Last day in France

 One more day to go I thought as I walked downstairs into the kitchen. I heard Jolyon coughing and wheezing outside, a cigarette in one hand and his ventilator in another. He announced he was not very well, that he felt ‘broken’ and needed to walk it off around the lakes. He grabbed his cigarettes and ventilator and proceeded to march through the village like Captain Mannering on a mission. I was also feeling pretty horrid and after a strong coffee and some croissant I lay down on Mum’s bed to rest. Because of her broken leg & ankle (another story) she had made up a small bed downstairs. Her kindly neighbours also gave her a pulley to lift herself in and out of bed and a Zimmer frame!! Her sitting room and dining room resembled a hospital ward.

An hour or so into my rest I heard Jolyon march into the kitchen announcing he was feeling much better and could he now order scrambled eggs on toast and coffee. Clearly he had forgotten Mum was practically crippled, and I made it known to him by screaming from my sick bed what a lazy git he was and he should cook it himself!! I then fell back to sleep until I was rudely awoken by the girls who decided it was rather fun to stick their little fingers up my nose. At this point I realised I would never get any rest and got up. Somebody had to ring Avis to arrange for a taxi to collect us and take us back to Bordeaux airport tomorrow. The number on the Avis contract was dead and I had to call their Paris office. After 20 minutes of holding and listening to various recorded messages I was beginning to get very annoyed. At last I was put through to Shona who assured me a taxi would arrive at our house at 08.30am, it would be big enough for 3 adults and 2 children, and also have child seats.

Our flight was 6pm, but we just wanted to get to the airport and Avis were not willing to send a taxi any later in the day. Relieved that we were all sorted Carolyn and me took the girls for a walk around the one small supermarket in the village – Maxi! It was closed. So we walked back to Mum’s and watched Dickinsons Deal with Jolyon.

That evening we all decided to hit the hay early in order to be ready for the taxi. It had been a nice day, at least Carolyn and the twins were feeling better. As I closed the shutters I could hear Jolyon coughing and wheezing below. He was sitting in his little plastic chair outside the kitchen having his final fag and snifter. Mum’s pulley was slowly placing her head on her pillow and the girls were grunting like a couple of piglets. One more sleep to go and then off home.

Center Parcs

We decided to go on a family holiday. Horrah I thought as I rushed upstairs to wipe the dust of my Ambre Solaire oil and try in vain to squeeze into my kini (last worn in Corfu). I checked out where was hot and decided Canary Islands or Egypt. We would stay in a 5 star hotel and I would spend all day by the sea soaking up the sun while Carolyn would tend to the children. I had it all worked out. Sun HERE I RUDDY COME. And then my dream was shattered. Carolyn announced she had booked 4 days in Center Parcs in Longleat, with our 2 year old twins, Ruby & Vivien. We leave on Monday. Back on Friday. I gather we live in a shack in the woods under a dome with other ‘families’. And we cycle everywhere. God ruddy help me.

Follow my blog to find out exactly how our holiday went.

Wine Tasting and Hangovers

Monday 6th August – Wine Tasting & Hangovers

I sat at the bar and swallowed two Nurofen. I felt shocking. My head hurt and my stomach was making strange noises. Jesse & Coco were in the kitchen prepping for lunch, the smell made me queasy. The cough mixture lady was sitting at the bar. Her top was tucked into her leggings and she kept sticking her tongue through the gap in her teeth. I watched her arm fat flapping as she tried to swat a fly. I ordered another coffee and people watched. They were all quite odd. Possibly interbred. I bit into the biscuit and for some reason sucked in the air – the biscuit hit the back of my throat and I coughed so hard my eyes & front bottom watered. A strange looking man with a strawberry nose got me some water.

Our trip to date had been an utter disaster. Our intention was to come and see our Brother before his double transplant. Our plan was to spend some quality time with him, have a bit of family bonding. What actually happened is Jolyon got drunk and fell asleep in his dinner on day one, got drunk on day 2 and last night he got so drunk he pissed himself.

My head was throbbing. Jolyon had still not emerged from the apartment so I assumed he was not coming. My stomach was making funny rumbling noises and I prayed I wouldn’t get caught short. Jesse came out with Sergio who was driving us to the Chateaux above Marcillac for the wine tasting. I was not looking forward to this.

I sat in the back of his car swaying from left to right, trying hard not to vomit. The Black Crows were playing very loudly. He drove like a possessed man through the French countryside, occasionally mounting the verge. Jesse sat in the front rolling his cigarette and speaking French. I tried to converse, but as my only sentence in French was, “another large one please,” I kept quiet. At one point I thought I was going to puke and pass a poo at the same time. Wind was building up but I could not let it go in the car – I had to hold on until we reached the Chateaux. I was in pain.

We took a corner and drove up into the hills. The roads got thinner, I felt sicker, and Sergio drove faster. I prayed we would arrive shortly. I pulled an extra strong mint out of my bag and sucked violently. Right now, I wanted to be anywhere but in the back of this car. It was hot, with no aircon. My head hurt, I had wind, and possibly a runny bottom. This was the kind of recipe that ended in disaster. I wanted to go home.

At last the car slowed as we drove up a bumpy lane and into the grounds of the most exquisite Chateaux. As I surveyed the beauty and lusciousness around me I suddenly had the urge to puke. I leant out of the window and noticed a dead dog on the gravel. I shouted to Serge to stop the car. As we pulled to a sudden halt a ruddy faced man with long furry sideburns rushed out and picked up the dog and placed him in the barn. The dog was not dead. Just old and crusty. And so smelly I retched.

