I feel is if I have spent the last few days permanently looking at a computer screen. Following on from my last post about people following me, I feel as if I owe these imaginary people something. I must add new content. I must add new content. I am trapped in a content writing sweat shop and I don't know when enough is enough. Just when I feel I have had enough, another idea pops into my head and away we go again. These people are relying on me to supply them with new content and I cannot let them down.
I have promised myself that this will be the last piece of content I will write for the next few days. My eyes are strained from the hammer I am putting them through. I don't know if eyes can bleed but I feel as if I might find out if I don't stop soon!
I read somewhere that to make your site successful, you need content. As they say, content is king! How can we attract more guests of our gites in Normandy? I have thought about almost every possible keyword combination and tried to write content to target them. There comes a point where the ideas dry up; just like my eyes!
I need to sleep!
Monday, 27 September 2010
Sunday, 26 September 2010
Following me following you
I am very computer literate but it is only in the last month or so that I have capitulated and started using facebook, twitter and blogs. I had always been skeptical as to what benefit this would give me. I have to be honest and say that I still don't know!
With this social networking, I feel as if people are watching me; or following me as they say. I find this concept very strange. Does this mean that by the time I have written this, posted it, shared it, tweeted it and god only knows what else happens when I press the publish button, there will be people reading it. Will people be judging me on what I am thinking? Will I be on the next news bulletin for saying something controversial? I think not but who knows!
A good friend of mine convinced me to create a Facebook page for our Normandy gites. He convinced me that if I use Facebook, the bookings at Ivy House will increase. I can see the potential with this viral marketing but how can we gauge it. I look at the faces on my page and yes, they are increasing but will this keep us in business; or are these faces just ships that pass in the night? Are these faces waiting for us to fail to then have there chance to say, "we told you not to do it!"
I am starting to realise what it must be like to have an imaginary friend. I write these entries, update content on our site and add facebook posts; all the time thinking that there is an army of people reading them. Perhaps even showing some interest in our business. All this conversation but no reply. Surely this social networking is just one big imaginary friend!
If it is true that people are reading my thoughts and looking at our site and facebook pages, why does it feel so empty. Perhaps there comes a time when things start taking off and this one way street of communication becomes two way. As a clairvoyant once said, "is there anybody there?"
With this social networking, I feel as if people are watching me; or following me as they say. I find this concept very strange. Does this mean that by the time I have written this, posted it, shared it, tweeted it and god only knows what else happens when I press the publish button, there will be people reading it. Will people be judging me on what I am thinking? Will I be on the next news bulletin for saying something controversial? I think not but who knows!
A good friend of mine convinced me to create a Facebook page for our Normandy gites. He convinced me that if I use Facebook, the bookings at Ivy House will increase. I can see the potential with this viral marketing but how can we gauge it. I look at the faces on my page and yes, they are increasing but will this keep us in business; or are these faces just ships that pass in the night? Are these faces waiting for us to fail to then have there chance to say, "we told you not to do it!"
I am starting to realise what it must be like to have an imaginary friend. I write these entries, update content on our site and add facebook posts; all the time thinking that there is an army of people reading them. Perhaps even showing some interest in our business. All this conversation but no reply. Surely this social networking is just one big imaginary friend!
If it is true that people are reading my thoughts and looking at our site and facebook pages, why does it feel so empty. Perhaps there comes a time when things start taking off and this one way street of communication becomes two way. As a clairvoyant once said, "is there anybody there?"
Saturday, 25 September 2010
Junk Food
I have been back in England for a few days now and I am starting to realise the incredible difference in food compared to France. Having spent the previous three weeks in France, I had lost four kilos in weight. This was without even trying! This was just by eating nice food, at regular intervals and doing the gardening.
I wouldn't say that I was a fussy eater. On the contrary; I like most of the food that fast food addicts would cringe at. I like salads, fruit and all the other stuff that is supposedly good for you. I know that this exists in England but so does all the other convenience food. It is astonishing how easy it is to find fast food here. It exists in France of course, but in my opinion, on a very smaller scale. The downside to finding this convenience food is that it is very convenient to eat it! It is not that convenient when you have to buy bigger clothes to accommodate it though!
