19th Nervous Breakdown

And so, the summer holidays which went so well last year we decided to do exactly the same thing again. Mainly because we wanted to bring back a motherlode of cheap vin. This meant another mammoth drive the length of France.

Sadly, the Car was not in great shape, having a bit of a wobble which our local garage inspected, shrugged over and said;

"Might be alright."

So being sensible people, we decided to drive 2200 kilometres in an iffy motor. As we drove around the periferique in Paris, we crossed the Seine where we saw a sign I believe I have translated correctly as;

FERK YEW! NUR ROAD MARKINGS FUR YEW, STUPID ENGLEESH.

Because at that point the road markings vanished. This had no effect on the native French drivers, since they weren't bloody following them anyway. However, we were, and our journey rapidly disintegrated into a maelstrom of stress and blaming each other until we came out the other side.

However, this and a crazy French man playing "Who's lane is it anyway?" aside, we arrived at our beautiful gite unscathed and only slightly disturbed to find the front of the building was held up by three acroprops. A lovely large house, big enough for two families as well as a large number of flies, silverfish and enormous bees that looked like little flying Darth Vaders.

I shall not dwell on the pleasant aspects of the holiday, such as the company of the friends staying with us, or the food or wine or relaxation - since you don't make readers laugh with "had a lovely time, nothing went wrong." The reader friendly highlights involved;

Going to the beach (or, as they call it in French,  "Le ashtray") and the Boy and his friend standing in the sea, eating baguettes and eyeing up two women in bikinis in the least subtle manner possible. (Also, the Boy's friend's sotto voiced "Dad, some of these ladies aren't wearing tops! " as if we hadn't noticed. Which we had. Several times.)

An attempt at a car based game that went;

"Can you say four words that rhyme with: tree? "
Boy "Wee. Me. Three."
Girl "Bibble? Is it bibble?"
"No"
Girl "Ooh! Ooh! Is it whore?"

The moment when, after bravely assisting a family that had driven into a ditch I realised I'd been wearing the Wife's pink sandals.

The Boy in the supermarche pointing at a pack of Tena  for men and asking me if I needed them.

The Boy trying to get out of the way of a car by running in three different directions at once.

But it was the Girl who stole the limelight. We were sitting around the dinner table when, in the style of a Jane Austen protagonist  she suddenly piped up;

"I've got to tell you something. "

We all turned to look at her, and once she gauged all attention was on her she announced;

"I'm preglant."

And potato came out of my nose.

By the time we started the return journey after two weeks the Car  was wobbling like an actress accepting an Oscar. At a service station somewhere near Dijon the Wife and I discussed the likelihood of the car finishing the journey (low), breaking down after we'd got the ferry over to Blighty (even) or keeling over just outside Calais (you bet your sweet arse). This had a fairly dramatic effect on my need for the toilet, so I went off to find the loo.

Initially signs seemed good. Literally. The sign for the men's toilets was this;

Bowel movements! Yay!

Which suggested that either it was going to be the best crap of my life, or a warning about cottaging. It turned out neither of these were true as this was one of those peculiarly French loos which is fundamentally two footmarks and a hole. Now, I love the French, but if after several thousand years your sanitation system still consists of crouching over a hole and praying your aim is good (especially in a country that considers the flip flop it's national footwear), I refuse to accept it as a civilised society.

About two hundred kilometres from Calais the Car started making a WOM WOM WOM that had the word "terminal" written through it like a stick of rock. For nearly two hours we dealt with this by turning the radio up and singing loudly. At one point we were singing Simon and Garfunkel, it was that bad. Somehow we limped onto the ferry and an hour later breathed a sigh relief as the ferry doors opened onto the white cliffs of Dover. The relief was palpable right up until we drove off the ferry into the worst rain storm I have ever seen. It was like someone has turned the sea sideways. On seeing this the Boy collapsed into hysterical laughter and told us it was the funniest rain he had ever seen.

Long story short, we made it back. Two weeks of relaxation totally erased by the journey back. When my Mum asked the Kids what they liked best about their holiday the Boy said;

"Teaching my dog to roll over in Nintendogs."

Whereas the Girl insisted she didn't like France based on the fact that;

"They have pips in their grapes. "

Money well spent, I'm sure you'll agree.