France, frogs and french public loos……

Le Moulin houseMy dearest Lucy,

Huge apologies for my absence but I have only just returned from a hugely relaxing, incident free, DRY WITH NO WINE holiday……… 2 statements of which you know are not true as you were there! It is no secret that I have been wanting to see what all the fuss is about when it comes to La Vendee and more specifically “Le Moulin“, the place that you escape to every opportunity possible and I am so pleased to say, I get it, I absolutely get it.

Not only is Le Moulin a timeless place (by which I mean most of the time you have ABSOLUTELY NO idea what time it is), but it is a place to forget yourself, forget the pressures of normal daily life as a Mum. Infact, I do believe that a couple of times you and I sort of DID forget we were mothers.

I have lost count of the times that the immortal question was posed either from you to me or me to you, “Have you seen the children today?” Of course, we always found them, eventually. I loved the fact that anything post breakfast was essentially gin o’clock, it made the colours of that stunning place so much more vivid than I ever remember seeing in the UK (well weekdays anyway). I really never knew the Vendee could be SO psychedelic. The days seemed to whizz by, I said this to E but he seemed to think that was because you and I did actually lose a few hours each day, I can’t think what he means, must be something to do with the relaxing way we floated through the holiday. The Vendee residents that we met were absolutely delightful, I do feel we may have to set some of them straight that I haven’t actually had a stroke, I just get a little “slow” at certain times of the day and the speech can be a little bit of a struggle and although they did seem to think that my “franglais” was quite good though, it certainly seemed to improve as the evenings progressed.

Of course it was straight back to earth on the journey home which included Spencer laying a dinosaur sized parcel in the middle of a service station for me to pick up much to the amusement of the lorry drivers who rallied around to “spur me on”. There was also the rather regal moment when sat on a French public throne, Alice decided to unlock the door and that sneaky north wind that Joanna Harris writes about flung the door open to reveal to a large group of onlookers what a middle aged mother looks like when caught on the khazi. I had two options, I possibly chose the wrong one ; smiling sweetly, pulling up my jeans and then proceeding to take a series of strange bows and curtseys ……. I got a mixed response of disbelief and serious confusion.

Home now though Lucy, washing done, kids bleached and scrubbed down (the chap at the passport control did have to do a double take – thought I had a couple of little Jurassic kids!) and life gets back to normal. School run tomorrow, let’s see what this term brings heh my lovely friend. But how I miss those sweet Vendee après-midis, Ooooh, would you look at that, still on French time, crack the vino open whilst we still can!

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