I have had that feel good time just lately and my belt should be thanked for that. I am at least one hole smaller than I was before I left for France a few weeks ago. It is an amazing feeling when people tell you that you have lost weight! Compare that to the comments you get when you put weight on: "Jesus, you've banged the weight on", "I didn't recognise you with that extra chin" or the classic, "has your thyroid packed up". I have found that the tried and tested excuse to explain this weight gain does not work. The "I have a slow metabolism", does not seem as effective as it once was.
When you are managing to use holes on your belt that you didn't realise existed, you can't help feeling good. Except of course when you hear the words, "are you alright? You have lost loads of weight; are you ill?"
Since I arrived in England on Monday, I can honestly say that I feel like I have less energy. Why is that? Do I feel better in France because of the food, the wine or just the almost stress free life? At this moment in time, I don't know and I am too tired to think about it. I am starting to get hungry and as I am tired, I cannot be bothered to cook. Maybe I should try some of that convenience food? That new hole on the belt I have discovered is starting to strain so I might just give it a miss! Not eating by not having to cook; now that is very convenient!
I wouldn't say that I was a fussy eater. On the contrary; I like most of the food that fast food addicts would cringe at. I like salads, fruit and all the other stuff that is supposedly good for you. I know that this exists in England but so does all the other convenience food. It is astonishing how easy it is to find fast food here. It exists in France of course, but in my opinion, on a very smaller scale. The downside to finding this convenience food is that it is very convenient to eat it! It is not that convenient when you have to buy bigger clothes to accommodate it though!
I have had that feel good time just lately and my belt should be thanked for that. I am at least one hole smaller than I was before I left for France a few weeks ago. It is an amazing feeling when people tell you that you have lost weight! Compare that to the comments you get when you put weight on: "Jesus, you've banged the weight on", "I didn't recognise you with that extra chin" or the classic, "has your thyroid packed up". I have found that the tried and tested excuse to explain this weight gain does not work. The "I have a slow metabolism", does not seem as effective as it once was.
When you are managing to use holes on your belt that you didn't realise existed, you can't help feeling good. Except of course when you hear the words, "are you alright? You have lost loads of weight; are you ill?"
Since I arrived in England on Monday, I can honestly say that I feel like I have less energy. Why is that? Do I feel better in France because of the food, the wine or just the almost stress free life? At this moment in time, I don't know and I am too tired to think about it. I am starting to get hungry and as I am tired, I cannot be bothered to cook. Maybe I should try some of that convenience food? That new hole on the belt I have discovered is starting to strain so I might just give it a miss! Not eating by not having to cook; now that is very convenient!
Wednesday, 22 September 2010
Just like a blind date
Now I am in England, I have had time to reflect on what has happened over the last few weeks. It has not been easy to come back here and settle back in to the English routine. Perhaps Normandy has changed me and life will never be the same in England.
After the English and American guests left, we sat wondering whether they truly enjoyed there stay at Ivy House. A bit of paranoia rearing its ugly head again, but it was me and the wife wondering this time. It was almost like a blind date; you didn't know what to expect when they turned up and certainly were left wondering when they departed. To make the analogy: we wondered if they would call us for another date or whether they thought we were bunny boilers.
Having returned from work today, I was greeted by an email from TripAdvisor, the accommodation review site. This was it, did they want to see us again, or was it back to the lonely heart columns? Wow! I was so touched by the response from the Canadian gentlemen who came for one night with his young family and also from the English family. What they wrote was very touching and it has made a difficult day finish with a ray of sunshine. We say thanks to both of you for taking the time to share your experiences and we are grateful for your kind words. They mean a lot to us!
After the English and American guests left, we sat wondering whether they truly enjoyed there stay at Ivy House. A bit of paranoia rearing its ugly head again, but it was me and the wife wondering this time. It was almost like a blind date; you didn't know what to expect when they turned up and certainly were left wondering when they departed. To make the analogy: we wondered if they would call us for another date or whether they thought we were bunny boilers.
