It's all the Seine to me.

Well, Paris was fab. Bert looked after our wellbeing by making sure we didn't overdo the Metro and got plenty of walking done. There was a lot of sightseeing and general mooching, some nice meals out, and not nearly enough sitting in pavement cafés watching the world go by.

Just in case the sights weren't sufficient in themselves, Bert provided us with some additional entertainment.

If you read my post on Taking the biscuit, you'll remember his little trick of leaving half or quarter of the biscuit behind. I was relating this to our friends on holiday, and K suddenly laughed out loud. "You have to see this!" he exclaimed, and fetched a blister pack of Rennie's indigestion tablets that Bert had borrowed earlier in the day.


How on earth do you break a Rennie into four pieces?

What sort of meal requires such a precise amount of digestive assistance?

Why am I living with someone capable of this?


Anyway, here are some memorable quotes from the man himself:

• (On arrival) "Well that's it, no Harveys for a week."

• "The trouble with France is it's so flat."


• "The French have got so much time on their hands." (The evidence for this is that they paint their pylons.)

• "The Louvre is rubbish. It's full of old crappy paintings."


• (When asked what he wanted to do, e.g. Montmartre, Eiffel Tower, Latin Quarter etc.) "Not fussed. Go to the Agra when I get back."

However, I am glad to report that he thoroughly enjoyed the French wine after all, and had to cart his Aussie stuff back home again. He also consumed the biggest steak I have ever seen. Bert selected the restaurant on the basis of this menu item: 'Côte de bœuf grillée (min. 900g)'. It was of course meant for two which at least saved me deliberating what to have, and I had approximately 50g all to myself. (Oh - maybe that's why he was being careful with the Rennie's earlier in the week.)

Unfortunately I didn't get a photo of the steak, but just to finish off here's Bert enjoying the Parisian sights.




"Hey Bert, look, we're just passing Notre Dame!". Zzzzzzzz.

A Bad Day in Bertville

Well, this conversation could have gone better.

Bert went out last night - I wasn't invited as it was an all-male 'business' dinner. Hmm. Hmmmm.

I was up the garden pottering (we have a very long garden) and Bert yells to me at top volume so the whole neighbourhood can hear, "I can't find my smart trousers anywhere and I'm going to miss the food!" Anyone who knows Bert understands that he really cares about food.

Rather than treat the neighbours to "F*ck off" delivered at the same volume, I stomp down and into the house. Now, explain to me why I then find myself ironing said trousers and sticky-rolling the cat hairs off? Realising my own feebleness did nothing to improve my mood.

I stomped back downstairs and said, "There's your trousers you cheeky f*ck, and is there anything else you'd like the little woman to do before you go out for your man-meal?"

Oh dear. Talk about light the touch paper and retire.

My counsellor is helping me get in touch with my anger. It may be working.