Breil sur Roya and a duck

So the locusts have departed having depleted my fridge to danger level, both sprogs gone on the same day. Tears of joy from me, tears of a different kind from that nice lady decorator, although she will deny it. At least with the euro nearly at 1.20 to the pound according to Currencies Direct, it was cheaper having them home for half term than the last holiday at Christmas.

A post Peachy hangover was, as expected, to the fore, and I would have liked a Bloody Mary yesterday lunchtime to ease the pain but the night before last that nice lady decorator once again drew attention to a tiny bit of extra weight she claims I am carrying. She alluded to what could be achieved by using the example of a dear friend who has lost a lot of weight due to a cancer scare and subsequent chemotherapy. There is only one conclusion one can draw. The clear implication was that she wanted me to be lose weight and if that meant being diagnosed with cancer, so be it.

It is a slightly tenuous link, but talk of weight loss implies dieting and that brings me to an expression “salad dodgers” which was used at dinner by Peachy on Saturday night. I had not heard that phrase before but it seems I may have been type cast. He is a confirmed salad dodger himself and I am very content in mid summer to consider a salad as long as there is a copious amount of salad cream to smother the taste, but salads in winter? Not a concept any right thinking red-blooded male can consider.

You will note that I have said salad cream and here let me be straight I am talking about Heinz Salad cream and not that very poor impersonation of the classic creation called mayonnaise. There is a great difference. And tomatoes? Spawn of the devil.

Casting around for a picture this morning I discovered this shot I took at Breil sur Roya on the French/Italian border on the way back from Limone. Moody huh? Apart from that duck in  the middle of the river

Eat your heart out David Bailey

Another tenuous link; I admit I may have been a little moody myself yesterday. A hangover, no hair of the dog, a cup of tea last night instead of a glass of wine, I have every right to be moody. This state of affairs is planned to continue until Wednesday midday when lunch with any number of suspect characters at the Auberge St Donat will probably see me breaking the alcoholic fast upon which I am now embarked, if it still in place by then.

Hop along decorator is still getting me to do loads of the jobs she was clearly born to as her sprained ankle seems to be taking a suspiciously long time to get better. Anyone suggesting that she may be milking the situation would be entirely correct. I know it was X-rayed but I want a second opinion.

This means that dog walking duties in the wonderful Valmasque forest have fallen to me exclusively. With two dogs and two adults (well nearly adults, stay with me) normally striding out together naturally I take responsibility for that fine old English Springer, Max the family dog, kind, honest, obedient, tolerant and good-looking whilst that nice lady decorator wrestles with the disobedient, cantankerous, sneaky, smelly, neurotic kleptomaniac, overweight 33 kilo (!),intolerant Cocker Spaniel Banjo, whom she foisted upon this household against my proven daily better judgement. No wonder then I need that nice lady decorator back on her feet.

Chris France