I have got back now - safely into freezing cold and very catty-smelling farmhouse. I am so happy with that comment of 'Get a grip, woman' and used it as a mantra throughout trip and probably for the rest of my life.

The only really depressing thing about the holiday was that nothing interesting happened. It only rained for two of the days and the flat, although EXACTLY as I had described, managed to have a huge kitchen which at least had a stone floor (washable). We lived totally in this room but had to drink out of two old Nutella glasses and a mug as everything else was irreplaceable including the kitchen table which was 18th c. hand painted so you couldn't put anything down on it directly. This man has three children including a baby, WTF? I made coffee and boiled eggs every morning on this vast gas cooker which looked like a stainless steel and brass range. On the first evening when I moved the kettle to boil it again, every place I had set down any pan had made a RUST mark. How is that possible? The flat is on two floors so we started taking our shoes off just inside the front door in case we sullied any carpets, all of which priceless or in fact in the region of £100,000 in the drawing room apparently. We only crossed this room once or twice to check the weather which was, oddly, noticeably different on either side of the building. My husband had to stay there the night after we left and rang me to ask who had chipped the leg of the 'glass stool' once owned by Marie Antoinette or something. NO ONE. He kindly smuggled the chip out of the building and turned the stool to the wall and nothing more is being said. By the time we left I felt like a very careful wreck and had had little sleep because I kept springing awake nervously all night for no reason.

We have all been to Paris quite a lot and the children had both done school Art History trips so museums etc. didn't have quite that pulsating excitement of old. I will just say quickly that the shops have become crap. Two years ago we rushed around buying charming but weirdo things like hand-painted jerseys (uncleanable) and, my personal favourite, les ours-anges for the Christmas tree. Perfect tiny furry teddybears with padded golden wings of the highest quality.
Now most of those little individual shops have gone ( we walked for miles and looked at about ten different districts) and have turned into chains or Gap. The only funny thing on the Left Bank was that they had randomly turned one narrow, twisting street into a children's ski run with fir trees and slippy white material over the road.

The day after the shopping disappointment, with my son's internal clock sadly unchanged, it was raining. My daughter had an inspired idea - we would explore 'sous-Paris' as it said in the guide-book. This meant the Catacombs and - if raining tomorrow- the sewers.
- posted by Iris @ 12/06/2003 08:17:00 PM comment