Travel Reference
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'Oui,'
she replied, looking up and at the same time seeing the 'mess' I was in. Her lip curled
in total disgust,
'Au revoir, Monsieur.'
I scuttled shamefacedly out of the building, embarrassed at my own embarrassment and al-
though that town isn't very far from us, with a nice little chateau and a welcoming brasserie,
I have never been back there and never will.
In short, although I'm sure that Flame and Vespa are incapable of feeling the kind of shame
that I felt, the whole issue was more sensitive than it had previously been and I felt for them
as I dropped them off at the vet's to be physically butchered and mentally scarred by the
French and their old-fashioned attitude to 'manliness' and reproduction.
'You know what? I think there's a touch of early spring in the air,' I said, trying to lighten the
mood when I returned from the vet's that evening with two shocked and sleepy cats. I looked
around at Natalie and the boys but saw nothing that qualified as a response. 'Don't you think?
Definitely spring-like.' Still nothing. 'No? Just a little bit?'
Maurice sneezed so hard his face nearly fell off and it served as a collective response; I was
definitely the only one feeling 'springish'.
In hindsight it may have been some sort of tiredness-induced mirage that had taken over
my senses. I had been in London at the Comedy Store the previous weekend and had yet to
acclimatise to life on the road again after the festive break. I had wrapped up the late show
at about half-two on Sunday morning, finally fallen asleep at five, was up at seven for the
Eurostar and had arrived at Vierzon station on Sunday afternoon to be met by Natalie and the
boys and their attendant germ cloud. Natalie was clearly suffering from a heavy cold as was
Maurice, though neither of them was letting it get to them unduly; Natalie, believing that all
forms of illness are a sign of weakness, and Maurice not interested in anything that may slow
him down. Thérence was fast asleep in his car seat, though by the look of his cheeks was
teething again and Samuel was glowering out of the window clearly resentful of the fact that
he was feeling perfectly fine and so would definitely be going to school the next day. Though
obviously pleased to see me after a few days away, they weren't a happy bunch.
I wasn't feeling too great either. One of the many fallouts from my vasectomy was that I had
started to put on weight and I had chosen this week to start a diet and exercise regime, though
to be honest 'chosen' here is a euphemism for 'badgered into'. A few years in France had taken
their toll, and actually my lifestyle on the road doesn't help either, with irregular meals, little
exercise and late-night drinking; but add to that years of freshly baked baguette, heavy cheese
consumption and playing a leading role in increasing the local wine sales had left me teeter-
ing on the cusp of the social oxymoron that is 'Fat Mod'. There seems to be a perception of
France that everybody is chic and sleek, but away from the Boulevard Haussmann it's largely
a myth. There was a book out a few years ago seeking to explain how French women stay so
slim, when the answer is that actually they don't, certainly no more than any other Western
nation. Even the topic concluded that it had a lot to do with wearing tight underwear. And
