First up, my beloved made it home. Yes, after languishing without hope in London, he seized the initiative and made his way back here. As it turns out, a wise move. The indications are that he would have been unlikely to have made it home for Xmas if he’d kept faith with BA and BAA.
Then, some not so good news: despite two weeks notice, we were advised by the owners of the chalet we were renting between Xmas and New Year, that it wouldn’t be ready in time. A quick search on the internet turned up little in the way of alternatives. Our skiing trip was cancelled.
The doorbell rang, it was the local fire brigade with their Xmas calendar: one of the great surprises of 2009 and an instant hit with the ladies. Yes, Cagnes sur Mer’s finest had bared all. Sadly, and most disappointingly, this year they had opted to pose in their uniforms, with their big red fire trucks. I took the opportunity this evening to express my disappointment to M Le President with the request that he convey my desire for a repeat of last yeat’s treat. One of the club members, hearing of my disappointment, suggested that maybe the club could have a revealing calendar for next year. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that generally cyclists look better in their lycra than without it. I just told him that I appreciated the thought.
Following on from last Xmas’s diary fiasco, I had advised my husband that Xmas presents were not required. I had hoped he would heed my sound advice. He didn’t. While, whiling away his time in London he decided to buy me something which he assured me I would enjoy. I felt like a soccer manager who’s just been told he has the full support of the Board, waiting for the inevitable axe to fall, in my case, on Xmas Eve.
Actually, it fell on the same day. My husband turned out his pockets and wallet to give me all the receipts from his trip. One was from a bookshop for two cookery books. Two books which I would never, ever have bought myself. On the one hand, I do appreciate the thought. On the other hand, after so many year’s of marriage, it’s disturbing how little he understands me, or knows my likes and dislikes. Yes, once again he had shot himself in the foot. The books met none of my cookery book criteria. They were not by a well known cook whose cooking I rate, nor were each of the recipes illustrated with a photograph, nor were they what I refer to as cookery porn: that’s to say, beautifully photographed dishes that I would probably never cook but which give me ideas and inspiration. I feel mean complaining but he’s wasted his money, again.
He has sought to rectify matters by whisking me away for a romantic couple of days at one of my favourite hotels. Weather permitting, we’ll be able to cycle in the surrounding countryside before relaxing in the Spa and then indulging ourselves over dinner. He’s also treating me to a romantic dinner “a deux” at one of our local Michelin starred restaurants. I’m sure he’s hoping that these two lovely surprises will cancel out the less pleasant ones. I’m sure they will…………………………………
Friday Postscript: Romantic, gourmet dinner was indeed excellent.
