Isle of Wight – Day 2

Tuesday 25^th July.

I awoke with a start, I had no idea where I was. My sticky left eye hurt as I tried to peel it open. Another menopausal delight I have had to suffer with. Fuck, I had left my very expensive sticky eye mist at home. I grabbed my glass of water and gently tipped it onto my eyelid. As the cool liquid flowed down my cheek I noticed Ruby at the end of the bed staring at me. Don’t ask I screeched as she ran out crying.  The water engulfed my ruddy face and I coughed and spluttered and swore to the almighty above.

The noise from the kitchen was causing me concern. Carolyn was explaining to the girls why we could not take scooters, dollies, a skateboard and a ruddy Buzz Lightyear toy to the beach.  I screamed from the bedroom, NO NO NO! And coughed a little.

I dragged my aching bones into the kitchen regretting guzzling the cheap bottle of bubbles to myself last night.  Since Carolyn had stopped drinking I feel as though I have lost a limb. My lip quivered for a nano second, a sadness engulfed me, and then went away.  I walked into the kitchen, my skeletal toes crackled with each slow step. I swallowed my calcium tabs, my vitamin tabs, my thyroid tabs, a couple of nurofen and drank my daily pint of hot water and lemon. Today we were off to the beach and I felt like shit!

We left the house like a family of gypsies. Bags of towels, bags of buckets of spades, bags of food and bags of ruddy bags. FFS I thought, I used to laugh out loud at families like us – now I’m one of them. I decided not to bring my bathing suit, I had slipped it on in Henley before we left and was quite shocked to see how much weight I had put on. I had fatty testicles hanging from under each armpit, fat wings on my back and what I can only describe as a front bottom asshole.  As I stood in front of the mirror with my tight shiny suit on, arms up, legs apart, there was no way I could be seen in any ruddy country in any ruddy sea.  I walked across my room, feeling a slight pinch around my nether regions.  I was too old for this – give me an old pair of black knickers and a beach in St Tropez where my titties can spread their wings and fall like udders covered in Ambre Solaire oil anyday.  I’m no swimming costume kinda gal.  With that I ripped it off and binned it.

The beach was sandy and pebbly. The tide was out. The coffee/bar was open and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The girls skipped and danced with excitement. It was quite a long way to the sea as the tide was so far out, but I managed to find a good spot on the pebbles. And so we started to unpack, and unpack, and lay down the rugs, the towels, and get out the plastic crap. I managed to bundle all the towels under my head so I was not uncomfortable as I continued to read my Mindfulness book. I turned on my kindle and started to breathe in slowly through my nose and out my mouth. I was in the moment. It was at that point I heard the buzzing of an insect, an insect I knew only too well.  The wasp had found the food and was circling it like Indians round a wagon trail. I dread to think what the holidaymakers thought as they sat drinking their tea from the cafe above the beach as I simulated a woman fitting below, wailing and thrusting my arms around like Kate Bush on acid. The wasp was teasing me, flying into my face and then off into the air as I yelled obscenities and tried hard to hit it with anything close by.  I threw the bucket of shells into the air and each shell came crashing down upon us like a ruddy hail shower

I wiped the tears away from the girls and told Carolyn we were moving. I suggested we pack the food, the plastic buckets, the towels, and anything else we could find and move further away from the sea,  as the tide was coming in.  As I sat at the cafe looking down at Carolyn carrying the heavy bags to our new location, I went back to my mindfulness; I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, ejected that deep breath, sipped my chilled wine and squashed the wasp that landed on the table.  Fuck you Mr Wasp.  Fuck You.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the Buses – the 800 to be precise

I had no car today. And so at 4.10pm I decided to close shop and hitch a ride on a bus. I’ve not been on a bus for some time now and felt an urge of excitement in my lower regions as I headed towards a bus stop. According to my in depth research, to reach Henley upon Thames one should hail a bus to Friar Street where one dismounts and awaits the number 800 to High Wycombe, via Henley upon Thames. What fun this would be I chuckled as I headed to the bus stop. How wrong was I?