Having returned from work today, I was greeted by an email from TripAdvisor, the accommodation review site. This was it, did they want to see us again, or was it back to the lonely heart columns? Wow! I was so touched by the response from the Canadian gentlemen who came for one night with his young family and also from the English family. What they wrote was very touching and it has made a difficult day finish with a ray of sunshine. We say thanks to both of you for taking the time to share your experiences and we are grateful for your kind words. They mean a lot to us!
Monday, 20 September 2010
By train out of Normandy
Having been of the front lines in Normandy for the last three weeks sorting out the gite accommodation and the new business, the time had come for me to return to England for some rest and relaxation. It wouldn’t be rest and relaxation but I can’t help using the military expressions now I am living in Normandy.
I had the tickets booked to travel by train from Carentan, via Paris and London to get to our English home in the Midlands. Actually, over the last few days, I am starting to wonder where home is. I never thought that I would feel this mixed up so soon. My dad always said that when you make your bed, you must lie in it. I have made two beds and this makes the whole story that bit more complicated.
I have a daughter from a previous long term relationship called Georgia and this is the second bed I am referring to. It is extremely difficult for us to be separate and I try my best see her as much as possible. Now that I am in Normandy with my wife and other children, this has become even harder. Never the less, I have made the beds and I have to lie in them as much as I can.
Last night, I explained to my two boys that I had to leave for England and my eldest son, Yoann, found this hard to accept. He is very sensitive and was very close to tears. I had to try hard not to shed a tear myself, especially when he gave me so many convincing arguments to stay. I explained that I need to see Georgia and his answer was to let her come here; good point. I explained that I need to go back to work to earn money, to which he replied, the man who stayed in the gite just gave us some money; good point. I tried to make him understand that we need the money for clothes and food; to which he replied, we have just eaten and we have got some clothes already. His responses made me think more and more about what is important in life. His naivety made life seem so simple and I started thinking that I wish it was this simple.
Just before 6am the next morning, it was time to leave for the station. I went up stairs to give my sleeping boys a kiss before I left and this made me very emotional. I think my wife was feeling the same too.
The journey from Carentan to Paris was really uneventful; however, I am sure that I would have found some funny things to write about if I were in a better mood.
The Eurostar train from Paris to London was quite busy for a Monday morning and I found myself sitting at a table seat with three other women; probably in their early twenties. I couldn’t help listen to the conversation and it was funny to listen to their stories and their experiences. I am sure I was the same at their age and already knew most things about life. I couldn’t help thinking that they were a little deluded about life and that they would be in for a few shocks as they got older. Anyway, who am I to say, so I just sat there taking it all in. It is a bit hard not to when you have three excitable young ladies putting the world to rights right in your ear hole.
One of the young ladies had one of those annoying sympathetic voices and every time one of the others made a point, she would say “yeahhhhhhhhhhhh” and “uuuummmmmmmmm”. These two pronunciations were that long, to occupy the time and to stop myself from screaming in pain, I would count how many seconds each “yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh” would last; I had suddenly become autistic. I was now analysing the words to find trends in the length of there duration. By the time we had exited the tunnel and arrived back on English soil, the word “yeahhhhhhh”, now started to sound like someone dragging their fingers down a chalk board. I couldn’t stand it any longer and wished them a good day and went to sit somewhere else. This was greeted with a, “uuuuuummmmmmmmmm, yeahhhhhhhh. Byeeeeeeeeeeee”. Now the other words had caught this disease!
The train from London to the Midlands from St.Pancras, arrived near enough the time it should have departed. As the time for departure grew nearer, you could sense the atmosphere; the passengers starting to get into the siege mentality mind set. People would nudge closer and closer to the ticket barrier and you could hear other people muttering, they are pushing in. “George, do something about it”, an old lady whined. By the look on George’s face, it looked as if that something he would have liked to do would be to leave his wife.
