Narcisstic and so shallow

Eughhhh…terrible night. I’m as sick as a dog/a parrot/a Rodney Marsh joke (delete as appropriate). Still, no time to feel sorry for myself as I had a lunch invitation to André’s mum’s, which is something you can’t put a price on. A handful of paracetamol and couple of Lemsips and I was ready for action.

Whilst Moiselle cavorted in the garden, we feasted on homemade saucisson and fishy canapés, onion soup, pork in lentils (damn, forgotten the traditional French name for it but it was delicious), cheese and salad, gorgeous chocolate gateaux and something which looked like a dish full of fried eggs, but wasn’t. Oh, and of course the prunes in eau de vie. It was a marathon meal which ended about five-thirty, giving me time for a quick march around the block (I began to think DVT had set in) before aperitifs were served and we resumed out positions at the table for dinner! Ooh la la, I’m a foie gras goose.

André’s nephew introduced me to the joys of Marilyn Manson, which was an experience, and has lent me the CD with the promise of more to come. We’re all stars now in the dope show, allegedly.