The bus stop was outside the Royal Berkshire hospital off London Road. I approached with caution as I noticed a couple of elderly men with sticks arguing with each other. Further down the pavement a young girl with a brace of kids, a bun perched on her head, tattoos across her cleavage and a stud so big in her tongue she sounded deaf, was screaming obscenities at her children. A woman in her dressing gown and a mobile drip was lighting a fag. An Indian man sat in the bus stop. He had unfortunate long goofy teeth and reminded me of a bottle opener. Whilst he talked he dribbled. It was fascinating to watch but I realised it was not Victorian times, and I was not in an asylum. I sat down and played solitaire waiting for my bus. Moments later the bus arrived. I paid my £1.20 and made my way to a seat by the window.

I walked to my seat and could feel a bus full of beady eyes upon me. I sucked my extra strong mint and sat down. As I breathed in, relieved I was on the bus, the stench of body odour hit me like a sledge hammer. I could not work out where it came from but it was strong, it was putrid, and it was making its way up my nostrils. I placed my hand over my nose but the smell infiltrated my nostrils and before long I felt the urge to vomit on the head of the woman seated in front of me. I found her hair rather upsetting. But that aside I managed to contain my vomit and people watch. My people watching was abruptly stopped when a woman sat beside me and opened a packet of cheese and onion crisps. I looked at her for a second and we caught each other’s eye. I smiled sickly. As did she. I could see the damp crisps stuck to the front of her teeth and the subtle smell of onions on her breath and felt the urge to throw again. I turned away quickly and stared out of the window.

The bus stops were lined up near the back of M&S and there was hundreds of them. I had no idea which bus stop was mine, and the buses that did stop all went to ruddy Calcot! Ruddy Calcot, where the feck is ruddy Calcot? There was no number 800 to be seen. I was told I should walk to the Apex Plaza which is where the 800 bus stops. I power walked around the corner and as I tried to find my phone in my deep bag I tripped and landed on my hands and knees. Fuck I hissed. I did an Exorcist 360 of the head, made sure nobody saw me fall, wiped myself down and continued my journey.

I found the bus stop outside the Plaza. I sat upon a wall away from the bus stop and prayed for a number 800 to take me home. Or for somebody I may know to drive past and see me, and stop, and take me home. Alas none of the above happened. I thought about grabbing a taxi, but decided to give it another few minutes. Just in case the bus arrived.
Opposite where I sat was the Corn Exchange. Two drunken men were seated outside staring at us waiting for our buses and shouting abuse. I tried not to stare and instead thought about my recent trip to Athens with my friends Lou, Sue and Rachel. I was brought back to reality when a young man arrived and stood to my right. I was just thinking to myself how nice he looked in his suit when he started to make the most disgusting gurgling noises as he tried to clear his throat. He cared not for me perched beside him on the wall but continued to gurgle and spit green phlegm onto the pavement in front of me. I felt a gag but held it back. Bus after ruddy fecking bus stopped and moved on. Not one number 800 bus to be seen. By now it was gone 5.20 and I was seriously pissed off. A non-English woman had appeared to my left and kept catching my eye and grinning at me. A bus would stop and go and she would still be standing there, looking at me. I was beginning to feel a little worried when all of a sudden I saw the bus – on the other side of the ruddy road! I cursed and quickly grabbed my bag and legged it over the road. But I was too late, the bus moved on. The two drunken men sitting outside of the Corn Exchange were laughing. And the strange woman across the road was waving at me. I felt the urge to deck her. I decided this was no adventure, I was going to grab a taxi. But then the bus pulled up on the other side of the road, where I had been waiting! I sprinted over the road, passed the weirdo woman and onto the bus. Full of excitement a lady dribble popped out and caught me by surprise.

