Yo Bogus,
If I'm a blogger and you are reading this does that mean you are a bloggee? And if you're reading this and happen to be female does that make you a blogess or are you still a blogee? Technology! Anyway to the serious business - The French.
As you'll have seen from the gig list we had the pleasure of playing for Aoife and Phil's wedding. Fine you say so what? Well apart from the fact that they are lovely folk and we had a ball playing for them and their guests they kindly arranged the venue for Magalas. No not Magalas near Birmingham but sunny Magalas near Bezier in the south of La France. (I had to look it up too). Hence my noting - The French, France seems to be quite awash with the French as we discovered ambling slowly down the country in the VW Blue. We took three weeks and had a ball.
From the Normandy beaches for the D-Day commerations which was very special over to Mont San Michel (you cannot imagine a dafter place to put your monastery, no chance you'd get planning permission today) to the magnificent medieval town of Carcassone to the Coliseum at Nimes and the Roman viaduct at the Pont du Gard. Talk about mainlining culture.
Standing in this beautiful gorge looking up at this enormous and magnificent viaduct built to carry water from the mountains down to Nimes one is overwhelmed with gratitude that the Romans never discovered the black plastic pipe. One can imagine hordes of Chinese in centuries to come gathering round to catch a snap of Ye Olde Plastic Pipe and marvel at the ingenuity and beauty of the 21st Century mind.
Now the French have many fine talents (I shall no doubt return to this subject) but beer is not one of them. Various petrol like products where offered to me till the very innards themselves rose up in protest. My lowest point was, foolishly, one night in Carcassonne deciding to try a "beer a la traditon Belgique". What arrived was a milky diesel like substance with a lemon gasping for life floating on the top. The lemon was delicious.
I have booked myself in to The Carington Arms at Ashby Folville for a course of recuperative therapy. Drip feeding Timothy Taylor Landlord hoping the gut would not go into spasm.
I shall return to "The French" when I'm feeling stronger.
May the Gods go with you.