My God! It is sunny in Brussels – I hope it is going to be like this for the rest of the week and the weekend as at last we are escaping to France for three days of golf. No … I don’t play golf but I am very good at sitting in the sun with a book and a cold beer whilst the others battle it out in the bunkers. This weekend is the New Husband’s 36th birthday … oops, typo there, so I hope he wins a silly prize the golfers are going to award each other – one for longest time spent in a bunker, one for hitting a tree, one for the most number of shots to a hole, one for falling over … the list is endless and New Husband stands to win quite a few! We are taking the wee Scottish gentleman with us as the hotel we have booked are intelligent enough to accept dogs (and this is definitely cheaper than kennels). However, the thing that is meant to be a square, very angular and clean-cut Scottish terrier looks more like a large ball of wool on four paws and stinks of whatever he has rolled in recently. Thursday he is to be whisked off to the Poodle Parlour to be clipped and bathed, so that a) the hotel accepts him and b) he can strutt his stuff along the promenade at Wimereux where the canine competition is fierce. However, an hour or so on the beach I fear he will look very much as he does now with the added tang of rotting fish. Therefore I shall take a before and after photo on Thursday so that all you dog lovers can see what can be done with a shapeless dog.
The Rock Thrower slouched back to France and the Lycée from Brussels last Saturday, leaving The Doting Mother heartbroken for a few hours. He has his first round of Baccalaureat exams in a couple of months which he is pretty slouchy about while I work myself into panic mode. I am paying the school fees after all.
Now the weather is good I must tidy up the garden which is looking pretty flowery at the moment – might even mow the grass. I have one extravagance in my life – my brilliant Polish cleaning lady who comes one day a week and transforms the tip back into a lovely house again. It takes the New Husband about 48 hours to destroy her hard work, so we always have people round on a Friday and a Saturday when the place still looks fairly smart. She is away in Poland at the moment and has been for the last three weeks, so I have had to knuckle down and fight my way around the house and the ironing mountain, and other horrid jobs – this woman deserves every euro I pay her – apart from the house no longer looking like a squat after she has been, she is definitely responsible for my sanity! Ironing when the sun shines – forget it!
3 responses so far ↓
Dumdad // April 21, 2009 at 6:14 PM
Chez Dumdad could do with a Polish cleaner like yours (or Bulgarian or Serb or French or Martian…) but we can’t afford it. So, we both do the lot. Chores = bores but it has to be done.
Bill Taylor // April 22, 2009 at 5:39 PM
Our Filipina is here right now. She can only fit us in once every two weeks (she’s in demand) but she’s a pearl beyond price. She complains sometimes that we don’t give her enough to do.
Parisgirl // April 28, 2009 at 12:50 PM
I love Wimereux, especially the hotel that has bay windows with seats in right over the sea when the tide comes in. I’m sure the Scottie will be a huge hit with the pimped and preened mademoiselles along the seafront!