Friday, 10 April 2009
I am going on a Spa break.
That sounds better than it should. It is a break to the town of Spa in the Ardennes, and there is a danger it will be more like a Spar break.
The good news
It is just me and the CFO. The children are staying with mamie and papie and enjoying Easter the cocotte minute way.
Spa is, indeed a spa town and features some kind of spa type thing, with hatchet faced women with hosepipes and a large open air bubbling pool of insanitariness. I love this kind of thing and ever since we met, I have been dragging the CFO to weirdly medicalised places all over France full of retired teachers in plastic sandals and robes. He goes out and does manly things with pieces of rope, and I allow myself to be hosed down with cold water, forced to walk in small circles up to my thighs in freezing cold water, and wear inflatable boots (see above).
The hotel looks blandly pleasant in a 'no need to go out and do anything, can just watch tv and read and order overpriced room service' way.
The bad news
We have to go there on le démon du midi, because the bastard weather forecast is making out it will be fine tomorrow. The CFO wishes to believe, so he can go vroom vroom. I know the truth. I remember going from London to Brighton on a motorbike and never being so cold in all my life. Yes, I am a wet and a weed. Also, qui dit motorbike, dit no baggage. No laptop. No shoes. No consolations at all.
It's just me and the CFO. What if we get distracted and forget we mustn't talk about Things? I must make a list of distracting conversational topics for quiet moments. Hopefully the fellow residents of CrazyAimAHosepipeAtMyBumSpa will provide sufficient distraction. Especially if they have interesting facial hair. I live in hope.
The worst thing ever in the world
I discover, far too late, that the Spa of Spa is part nudist.
Naked people. Naked Walloons.
I will be back on Monday and I am bringing the camera, because I suspect this will need documenting. I will also post some kind of stupid easter competition in my absence. I hope the bells come for you*.
(*There is no Easter bunny in France and Belgium. "Les cloches" bring the chocolate back from Rome. Eh??? Do NOT get me started. Also, not the tooth fairy, but the tooth MOUSE.
Me: Where do the bells PUT the chocolate?
Me: They don't even have any bloody arms.
CFO: Votre lapin, non plus, il n'a pas de bras. (your rabbit doesn't either)
Me: No, he has a basket. DUH.
CFO: Maybe les cloches have a basket?
Me: That's just stupid. Maybe they fly back upside down with the chocolate inside them?
CFO: No, they can't do that, because they ring at the same time.
Me: Oh for god's sake. Let's stick with the damn bunny.)