My French Life

Woke up early to empty almost dead hoover and ensure it still worked.  Today is cleaning day chez moi.  I have help.  Together, Aline and I move like Jagger might if he knew about spray wax and limescale remover. In French.

My jobs are bathrooms and toilets (under all rims), on the basis that I wouldn't want to clean anybody else's, so why should I ask Aline to clean mine.  My sister says I shouldn't pay a cleaner and then clean myself.  We ain't going to agree on this one.

So, with blue sky, sunshine and military jets zooming by outside, we turned up the volume and danced through the housework.

All fairly routine by now.  Won't bore you with it.  No events to report.

The nice part came at 12.30 when Al (my husband) swept me off my feet with a lunchtime proposition. We popped next door to eat at our local restaurant.  Tuna salad followed by cod with leeks and mushrooms, followed by a café gourmand.

 I couldn't manage all mine due to the fact that I've lost ten kilos and my stomach is now the size of an apple.  Al, my husband, was delighted to 'share'.

Back to work on my latest novel, which is in its umpteenth draft.  I'm approaching 'the trial', which (after hours of research) needs to be re-written because Al says the verdict is unreasonable.  He's right.  I have my laptop, my notes and annotations, and two hours to spare before I have to be somewhere else.  Hence my sudden interest in writing a blog post.  I shall soon be making tea, putting on the washing and nipping to the post office.

 Thought you'd like to see my logs.

Happy Days