries: Two
Day Six - Monday 9th
7:22pm
Morning- More lying around bored.
Early afternoon- Trudging around a slightly more developed French town. Sampled the delights of a waffle laden with very dark chocolate, observed many masts of boats, saw an advert in the window of what I remember to be a pharmacy, with a lady completly topless and exposed on it. Wonder how that'd go down back at work.
Later afternoon- Went off to another beach. Still plenty hot chicks, more coarse sand, and waves that rode taller than me at some points. Tried catching some waves on the body board, until the waves decided that they had other plans, and tried drowning me. Worth it, though...
10:27pm
Tempted by the delights of the bar, but I'm physically knackered. Not just tired, but it feels like the crap has been royally beaten out of me. Which it has - these were waves big and powerful enough to make one scared of the ocean.
Have finally completed five Henry Skull comics. We therefore have a week-long spectacular of skull-comics for you upon my return. Which, upon youe reading, will probably amount to "next week". Meh...
Day Seven - Tuesday 10th
1:53pm
We've been here a week then.
Went to a market today, and once again observed how fucking cruel the French are to their animals. Chickens in crates. Piglets and puppies, sat in the blazing sun, being used as marketing tools. How nice.
Big Brother bought a ridiculous hat. I cannot describe the sheer stupidity of this hat through words, so just take my word for it. Little Brother "bought" a new shovel and a boules set. And I bought a new, larger, djambe-type drum from one of the many African stall-holders you find at French markets. I'll need to eBay off the old one when I get back to Blighty.
Then we visited a hypermarket, as is the tradition, and saw the live crabs, as is also the tradition. We also got to see halved crabs too, which were relativly nauseating.
I'm covered in mosquito bites - 19 at the last count. Everyone else seems to have gotten off with only one or two each. Do the useless parasites like the cannabis in my blood or something? Do they end up getting the munchies and coming back for another bite? As a result, my hard-line approach to stopping the rest of the family has been totally dropped in relation to mosuitos. I splattered at least three of the bastards myself last night, and I still found one hiding in my bed the morning after, empty of blood itself, but surely with a grin on its needle.
7:03pm
The tally of insect bites has risen to 21. Bastards.
Went to the beach. It was cold.
Day Eight - Wednesday 11th
8:54pm
The insect bites are becoming ridiculous. I can't even be arsed to count how many I've had now. I spent half an hour hunting for the bleeders and squashing anything with long legs and a small body, coated myself and my bed (the sofa - the only comftable sleeping place avaliable) in insect repellant, and I still woke up with at least two more bites.
Took a trip to Noirmoutier Island today, remarkable for its castle, salt marshes identical to the ones on the mainland, and general tourist-trappings. Did find another weapons shop, however, which is always fun. Was tempted to buy a hand crossbow for €15, but the thought of explaining it to Customs ("I brought it out with me..."), and trying to keep it away from the wrong people (visions of Little Brother skewering people with it spring to mind) stayed my hand.
Still haven't attempted any of my literacy projects yet. Must get on with it.
Texted K80 and TinyOne, who disagree with my synopsis that its raining back home. This does mean that I'm almost slap-bang out of credit. 49p a text? Blimey...
9:23pm
Its worth noting that the title held by the Vauxhall Corsa in England (ie, "Car Most Frequently Sighted By Chyld") is held in France by the familys car type, the Citroen Xsara Picasso. What correlation there is between "tiny saloon car" and "hulking great family car" remains to be seen.
Day Nine - Thursday 12th
2:02pm
Another hypermarket trip, more out of need for something to do during the rain than dire need of supplies. The only funny thing to be drawn from the experience was a bottle of washing up liquid, with a picture of a 1950's 'good wife' throwing a two-finger salute. Quality stuff.
8:04pm
After an afternoon of doing not very much at all, we did a short tour of some of the windmills of the area. Which would have been a lot easier if our tour guide at the first windmill had spoken English. It's a shame, it sounded like an interesting commentary, only it involved more French than one learns at GCSE level.
Day Ten - Friday 13th
11:41am
Friday the Thirteenth, then. Bad luck, or death by Jason Voorhees? I'll leave it up to the court. Either way, it ain't going to be affecting me, unless the weather's tied to the day, in which case, we're a bit fucked. Since its the last beach trip at this site, and its not really very sunny at the moment. Whoopsicles.
1:20pm
Beach trip abandoned, because its too bloody cold. Plus, it looks like it may rain. Off for lunch.
8:32pm
After the torrential rain that inevitably came, we decided to go to the biggest town in the area for a shopping trip. Rather ironically, this was the point where the sun decided to come out. Fortunatly, there was a convenient glorious beach to hand, so we made use of it, with the time-honoured rituals of "digging a bloody great hole in the beach", "splashing around like a smacktard in the sea" and "acquiring a tan".
Then we wandered round the tatty tourist shops. Big Brother brought a badge and (god help us all) a dreamcatcher, one of those daft things with a spiderweb-thing and feathers that Native Americans use for, erm, catching bad dreams. Yeah. I bought a T-shirt decalring "Marilise Legaluana", and a skull and crossbones wristband. My Lucky 13 band has been very faithful, but I've worn it nearly every day for a day off of six months exactly, and its a wee bit filthy.
Last night in the Vendee, then we're off to another campsite in Brittany. I'd like to hope that I'll have a bit more luck with the ladies there, but lets be honest, I'm on a family holiday, not a great time to get to know new people. Patience Chyld, Reading isn't too long away. At any rate, I did get to see the sights of many beautiful French women in bikinis. A fairly good remedy for getting dumped, I'd say.