When we were finally allowed to board the train, it was like a gigantic funnel and this hoard of people were trying to fit through one ticket barrier. The siege mentality had changed to sheep mentality. There were about four or five barriers but everyone seemed hell bent on passing through just one; at the same time! I thought the idea of the ticket barriers was to keep people without tickets from boarding trains. The sheer weight of numbers overwhelmed the one man on the barrier and I imagined that he would be trampled to near death if he had tried to stop anyone.
As I had suddenly become autistic, I started doing a survey of how much luggage people were carrying. In my carriage, it appeared that the average for each person was 2 super size suitcases, 1 arctic exploration rucksack with integrated tent and camping stove, a wide screen laptop and an Ipod.
Watching people trying to store luggage on a train would make great TV. The scene in my carriage resembled the barricade in Les Miserables. At each end of the coach, there were passengers struggling to force their super size cases into the over head luggage racks. Anything bigger than a packet of cigarettes would not fit; however, these brave travellers were not deterred.
To add insult to injury, the Train Manager made an announcement. The monotone voice stated “welcome on board. I kindly ask all passengers to store their luggage in the space provided”. I wondered where this space was. Perhaps there was a removals truck on the platform that was waiting to whisk the bags of to their home addresses. This was followed by, “please keep all isles clear of luggage to allow our at seat trolley service to pass through the train”. I couldn’t help thinking that this trolley must at least be four wheel drive and equipped with a battering ram. It would certainly need that to get through Jean Val Jean and his barricade in coach D.
After about 30 minutes into the journey, the anti suitcase assault vehicle, or at seat trolley service as it is better known as, passed through the train. The poor man pulling it had his work cut out and already had a sweat on. Sensing the resentment from the passengers as he asked them to move the cases, he made no offer to sell anything. I think he wanted to abort the mission and returned to base; however, it appeared that he crashed and burned. His May Day alert advised us that, “due to the trolley being unable to pass through the train, the trolley service has been terminated at coach C”. I half expected to hear the words “a replacement bus trolley service will be provided”. To top it all, we were kindly told that, “The trolley is now stuck in coach C so if you would like any refreshments, please rendezvous there. May Day, May Day, we have a man down in coach C”.
At least all this action has made the journey pass by quicker. I am almost at my destination, 8 hours after leaving Carentan. I had better get used to this as it looks as if I will be doing this journey and the one back to Carentan, every week from now on in! “Bon voyage” as they say in French, or in English, “are you bloody mad!”
I had the tickets booked to travel by train from Carentan, via Paris and London to get to our English home in the Midlands. Actually, over the last few days, I am starting to wonder where home is. I never thought that I would feel this mixed up so soon. My dad always said that when you make your bed, you must lie in it. I have made two beds and this makes the whole story that bit more complicated.
I have a daughter from a previous long term relationship called Georgia and this is the second bed I am referring to. It is extremely difficult for us to be separate and I try my best see her as much as possible. Now that I am in Normandy with my wife and other children, this has become even harder. Never the less, I have made the beds and I have to lie in them as much as I can.
Last night, I explained to my two boys that I had to leave for England and my eldest son, Yoann, found this hard to accept. He is very sensitive and was very close to tears. I had to try hard not to shed a tear myself, especially when he gave me so many convincing arguments to stay. I explained that I need to see Georgia and his answer was to let her come here; good point. I explained that I need to go back to work to earn money, to which he replied, the man who stayed in the gite just gave us some money; good point. I tried to make him understand that we need the money for clothes and food; to which he replied, we have just eaten and we have got some clothes already. His responses made me think more and more about what is important in life. His naivety made life seem so simple and I started thinking that I wish it was this simple.
Just before 6am the next morning, it was time to leave for the station. I went up stairs to give my sleeping boys a kiss before I left and this made me very emotional. I think my wife was feeling the same too.
The journey from Carentan to Paris was really uneventful; however, I am sure that I would have found some funny things to write about if I were in a better mood.
