Blogging Along

It was only a week ago that I started my blog and I have already broken most of the original rules I set myself. I vowed never to talk about the weather but I’m afraid that I’m an Englishman and it is impossible for any Englishman (or woman) not to talk about the weather. I vowed not to overdo the “ranting” bit, and already I am sounding like a Victor Meldrew-clone. I vowed to blog steadily (one every two days), but I seem to be composing either blogs several days apart, or several hours apart. I vowed not to use the blog as a sort of child-like diary (“this morning we got up and had toast for breakfast. Then we went to school with…”) and yet today’s contribution seems to be just that. I vow to improve, especially as the quality isn’t up to much so far.

The last couple of days in France have been great. It’s yet another four-day break from work and I’m aware that when I get back on Monday I’m in for a horrible period of virtually running my business single-handed. The daughter said yesterday that “men can’t multi-task”, and I have a nasty suspicion that she’s right. Oh heck! How will I get on running exhibitions in London, whilst at the same-time performing all the different jobs associated with running a mail-order and internet bookselling business? I fear that I know the answer already.

We went to collect wine from Fleurie, having crossed from Portsmouth to Le Havre on Wednesday night. Sharing a cabin with the daughter as well as the wife had its dangerous moments, mostly concerning the indiscriminate use of a fly-swat after lights out. But it certainly made a change from Eurotunnel. The morning drive south from Le Havre was memorable for an off-autoroute stop in a small French town where we found good coffee, and an excellent bakery. The daughter’s help with the driving was a real bonus (“Ranting Nappa” snoring loudly from the back seat), and hotel rooms and restaurants yesterday evening were all fine.

Our dinner in Madame Chagny’s excellent Michelin-starred Restaurant Cep in Fleurie took so long to be served (as is normal in that restaurant) that we were able to enjoy watching some great cameo performances from other diners:

* The inevitable Belgian, this one a Mike Reed lookalike, was accompanied by his (typically Belgian) wife to whom he addressed not a single word throughout the entire meal.

* An American couple, a seemingly harmless woman who made the mistake of sharing a table with one of those awful men who you just want to hit (apologies for revealing my latent violent nature, but it's like road rage when you are a natural "ranter"). Presumably her partner or husband, Cedric was about five foot tall, hair parted in the middle, thick (possibly surgically-enhanced) lips, and a whining voice that made anyone who could hear him (and that was everyone in the restaurant) cringe. He demanded exact information about every dish, wondered if he could "go large" on one, and inevitably left the small matter of paying the bill to his companion. Ugh!

* A table of eight elderly English on the other hand was just so well-behaved that it seemed unreal. Normally English people sitting around a table in a restaurant will all talk (or mostly talk) loudly and at the same time. As the meal progresses they will get louder (and drunker). But this party behaved impeccably. It seemed that they would only ever have one person talking at a time and that very quietly while the others listened attentively. They also seemed very happy, totally uncomplaining, and wholly at home in their surroundings. A wonder to behold.