7:22pm
Morning- More lying around bored.
Early afternoon- Trudging around a slightly more developed French town. Sampled the delights of a waffle laden with very dark chocolate, observed many masts of boats, saw an advert in the window of what I remember to be a pharmacy, with a lady completly topless and exposed on it. Wonder how that'd go down back at work.
Later afternoon- Went off to another beach. Still plenty hot chicks, more coarse sand, and waves that rode taller than me at some points. Tried catching some waves on the body board, until the waves decided that they had other plans, and tried drowning me. Worth it, though...
10:27pm
Tempted by the delights of the bar, but I'm physically knackered. Not just tired, but it feels like the crap has been royally beaten out of me. Which it has - these were waves big and powerful enough to make one scared of the ocean.
Have finally completed five Henry Skull comics. We therefore have a week-long spectacular of skull-comics for you upon my return. Which, upon youe reading, will probably amount to "next week". Meh...
Day Seven - Tuesday 10th
1:53pm
We've been here a week then.
Went to a market today, and once again observed how fucking cruel the French are to their animals. Chickens in crates. Piglets and puppies, sat in the blazing sun, being used as marketing tools. How nice.
Big Brother bought a ridiculous hat. I cannot describe the sheer stupidity of this hat through words, so just take my word for it. Little Brother "bought" a new shovel and a boules set. And I bought a new, larger, djambe-type drum from one of the many African stall-holders you find at French markets. I'll need to eBay off the old one when I get back to Blighty.
Then we visited a hypermarket, as is the tradition, and saw the live crabs, as is also the tradition. We also got to see halved crabs too, which were relativly nauseating.
I'm covered in mosquito bites - 19 at the last count. Everyone else seems to have gotten off with only one or two each. Do the useless parasites like the cannabis in my blood or something? Do they end up getting the munchies and coming back for another bite? As a result, my hard-line approach to stopping the rest of the family has been totally dropped in relation to mosuitos. I splattered at least three of the bastards myself last night, and I still found one hiding in my bed the morning after, empty of blood itself, but surely with a grin on its needle.
7:03pm
The tally of insect bites has risen to 21. Bastards.
Went to the beach. It was cold.
Day Eight - Wednesday 11th
8:54pm
The insect bites are becoming ridiculous. I can't even be arsed to count how many I've had now. I spent half an hour hunting for the bleeders and squashing anything with long legs and a small body, coated myself and my bed (the sofa - the only comftable sleeping place avaliable) in insect repellant, and I still woke up with at least two more bites.
Took a trip to Noirmoutier Island today, remarkable for its castle, salt marshes identical to the ones on the mainland, and general tourist-trappings. Did find another weapons shop, however, which is always fun. Was tempted to buy a hand crossbow for €15, but the thought of explaining it to Customs ("I brought it out with me..."), and trying to keep it away from the wrong people (visions of Little Brother skewering people with it spring to mind) stayed my hand.
Still haven't attempted any of my literacy projects yet. Must get on with it.
Texted K80 and TinyOne, who disagree with my synopsis that its raining back home. This does mean that I'm almost slap-bang out of credit. 49p a text? Blimey...
9:23pm
Its worth noting that the title held by the Vauxhall Corsa in England (ie, "Car Most Frequently Sighted By Chyld") is held in France by the familys car type, the Citroen Xsara Picasso. What correlation there is between "tiny saloon car" and "hulking great family car" remains to be seen.
Day Nine - Thursday 12th
2:02pm
Another hypermarket trip, more out of need for something to do during the rain than dire need of supplies. The only funny thing to be drawn from the experience was a bottle of washing up liquid, with a picture of a 1950's 'good wife' throwing a two-finger salute. Quality stuff.
8:04pm
After an afternoon of doing not very much at all, we did a short tour of some of the windmills of the area. Which would have been a lot easier if our tour guide at the first windmill had spoken English. It's a shame, it sounded like an interesting commentary, only it involved more French than one learns at GCSE level.
Day Ten - Friday 13th
11:41am
Friday the Thirteenth, then. Bad luck, or death by Jason Voorhees? I'll leave it up to the court. Either way, it ain't going to be affecting me, unless the weather's tied to the day, in which case, we're a bit fucked. Since its the last beach trip at this site, and its not really very sunny at the moment. Whoopsicles.
1:20pm
Beach trip abandoned, because its too bloody cold. Plus, it looks like it may rain. Off for lunch.
8:32pm
After the torrential rain that inevitably came, we decided to go to the biggest town in the area for a shopping trip. Rather ironically, this was the point where the sun decided to come out. Fortunatly, there was a convenient glorious beach to hand, so we made use of it, with the time-honoured rituals of "digging a bloody great hole in the beach", "splashing around like a smacktard in the sea" and "acquiring a tan".
Then we wandered round the tatty tourist shops. Big Brother brought a badge and (god help us all) a dreamcatcher, one of those daft things with a spiderweb-thing and feathers that Native Americans use for, erm, catching bad dreams. Yeah. I bought a T-shirt decalring "Marilise Legaluana", and a skull and crossbones wristband. My Lucky 13 band has been very faithful, but I've worn it nearly every day for a day off of six months exactly, and its a wee bit filthy.
Last night in the Vendee, then we're off to another campsite in Brittany. I'd like to hope that I'll have a bit more luck with the ladies there, but lets be honest, I'm on a family holiday, not a great time to get to know new people. Patience Chyld, Reading isn't too long away. At any rate, I did get to see the sights of many beautiful French women in bikinis. A fairly good remedy for getting dumped, I'd say.