The Eurostar train from Paris to London was quite busy for a Monday morning and I found myself sitting at a table seat with three other women; probably in their early twenties. I couldn’t help listen to the conversation and it was funny to listen to their stories and their experiences. I am sure I was the same at their age and already knew most things about life. I couldn’t help thinking that they were a little deluded about life and that they would be in for a few shocks as they got older. Anyway, who am I to say, so I just sat there taking it all in. It is a bit hard not to when you have three excitable young ladies putting the world to rights right in your ear hole.
One of the young ladies had one of those annoying sympathetic voices and every time one of the others made a point, she would say “yeahhhhhhhhhhhh” and “uuuummmmmmmmm”. These two pronunciations were that long, to occupy the time and to stop myself from screaming in pain, I would count how many seconds each “yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh” would last; I had suddenly become autistic. I was now analysing the words to find trends in the length of there duration. By the time we had exited the tunnel and arrived back on English soil, the word “yeahhhhhhh”, now started to sound like someone dragging their fingers down a chalk board. I couldn’t stand it any longer and wished them a good day and went to sit somewhere else. This was greeted with a, “uuuuuummmmmmmmmm, yeahhhhhhhh. Byeeeeeeeeeeee”. Now the other words had caught this disease!
The train from London to the Midlands from St.Pancras, arrived near enough the time it should have departed. As the time for departure grew nearer, you could sense the atmosphere; the passengers starting to get into the siege mentality mind set. People would nudge closer and closer to the ticket barrier and you could hear other people muttering, they are pushing in. “George, do something about it”, an old lady whined. By the look on George’s face, it looked as if that something he would have liked to do would be to leave his wife.
When we were finally allowed to board the train, it was like a gigantic funnel and this hoard of people were trying to fit through one ticket barrier. The siege mentality had changed to sheep mentality. There were about four or five barriers but everyone seemed hell bent on passing through just one; at the same time! I thought the idea of the ticket barriers was to keep people without tickets from boarding trains. The sheer weight of numbers overwhelmed the one man on the barrier and I imagined that he would be trampled to near death if he had tried to stop anyone.
As I had suddenly become autistic, I started doing a survey of how much luggage people were carrying. In my carriage, it appeared that the average for each person was 2 super size suitcases, 1 arctic exploration rucksack with integrated tent and camping stove, a wide screen laptop and an Ipod.
Watching people trying to store luggage on a train would make great TV. The scene in my carriage resembled the barricade in Les Miserables. At each end of the coach, there were passengers struggling to force their super size cases into the over head luggage racks. Anything bigger than a packet of cigarettes would not fit; however, these brave travellers were not deterred.
To add insult to injury, the Train Manager made an announcement. The monotone voice stated “welcome on board. I kindly ask all passengers to store their luggage in the space provided”. I wondered where this space was. Perhaps there was a removals truck on the platform that was waiting to whisk the bags of to their home addresses. This was followed by, “please keep all isles clear of luggage to allow our at seat trolley service to pass through the train”. I couldn’t help thinking that this trolley must at least be four wheel drive and equipped with a battering ram. It would certainly need that to get through Jean Val Jean and his barricade in coach D.
After about 30 minutes into the journey, the anti suitcase assault vehicle, or at seat trolley service as it is better known as, passed through the train. The poor man pulling it had his work cut out and already had a sweat on. Sensing the resentment from the passengers as he asked them to move the cases, he made no offer to sell anything. I think he wanted to abort the mission and returned to base; however, it appeared that he crashed and burned. His May Day alert advised us that, “due to the trolley being unable to pass through the train, the trolley service has been terminated at coach C”. I half expected to hear the words “a replacement bus trolley service will be provided”. To top it all, we were kindly told that, “The trolley is now stuck in coach C so if you would like any refreshments, please rendezvous there. May Day, May Day, we have a man down in coach C”.
At least all this action has made the journey pass by quicker. I am almost at my destination, 8 hours after leaving Carentan. I had better get used to this as it looks as if I will be doing this journey and the one back to Carentan, every week from now on in! “Bon voyage” as they say in French, or in English, “are you bloody mad!”
