lundi, août 22, 2005

After some consideration and much testing, we've decided we prefer Italian icecream to Berthillon.We'll probably be deported.

Martha thinks there may be some special kind of benefit you are entitled to if you humiliate enough British citizens in a week. Like one free horsemeat steak tartare for every pint of English tears you collect.

Although now I come to think of it it may be less nationally chauvinistic than it first appears. I watched a comedy last night on telly and one of the characters was reduced to tears whilst calling for a cab after midnight. 'Madame, essayez d'etre aimable, je vous implore'. So a) maybe it's not just me (a genuine and understandable, if paranoid, fear that I currently am gripped by) and b) maybe it's not just British people. French people are horrible to everyone. Great.

We went to see Hitchhiker's Guide on Saturday - really good fun, though pretty much for kids. For kids with attendant parents who want to be amused, but not, I think, for adults alone. We saw it at this fantastic cinema over in the 19th - way over east - on the Canal St Martin, lovely and arty and holidayish on a breezy August evening. And outside the cinema as we came out we saw the last dregs of a brocante - sort of carboot sale really, though more romantic (it is called a brocante after all not a carboot sale) - and a rather nice leather club chair on the pavement which hadn't been sold. They wanted 150 euros for it, Cyril thought it was horrible/overpriced/too big/not what we need/uncomfortable; he tried each of these reasons in turn until he caved into the combined pressure of his wife who has really really wanted a chair just like that for about 7 years and his children who for some reason that currently isn't entirely obvious decided that if we didn't buy this very chair they would be robbed of their inheritance and overall right to a happy and successful (both emotional and professional) future as well-balanced and fulfilled individuals. I managed to simultaneously bargain the sellers down to 120 euros and persuade my husband to buy it in a fine display of the ability to hold two mutually exclusive conversations simultaneously (a skill developed thanks to my children's rank refusal to show any respect for my right to have conversations with anyone else in the vicinity or on the telephone if they have something they want to say to me). Now it graces our study, the perfect size, really comfy, just one tiny hole. Nothing like a bargain leather club chair to improve your spirits, I find. Particularly as you get to the end of 10 weeks of school holidays. 10 weeks! It's a wonder we aren't all languishing at the bottom of the Seine. These grandes vacances really are too longues.