I had no change. I had no idea how much the journey would cost and I had no idea the driver was deaf and dumb. But he was. I tapped on his window and said I wanted a single to Henley on Thames. He said something back that I could not decipher. I said again I would like a single ticket to HENLEY ON THAMES. He answered something I could not decipher. I started to ask again but he pointed to a price and I understood this to be £4.70. I paid and sat as close to the door as possible.

I felt her eyes upon me as I walked to my seat. She had short red hair and bulbous eyes that did not move from me. The bus started to move and still she stared at me. Clearly she was a nutter. And she was on my ruddy bus. This was not a good start to my journey. I noticed whenever somebody got on or off the bus she would say hello or goodbye. But would then return to stare at me in a very sinister way. I slowed pulled out my packet of mints and placed one in my mouth. I could not outstare her so instead started to play candy crush.

The bus pulled out and I had hoped for a quick sprint down the Henley Road and then home. But no, it turned towards Caversham and stopped every 5 minutes. That woman was still looking at me and the stop start motion of the bus was beginning to make me queasy again. It reminded me a little of Carolyn’s driving. As the bus drove through Caversham and past the Standard Tandoori I stared out of my window and was amazed to see me old mate Sarah Caffrey in a car just driving out of her road. I slapped my hand on the window of the bus hoping she would see me and mouthed GET ME OFF!! But she did not see me. I thought about jumping off at the next stop in the hope she would be behind us and she could drive me home, but I didn’t risk it. I continued candy crush. The nutter had moved her gaze elsewhere and I began to relax a little. Near Binfield Heath she got off. As she walked passed my window I gave her my most horrid glare and then urged the driver to legit!

A short haired man in a track suit and stinking of Joop sat next door to me. My nostrils moved as I tried not to sneeze. I held it in, but then suddenly the sneeze appeared and I lost my mint onto the floor. The man next to me grinned as I kicked the mint under the seat in front of me. I returned to my phone and ignored him.

This journey was taking forever. We eventually drove through Shiplake and finally the Reading Road. As we approached the Tesco roundabout I heard a little buzzer and then a sign to say the bus was stopping. And the bus did stop. I stood up and asked the driver if the bus stopped further along the reading road. He grunted in a deaf kind of way. I sat again and an old man asked me if he should press the buzzer. Having no idea what he was talking about I said yes. The bus travelled another 100 yards and then stopped. All eyes were upon me. I had no choice but to get off the bus even though it was a good walk back to my house. I thanked the driver. And the old man. I disembarked.

It was 6.15pm. I had been on buses for over 2 hours. I’d eaten a whole packet of extra strong mints. My head ached and I the smell of cheese and onion was embedded in my nostrils. I tried hard not to grab my front bottom as the urge to pee my pants was strong.
At 6.28 I put the key in the keyhole. Misty my faithful yet crusty cat came to greet me. With her tail in the air she rubbed her bottom along my ankles and purred loudly. I kicked her off and found the girls in the kitchen. They were high on chocolate and dancing on chairs. I fell onto the sofa and thanked the almighty I had made it home. In one piece.

As I sipped my claret I relayed my traumatic journey home to Carolyn. She scoffed at my dilemma and suggested I was a ponce. Misty once again found me and jumped onto my belly. My stroking her helped me to unwind a little and before long I was on my second glass having forgotten my journey.

After an evening of stroking my pussy and drinking wine I decided to hit the deck. I was shattered. I was traumatised. I felt violated and a little cruel about giggling at the Indian bottle opener. I felt the need to sneeze and itched my nostril. It was then I realised I had cat shit on my hands.

Misty you little fucker!!

Day 1. Home alone with the Ninjas.

Monday 9th June 2014

Day one of looking after my twin girls (age 3) solo. My partner has fecked off to Toronto for a weeks business. I am alone and shitting the proverbial brick. My saving grace – NURSERY.