Friday, 17 September 2010
If only I could bottle it
The Americans left today for the long trip back to the United States. I am still in awe of Curt; he is definitely larger than life. We were sad to see them leave; no doubt like the people of Normandy were at the end of the war. The buzz that they brought with them has gone and it's back to reality.
The friendly English family invited me round for a game of cards. I suspect it was out of sympathy as earlier, I had proposed a game of Risk with them. They looked at me strangely when I mentioned "would you like to play a game of risk". From the look in their eyes, I imagined that they thought that they had booked a holiday at a swingers convention. When I explained that it was the board game based on world domination, they seemed more at ease.
I have been missing speaking English and my wife knew that. She suggested that I ask them but I sensed that they did not want to play. I started thinking about the garlic sausage once more and took the hint and retired to the house. To my surprise, a little later, there was a knock at the door. "Would you like to come to the gite for a game of cards?", the English lady asked. Having had the knock back earlier with the offer of a game of risk, I thought about cutting my nose off to spite my face. Should I tell her that I was washing my hair? The fact that I have very little hair wouldn't have washed with her; me neither, so I accepted the offer.
I am sure that I have a problem with my memory and as I have trouble remembering certain things. I am sure that I have a problem with my memory and as I have trouble remembering certain things.I can't even remember the last time I played cards!
They explained the rules to me and sensing that I did not understand, they began to speak slower and louder; as people do with foreigners or people with learning difficulties. I probably seemed to fit the criteria in their eyes no doubt!
After the explanation, they asked if I understood. I seemed to have had the same feeling when I visited the Notaire the other week when I signed the legal papers for the house. She asked the same question; in French of course. "Do you understand?". I am sure I heard one of the English people mutter, "is he still breathing", as I had the blank look accross my face. "Oh, yes, of course. I understand". I am probably not a convincing liar as well as having a bad memory, learning difficulties and smelling of garlic sausage.
Beginners luck! After being explained the rules over and over again, I won the first round; or do they call it game? Perhaps they felt sorry for me and let the fat kid win to make his onlooking parents feel proud.
As the night went on, the conversation got funnier and funnier. We seemed to bounce of one another and before long, we were laughing uncontrollably. I can't remember the last time I laughed this much. I seem to forget a lot of things; however, I wanted to write this in my blog to help me remember this great time I had with them. I just wish I could bottle this humour as I am sure it would be great for a stand up routine. One of the big draw backs for being a comedian is that you have to remember the punch lines. For that, I am not destined for a life on stage.
The English people leave tomorrow. I wont mention their names but if they read this blog entry, I want to say thanks for coming to stay with us. It has been an absolute pleasure to have them stay with us and they are welcome back to our home anytime.
Having had great guests, it made me think about that awful Tripadvisor review that was wrongly aimed at Emma and me. Perhaps I should start a website where the owners of gites, hotels and bed & breakfast establishments could review their guests. That way, we could vet them before we allow them to reserve. It that site existed right now, I would certainly leave a review for the English family as follows:
5 stars out of 5
Adorable English family that are ambassadors for Great Britain. Very respectful, honest and very witty. Would I recommend them to other establishments? Yes; however, I would much prefer if they came back and stayed with us. As Curt would say: "They are amazing!"
The friendly English family invited me round for a game of cards. I suspect it was out of sympathy as earlier, I had proposed a game of Risk with them. They looked at me strangely when I mentioned "would you like to play a game of risk". From the look in their eyes, I imagined that they thought that they had booked a holiday at a swingers convention. When I explained that it was the board game based on world domination, they seemed more at ease.
I have been missing speaking English and my wife knew that. She suggested that I ask them but I sensed that they did not want to play. I started thinking about the garlic sausage once more and took the hint and retired to the house. To my surprise, a little later, there was a knock at the door. "Would you like to come to the gite for a game of cards?", the English lady asked. Having had the knock back earlier with the offer of a game of risk, I thought about cutting my nose off to spite my face. Should I tell her that I was washing my hair? The fact that I have very little hair wouldn't have washed with her; me neither, so I accepted the offer.
