Tag Archives: cheese
Well hi there! The Man and I were well naughty. We went to France for a week and then refused to come home! We stayed for two! We is terrible! We are not terrible. We are wise. The weather was beautiful, the cheese was stinky, the vineyards were stunning, the people were lovely, our little tent was palatial and thanks to a great website someone recommended – coolcamping.co.uk – we stayed in some of the most peaceful, beautiful rural campsites in France. We left for France on the anniversary of me being struck down by ME. Few words can describe … Continue reading
Last night, 11pm. We are lying in bed. Without warning, The Man sits up and exclaims ‘FROTTAGE CHEESE!’ and then dies laughing. This bore no relation to anything we were doing in bed, by the way. It’s just The Man. He is an adorable wazzock, he really is.
This will be a very short blog. All you need to know is that Godminster cheddar is the finest cheese in the universe, including the bits of the universe that physicists haven’t yet found. It is a traffic-stopper of a cheese. It is perfect. It will make you weep and sink to the floor in a deep and blissful swoon. That is all.
I recently went to Bristol to stay with The Man for three weeks. He has been working down there on a temporary contract. (Those of you who follow me on Twitter may remember my excitable roars as I sat in the First Class Lounge at Paddington for the first time in my life, helping myself to free newspapers, bottles of water, biscuits and basically everything that wasn’t nailed to the wall.) Anyway, I got to Bristol, had a little wander round and thought . . . Oh cripes! I want to live here! I could hear birdsong. I could meet The … Continue reading
Oh oui oui bloody OUI, readers! J’ADORE PARIS! Flaming arseballs, it was amazing. Why the hell did I wait until I was 32 ? Well, I suppose I know why. And yes, as reasons go it was on the slightly silly end of the scale but since I outed myself at least five girlfriends and several blog readers (hell, they’re my girlfriends too!) have mailed me to say that they too have been waiting for lurve to arrive in their lives before going. If you are reading and you are one of these people, allow me to inform you that you’re making a … Continue reading
“I CANNOT TAKE ANOTHER MINUTE OF SEARCHING THIS F*CKING RUCKSACK FOR MY WALLET,” I fumed, as we stood in a South America-style queue at Bogota airport. (‘South America-style’ in that it was huge, it snaked off in several directions and anyone who looked to be over forty years of age shoved their wide, queue-jumping shoulders in front of us, stolidly ignoring our outraged British huffs and puffs.) The man didn’t reply to my outburst because he had passed out on the spot hugging his own rucksack. But he had a rage of his own soon after: “I CANNOT TAKE ANOTHER … Continue reading