I am awoken at 5am by a sound so alien I fear my children are being throttled. I sit to attention, throw my duvet to the side, and see Misty my faithful yet crusty cat fly through the air and land on my pants. She gives me evils and canters out of the room. The noise continues. I jump off the bed and fly into the girls room ready to face the fucker who is throttling them. There is nobody in there causing them harm. Instead my two sweaty girls are standing in their cots crying for their ruddy milk. But not crying like we know it, this is wailing and squealing. I place my hands over my ears and count slowly. I open my eyes, remove hands from ears and still they shout. I manage to herd them both into my bedroom and into my bed. The TV is turned on and some godforsaken early morning children’s programme starts. All is now quiet as I creep downstairs to feed the cats and make up some milk for the girls.

The frothy vomit with two blades of grass floating upon it greeted me at the bottom of the stairs. I trod in it. The second puddle was just outside the kitchen. I trod in it. I hopped into the kitchen cursing the furry fuckers and prepared my tea, the milk and fed Misty and Scruffy. Misty is my most faithful yet crusty cat. Scruffy is mentally ill, but manages to get by. The stench from the cat food made me retch. I washed my hands with an OCD passion until raw and continued with the jobs ahead.

As the girls guzzled their milk I sipped my tea and stroked Misty. Her purr became deep and I felt her eyes upon me. I pushed her away, dressed the girls, dressed me, had breakfast, dropped off girls, made coffee. Alas there was no watching Jezza Kyle this morning as I had things to do.

Today I was to help out my mate Cath who is holding a sale of designer clothes in our local Tapas bar. My instructions were to meet her at 09.30am to collect the stock. Deliver to Tapas Bar. Sell stock. Make money. Give some to charity.

I arrived a little early and knocked on the door. A lady came to the door and announced Cath had not arrived. I was to wait in my car. As I sat back in the front seat I gazed upon a short stocky elderly lady on the pavement, as she approached the passenger side of my car I noticed the mother of all Bumble Bees walking down my arm. In a fit of epilepsy and torrettes I screamed utter filth whilst I threw myself out of the passenger side door rolling onto the pavement, and patting my arm furiously whilst screaming obscenities. The bee finally ejected itself from my shirt. As I took control of myself I noticed that little old lady looking quite pale. I think she may have also ejected her morning breakfast! I gave a little grin as if to say, silly old me, and leapt back into the car.

Cath arrived. She too was a little pale having been on the booze since yesterday lunchtime. From the stench of her breath I would say she had guzzled many a bottle of Pinot, about 60 Silk Cut and some meat:) After a short sleep she had been to the surgery for a blood test that was most probably 100% wine and was now holding back the retch. She was not well. Les (another helper) had also arrived and we all marched in to collect the stock.

As we set up the clothes I fed Cath water and Bacon Sandwiches to ease the hangover. Les and Cath managed to do 99.9% of the setting up as I tried things on, took things off, looked at myself in the mirror, and generally farted about. Retail aint my thing! I offered to teach the girls some Latin American dancing but then realised I didn’t know how to do it. My feet hurt at 11.30 and I was seriously worried as to why nobody had turned up yet. Cath informed me that the sale did not start until 11.30am. I see.

The day went well I think. I left the girls at 3pm. Cath still a little shaky, and Les still pricing up.

As I hobbled back home with my new bright pink cashmere thingy wrapped around my neck I wondered if that little lady I saw this morning had pood herself with fright? I do hope not. I walked along the river and past my old flat. I hummed a tune and then realised I could hear deeper humming coming from a bush with wasps. I ducked and dived as I power walked passed. Trying to look sane and normal, but in actual fact, looking like a rather drunk midget with a hip problem.

Home at last. I fed the cats again and then off to collect girls from nursery.

As I sit here typing all is quiet. After much screaming and shouting I finally managed to get them to bed at 7.15pm. By 7.16pm I had a snifter in hand and a bowl of olives.

