Yes, yes, I’ve been here for five seconds and already I’ve caused a stir. Rural France doesn’t know what the heck to do with itself. Turns out it has a rather short term memory, for it was only 11 months ago that a non-preggers Maxie G was tottering about it fabulous red shoes and shagging hot single dutchmen.
I flew Ryanair. I’m not proud of it, but it seems that not many airlines fancy stopping off at Limoges, and it was affordable, so I did it. I did, however, book myself extra baggage, Priority Boarding (no queues), Priority Seating (leg room) and packed my own sleep mask. It was basically standard class Virgin by the time I was through with it.
I met Maxie off the plane, which appeared to land in an oversized farmyard… oh, wait, no – apparently that’s just Limoges Airport. She was fabulous in massive sunnies and golden hair… oh yeah, and with a baby strapped to her chest.
Not that I have THAT much experience with babies, save for the Illegitimate Godson and he’s six, so I have managed to block the nappy memories out of my mind, but all that aside I think I can safely say that Baby G is the COOLEST child in the entire world. Not only did he show up super stylish, topped and toed with the finest Cath Kidson accessories courtesy of moi, thank you very much, but he also managed to cause a scandal while Maxie and I braved a French Car Dealership looking for parts for her Fab-mobile, by deciding he fancied a snack and therefore prompting Maxie G to whip out a nork, much to the surprise and poorly concealed delight of the local N-Dubz equivalent, who chose that moment to swagger through the door.
Since then, Baby G has decided Aunty Ritzi is his new favourite pillow, and has taken to passing out draped over my ample bosom for the afternoon. Every afternoon.
I can’t say I mind, it’s like an ovary explosion.
It’s definitely not small town life. This is most assuredly a rather small village. Once I’d gotten over the shakes that come when a Londoner realises there is not going to be a Starbucks on every corner, I then came to appreciate the fact that there is, however, a Boulangerie on every corner, a fridge FULL of cheese and a cellar FULL of wine.
On that first, vaguely sunny day, Maxie and I tottered down to the local pub. I was dressed very casually, in a floral jumpsuit, totes cas cardigan (from Dotty P’s abut ten years ago no less – you don’t get more dowdy than that), and my comfy wedges.
Apparently, it really HAS been 11 months since anyone wore heels in this village.
Had I a penchant for odd looking, (quite likely) toothless French yokels, I’d DEFINITELY have pulled.
Oh, and we found the Statue of Liberty, in a village called Chateau Neuf (not that one) at the end of an afternoon spent sipping Viennese coffee (nostalgia) and window shopping (there is one shop. It is the same place that sells the coffee).
It’s kind of smaller than the New York one, but much more manageable. And it doesn’t look like the torch is a Natural Disaster waiting to happen.
I bought three bottles of very good wine for under a tenner. I am NEVER LEAVING.