Michael Durand was the proprietor and chief wine maker. He owned the chateaux with his brother and between them made wonderful red wine that the supermarkets had just found out about. I asked for the WC and ran like the wind. As I threw my tanner lady into the bin I surveyed the room. Thankfully it was a toilet, but it was grubby and old fashioned. I walked out and thru an equally old fashioned kitchen. Michael Durand the proprietor was standing outside talking to Jesse and Serge. It was about 33 degrees.  My stomach was making strange noises again and the stinky dog has its nose in my front bottom. I joined the boys and tried to look interested as I carefully kneed the dog away. I had no idea what they were talking about so I laughed when everybody else laughed and this made him talk directly to me.

40 minutes later the wine tasting starts.  We move to a barn and down some stairs. And then we all turn around and walk back up the stairs. I am given a grubby plastic cup. I am poured a thimble full of wine and take a sip. Fucking horrible!! I looked at the boys around me as they swirled it around their mouth and then swallowed. They were all nodding their heads and clearly enjoying it. I could barely swallow the stuff. We were then given another thimble full of wine. This was lovely. I smiled at Mr Blusher and he started talking to me again. I suppressed a yawn and looked at Jesse in despair. I pushed the dog out of my ass again and decided to walk towards the car. I whispered to Jesse I liked the second taster we had and would like to purchase half a dozen bottles. And could we hurry up. I felt sick. I wanted to go home. And that godforsaken dog was pissing me off.

Finally the deal was done and we left. We cruised into Cransac and jumped out at the bar. No sign of Jolyon yet. No sign of Fred the alcoholic.

The cough mixture woman was eating her lunch. It was a disgusting sight to see the food swirling around in her mouth and then flying out onto the table. I decided to head back to the apartment to see if Jolyon was still alive.

The Cough Mixture Lady and Synchronized Swimming

 Saturday 4th August – Cransac

The alarm clock on his phone woke me up at 6am, then again at 6.05am, 6.10am, 6.15am, 6.20am – at 6.30am I jumped out of bed, ran into the sitting room and threw his phone on the floor. It stopped. Jolyon was on the sofa bed, head down, fully clothed. His breathing was heavy and staggered, like a wild boar slowly dying in the wilderness. He was lying diagonally with his stinky feet over the edge of the bed. By his mouth was a puddle of dribble. The stale cigarette stench, alcohol fumes and ageing bottom burps hit my nostrils and I found myself once more with my cupped hand over my mouth.

Our apartment was on the road and to enter it one had to slip a key into a keyhole, twist it, and watch as a heavy grey metal shutter slowly ascended. Therefore you could not open the window at night to air the place – I had to suffer the stench of my brother for another 3 nights. I shuddered at the thought.

I needed air and opened up the shutter and walked up to the bar for breakfast. I bumped into the stinky woman with no teeth. She gave me a funny look and grunted bonjour. She wore a rag on her head, an old dress over a pair of leggings and boots – it was a hot day! She would sit in the bar and cough, deep gut wrenching coughs that would usually end up with her bent over double and then spitting something out onto the pavement. She never drank alcohol though – instead she was addicted to cough mixture and drank up to 4 bottles a day.

I finished my coffee and took a walk into the town. It was empty. No shops, no supermarkets, no nothing. It was eerily quiet. I power walked back to the bar and wrote my blog.

At the apartment Jolyon remained in exactly the same position – face down. He woke as I came out of the shower and asked me to look at his feet. He seemed concerned that Cath (his girlfriend) had noticed blemishes and the odd lump. As he peeled off his sweaty socks I saw the claws poke through and stepped back making a cross sign with my fingers. The sight and smell of what lived in his socks was too much – I retreated to my room and sucked hard on a mint, I looked in the mirror and thought for a brief second my mouth resembled my cat’s ass. I had to get out of this place.

We headed back to the bar for midday and had the plat du jour. Like Jolyon, Jesse is a great cook and has treated the locals to some fabulous dishes. The wine was ordered, the food came and went. We stared at the strange array of nutters entering the bar. I assumed there must be a hospital for ‘special’ people somewhere. Fred the alcoholic arrived in his usual attire – military trousers, military tee-shirt and boots. He kissed me and laughed out loud at Jolyon. With nothing more to do we purchased scratch cards for the afternoon and lost a small fortune. I went back to the apartment to watch the synchronised swimming. Jolyon did not.

The text said Help Saz. Joe pissed. Can you come and get him. As I closed the shutters I could hear the sound of Wild Rover – yet the lyrics were not as I knew them. As I neared the bar I realised it was Jolyon singing. I walked in and found him with one arm around the toothless cough mixture womanr and one arm around Loola. Coco was filling his glass with Hendricks. He was banging the bar with his hands and stamping his feet. He called me sweet pea and I gagged. He grabbed me to him and started singing again, but the words were random. He said Ho Ho Ho and I said Time to Go! We carried him home and once again he was thrown onto the sofa bed face down where he remained until morning.

Could I really cope with another 2 nights of this? I sprayed some of my perfume in the sitting room and went to bed. Tomorrow I was going to the market with Jesse and then we were having lunch in the next town.

As I fell into sleep, I replayed in my head the Spanish synchronised swimming team until I was rudely interrupted by a grunt and groan from the stench pit next door. And then nothing.