Center Parcs, The Dome and my Farmer Giles

Center Parcs – getting our bearings

We put the girls in their pram and walked. We had no idea where. The roads were busy with prams and bikes and happy looking families. I hated them all. After ten mins we noticed the rather large Dome. It smelt of food, chlorine and baby shit. Hundreds of bikes and trikes and trailers and prams were padlocked to railings around it. There was also a wild white water rapids stream running very fast around the outer edge in full view of everybody. I knew I was not going to like this. I popped another mint in my mouth and we walked into the stench dome! Our aim was to find Cafe Rouge, order food and wine, find a supermarket and go back to the lodge. Then park the car. Easy.

It was big and busy, with huge palm trees, a kind of sub tropical ‘Oracle’. Small streams ran through the plaza, housing the fattest koi carp I have ever seen. We hurried through the supermarket and stopped in the booze aisle. Pia d’Or, Lindemans, Blossom ruddy Hill. I eyeballed each and every bottle and decided they were all pants. I was gutted. As a non drinker Carolyn had no sympathy and hurried me out. I grabbed a small bottle of Peroni Beer on route and cradled it like a new born. Cafe Rouge was shut, however Hucks American Burger joint was about to open – how delightful! Hound Dog was playing loudly as we were seated in the empty restaurant. My head was pounding, Carolyn had stomach pains and Ruby had shat in her nappy. The spotty dick with a funny hat came to take our order. He smelt of Linx and fags and I decided I did not like him one little bit. We scoffed and legged it back to the lodge. Carolyn settled the girls while I offered to take the car to the car park.

I thought the car park was nearby. It was not. I drove around and around for 20 minutes until I eventually found it. It was miles from our lodge. Fuck it!! I slammed the car door, pulled up my leggings and started the long walk back to Pine 405. I had my high heeled boots on, my feet hurt and my head still pounded. A bike headed my way and I had to jump to the left. I hate outdoorsy people!! As I walked a little further I saw a sign advertising bikes to rent. I paid the man and I hopped on the lady mountain bike with the trailer on the back and began to cycle. It hurt. I felt a prat. But it was the quickest way home. The bike picked up pace down the path to our lodge and the crash brought Carolyn to the front door. Her astonished look said it all. I dismounted. I poured a beer and took a headache pill.

Our lovely big double bed with the view of the forrest, and most beautiful en suite had the twins in it as they refused to sleep in the cots. Our room was a small twin. Carolyn still felt ill from a dodgy pizza the night before and said goodnight. I sat on the sofa wondering if the bike ride had aggitated my piles. I took to my bed and as I snuggled into my crisp white sheets I turned to face the en suite bathroom and heard Carolyn puking her guts up.

What a wonderful start to our holiday I thought. Tomorrow we take the girls swimming. Hurrah!?!?

Bunting, Piss and Cheese

Monday 6th August – Bunting, Piss and Cheese

We sat outside the bar surveying the interbreds. Jesse made us some pasta which was tasty, and eased my funny tummy for a moment. And then it didn’t. I rushed back to the apartment clutching my Gary glitter and praying I would make it. I did. A huge sigh of relief was followed by utter despair – we had no toilet paper. As I started to rip out pages from Jolyon’s classic car magazine he arrived home. He found some tissues in the kitchen and kicked them into the toilet.

As I walked out Jolyon rushed in and slammed the door. He screamed as he realised I had used the tissues he had given to me. After giggling to myself I rang Jesse. I was watching the synchronized swimming when I heard a French man say something out loud and then ducked as a toilet paper was thrown into the apartment. It reminded me of feeding time at the zoo. I grabbed the roll and threw it into Jolyon. It was too late. Classic Car Magazine had bitten the dust!!

It was time to pack. I carefully wrapped each bottle of wine with a pair of my knickers and other clothes. I then placed each bottle and item of clothing in a bag and then wrapped bubble wrap around it (thankfully Jesse had some in his kitchen). Jolyon threw his three damp items of clothing into his man bag and carried on watching TV. He took down the Euro bunting and tucked it into his wallet.

