Thursday 13th September 2018
After posting yesterday’s blog page I have been plagued by the idea that people could, potentially, get the wrong idea. I suggested that Mrs P was no longer with me and then I post a picture of a shovel, next to a hole, in the woods, in the dark. For those of you concerned for the welfare of Mrs. P you can call off the Rozzers, cancel, Poirot and desist from contacting Mr. S Holmes.
Let me explain. Mrs P has gone to a Gaudy in Oxford. She will be back on Monday. She flew from Geneva airport which is why we needed to be near Geneva. (Not, as some of you thought, because the ground is easier to dig but because that’s where the areoplanes fly from). Now, you may be with me for most of that; Back on Monday; Geneva; that’s where the planes fly from etc. but, I may have lost you with the Mrs P has gone to a Gaudy… bit. There are a couple of dictionary definitions for the word gaudy; garish and showy being one and jolly being another. However, if you look in the Oxford English Dictionary there are 3 definitions. The third and, in this case most relevant, definition is:
[Quote] Noun: [pr: gor-dee] Word used by posh universities to describe a reunion to which old college attendees are invited. Derived from the latin; tooposhforthewordreunion
Source: Oxford English Dictionary (with minor amendments)
Those who need proof that Mrs P is not buried in a wood in Eastern France may call her parents with whom she is staying. That’s my alibi and I’m sticking to it.
Anyway, back to the story. Early hours of Thursday 13th I drop Mrs P off at Geneva airport in the Kiss and fly zone. I had hoped for a hug while holding the door for her but Swiss efficiency was not going to allow that sort of hanky panky. The system is; driver stops vehicle in line of cars doing similar – There is no pull over option; Mrs P gets out; Mr P drives off. Barely time to say goodbye. From having her by my side day and night for 2 months, she is now gone. For a few days only I admit but I am shell shocked. I mean, how will I deal with the peage (toll booths) on the toll roads? The machines are on her side!
Mrs P suggested that I go to Lake Annecy, find a nice campsite and chill out for a few days. Since I have given no thought to what I will do while she is gaudying (?) and bearing in mind that I work well under instruction, I do as I’m told. I arrive in Annecy at 07.30. Park up and wander around until the tourist information Centre opens. I pick up as many leaflets as I can carry, buy yet another climbing guide for the area and retire to my new favourite shop so far this trip. BD Fugue It is a comic book shop. I love comic book shops. I never buy anything (except Asterix the Gaul books), I just like to look. The artwork is amazing. This one has the added benefit of also having a very cool coffee shop where I idle away a couple of hours looking at tourist literature and reading my new guide book. My theory being that if I immerse myself in all things cartoon the talent of the artists will rub off on me by osmosis.
I admit to being a bit lost without my favourite climbing partner and wander around the town in a bit of a daze. Lacking purpose. Determined to have a bad time like a lovelorn hero. That is until lunch when, driven by hunger, I have an inspired idea. To ensure I have sufficient dairy in my diet I will have ice cream for lunch. Genius. Two scoops requested in perfect French. The nice French girl says something unintelligible. I give her my most disarming smile and inform her, in perfect French, that I have no idea what she just said. She then, with her finger hovering over the panic button (my disarming smile has that effect on people) informs me, in perfect English, that she is offering me an additional small scoop of any flavour. Result! There is no picture of the ice cream. I was very hungry.
Annecy is lovely. I would recommend any of you who make it out to these parts to visit. Only, don’t tell Mrs P. If you see her tell her it is rubbish and that I probably had a terrible time.
After my morning in Annecy it is time to treat Gandalf to some Spa treatment, he is long overdue a wash. I find a machine wash where I spend some time getting both Mr G and myself thoroughly covered in suds before realising that I have no more coins and the programme has ended. As the yellow fat man would say; “Doh!”
Find campsite and laze around playing with new phone. What, didn’t I mention the new phone? Mrs P took mine home with her. Vodafone have a reasonable usage clause of 2 months with regards their roaming policy so it has to go back to Blighty where turning it on will reset the 2 months for when she returns. In the mean time I bought a €9.99 old fashioned phone and €5 of credit so that Mrs P can call me if she needs to. Younger readers will have no idea what I am talking about but those older than 12 will remember the old phones where you had to tap away at the number 7 button half a dozen times to get the letter ‘S’ to come up. It takes me about 10 minutes to type: hello,
,/hell0. *hve ne9w pone. Call m w#en fr/e
I then promptly hit the delete instead of send button and have to start again.
Dinner is another inspired dish from the kitchen of Chef P proving the old adage; when the cat’s away the mice will drink beer, and eat cookies and noodles (in that order) for tea (dinner if you are posh or southern).
Well, thats all for now. Got to go hide from the Rozzers until the heat dies down. On Mrs P’s return I promise to post a picture of her holding up a copy of the relevant day’s newspaper to prove she is still alive.