I am sure that I have a problem with my memory and as I have trouble remembering certain things. I am sure that I have a problem with my memory and as I have trouble remembering certain things.I can't even remember the last time I played cards!
They explained the rules to me and sensing that I did not understand, they began to speak slower and louder; as people do with foreigners or people with learning difficulties. I probably seemed to fit the criteria in their eyes no doubt!
After the explanation, they asked if I understood. I seemed to have had the same feeling when I visited the Notaire the other week when I signed the legal papers for the house. She asked the same question; in French of course. "Do you understand?". I am sure I heard one of the English people mutter, "is he still breathing", as I had the blank look accross my face. "Oh, yes, of course. I understand". I am probably not a convincing liar as well as having a bad memory, learning difficulties and smelling of garlic sausage.
Beginners luck! After being explained the rules over and over again, I won the first round; or do they call it game? Perhaps they felt sorry for me and let the fat kid win to make his onlooking parents feel proud.
As the night went on, the conversation got funnier and funnier. We seemed to bounce of one another and before long, we were laughing uncontrollably. I can't remember the last time I laughed this much. I seem to forget a lot of things; however, I wanted to write this in my blog to help me remember this great time I had with them. I just wish I could bottle this humour as I am sure it would be great for a stand up routine. One of the big draw backs for being a comedian is that you have to remember the punch lines. For that, I am not destined for a life on stage.
The English people leave tomorrow. I wont mention their names but if they read this blog entry, I want to say thanks for coming to stay with us. It has been an absolute pleasure to have them stay with us and they are welcome back to our home anytime.
Having had great guests, it made me think about that awful Tripadvisor review that was wrongly aimed at Emma and me. Perhaps I should start a website where the owners of gites, hotels and bed & breakfast establishments could review their guests. That way, we could vet them before we allow them to reserve. It that site existed right now, I would certainly leave a review for the English family as follows:
5 stars out of 5
Adorable English family that are ambassadors for Great Britain. Very respectful, honest and very witty. Would I recommend them to other establishments? Yes; however, I would much prefer if they came back and stayed with us. As Curt would say: "They are amazing!"
Thursday, 16 September 2010
Battle of the bulge
I can't quite remember when I last wrote about cutting the grass. From what I remember, it wasn't that long ago. Where is all this grass coming from then? I glanced over at the land behind the house and it looks like the grass mounted a counter offensive and re-took the ground I had captured from the last offensive (Operation green grass).
The weather was good to mount my offensive to capture the terrain. After last nights soiree, I was feeling very fragile and all I really wanted to do was lie on the sofa and take a nap. I managed to motivate myself and fired up panzer Tom for the major attack.
This offensive was planned better than the last and it was all guns blazing; no prisoners taken today! All was going well until Tom started spluttering . It would appear that just like in the Battle of the Bulge, we had insufficient fuel to finish the attack. I'm not sure I would have found any American fuel dumps nearby, so I had no choice but to to pull back. I thought about destroying Tom so it could not fall into the hands of the enemy, but finally decided to push it back to the shed. I can imagine how those German tank commanders must have felt in the Ardennes in 1944. They had the tools to do the job but no fuel to finish it!
The weather was good to mount my offensive to capture the terrain. After last nights soiree, I was feeling very fragile and all I really wanted to do was lie on the sofa and take a nap. I managed to motivate myself and fired up panzer Tom for the major attack.
This offensive was planned better than the last and it was all guns blazing; no prisoners taken today! All was going well until Tom started spluttering . It would appear that just like in the Battle of the Bulge, we had insufficient fuel to finish the attack. I'm not sure I would have found any American fuel dumps nearby, so I had no choice but to to pull back. I thought about destroying Tom so it could not fall into the hands of the enemy, but finally decided to push it back to the shed. I can imagine how those German tank commanders must have felt in the Ardennes in 1944. They had the tools to do the job but no fuel to finish it!
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