We're out of vegemite. And, yes, that's a small jar because it's our back up jar. The main jar was left in London so the back up was called on FAR TOO SOON. Tom is sure to starve. And those freshly baked baguettes just scream for lashings of butter and a smear of veg. I've had to keep the jar to show Tom that I'm telling the truth- NO MORE VEGEMITE. No, there is none at the supermarket. I don't know why they don't make it over here. Yes, I think they're crazy too.
Rod and I have been living on cheese platters. Like this one...
Crackers? NEVER! Just break up a baguette, oui, oui. It is so true, EVERYONE walks around with a 'french bread stick'. Everyone. And, Rod thinks I'm being very un-PC when I say this, but all old French dudes look the same. Short, overweight, berret, cigarette, baguette. I'll get a photo for a future post.
All that cheese and pate, etc is adding a few kilos onto my frame, admittedly. The silver lining? I don't need to iron, as the stretching my clothes have to do immediately eliminates wrinkles. Which is particularly handy as the first day we were here Jules knocked the iron off the board and broke it. Thankyou, fat rolls, you've saved me again.
Another thing about rural France which pleases me no end is the sign posting for the towns. As you already know, I'm a list writer and get great satisfaction in crossing off completed items, so you won't be surprised to know that when I see this driving into a town...
...and this driving out...
...I get an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment. That's DONE! Cross it off. I love it.
Castles? Yep, seen a few of those. And for those of you who can't make it to my slide show dinner party when we get home, here's some photos...
Juliet had just descended these steps, her crying echoing through the tower, 'I want to see a princess! Why have they all died?! I want to see a REAL one, moving and talking.' The recreated scenes with wigged mannequins just didn't cut it, obviously.