After a quick shower we headed back to the bar for our last night. Fred the alcoholic had still not been since his drinking competition with Jolyon which worried some of the locals, mostly Jesse as he was a good customer. The cough mixture woman was sitting in the corner coughing up balls of phlegm and loudly spitting them into the street. The man-woman with the oily overalls, short hair and moustache was smoking Gitanes and talking to a red-headed woman with tattoos and hairy nostrils. Sergio drove past and waved.

We dodged the ball of phlegm and took a seat at the bar.

Jesse and Coco joined us as we opened a bottle of Rose. We discussed Jesse’s imminent organ transfer and hoped our little visit had helped in some way take his mind of it. He remained silent. Coco took pictures and sat down to speak to me. I nodded and grinned. I have never understood anything Coco has said to me. We ordered another bottle and asked for the bill. Jesse and Coco disappeared. And then returned with a wad of paper. I was scared.

The bill brought tears to my eyes and a glint in Jesse’s. I could not believe how much we had spent in only 4 days – it worked out to nearly £100 per day. Jesse however thought it was Christmas and grinned like a Cheshire cat. I watched as Jolyon pulled out his damp stinky wallet. He pulled each Euro note out individually and placed it on the table for Jesse. Instead of the crisp texture usually associated with a note, these were flimsy and damp and smelt wretched. Jesse picked up the notes, his nostrils were wide and quivering, and for a moment I thought I saw him retch. Job done. We continued drinking.

Coco was still talking to me and my neck was beginning to ache with all the nodding I was doing. I noticed a rather large ugly man walked in with a midget like woman. He smelt mouldy. Coco jumped up and went to speak to him. After ten minutes she took the large man outside and returned with two bags which she gave to me and Jolyon. In pigeon English she announced that these were presents for us both. We opened the bags and our nostrils were assaulted by the smell of the largest piece of mouldy cheese I have ever set eyes on. It was the size of a Frisbee. I felt a little faint, and thought I might vomit on her. Jolyon had suddenly lost his colour. We thanked Coco and placed the cheese in the bag. Then legged it.

At the apartment I watched as the shutter ascended. Jolyon was swaying his bag of cheese in the moonlight and I was wondering how on earth we would get it home. The cough mixture lady walked past and we witnessed the most grotesque ball of phlegm leave her mouth and hit the wall aside the shutter. She then delved into her cardigan pocket and pulled out a small bottle of cough mixture. I watched her guzzle the liquid greedily and then cough loudly.

I walked with haste through the sitting room trying not to inhale my brother’s fumes and leapt into bed. I read a chapter of my book and took a final suck on my mint which resulted in me coughing so hard I front-bottom dribbled. I rearranged my pillow and resumed sleep. Just as I was nodding off I heard Jolyon sneeze three times and then fart. I had a sudden empathy for Cath his girlfriend. The poor poor woman. I wiped away the lonely tear and fell asleep.

Countdown to hometime.

I awoke to a glorious day. I walked into the sitting room and rushed to open the window and shutter. He lay in his pit, on his back, wheezing. An overflowing ashtray was on the floor alongside a pair of his trousers and one lonesome black sock. All around me was putrid and smelly. We had no milk or water and the fruit I had purchased a few days ago had gone off. The smell from the cheese and Jolyon was too much for me to take. I grabbed my bag and went outside.

I walked over the road and into the park. It was beautiful and just as I sat down to update my blog I heard a loud rumbling noise. It was getting closer and closer and I thought for a moment the sky was falling on my head. But no, it was Loola the gypsy. Apparently he is employed by the Council in Cransac to mow the lawns in the park. He was riding a sit on mower and looked as if he’d had a few pastis already. He saw me and headed my way in a zig zagged way. I jumped up and ran for my life. This was too dangerous. I made it to the bar, slipped on some phlegm, heard the cough mixture lady grunt and found a table at the far end.

His shadow hit me like a slap in the face and he sat down at the table and ordered a coffee.

Good morning Jolyon.

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.