Monday Moans - IL PLEUT

Hello dear readers, 

As I hope you're aware (if not then please browse after reading this post), my last post centred heavily around the British themes of tea, cake, and slightly dodgy (we like to think it's fabulous) humour. But as I'm a patriotic sort, let's expand on this. What else is fundamentally British, I hear you ask? Well, I answer: bad weather.

It seems that the sky has been just chilling (in a cool Brian-from-the-Money-Supermarket-adverts way rather than a cold Elsa Sven Christoff Olaf way) recently, and has subsequently bottled up all of its anger and fury and all other related weather imagery. However, all of this bottled-up-whatnot needs to be let out eventually;  so today Mr Blue Sky turned into Mr Not So Blue Sky, and decided to let out seemingly one months' worth of rain in one day. *much cheering and general joyfulness*

You may say, why am I complaining when I'm British, and so haven't I got used to it by now? Well, the issue is (and I'm sure many would agree with me): I got rather more used to it being dry in recent months; so torrential rain was a bit of a shock to the system. 

I have a dear friend (hiya hello hi) who always walks with me to get lunch every Monday: it's our regular Pret Monday Excursion to battle the Monday Moans. 

But, but but: as I'm sure you can imagine, that journey was a little bit more difficult today... Let me give you a few reasons: 

1. As soon as we stepped out from the cosy, comforting warmth of college life, we entered into the blustery gale-force winds of a cold October day only to realise pretty soon that my friend's umbrella was... Well, faulty. Even though mine could be considered a sturdy brolly (umbrella, for all those unaccustomed to random English-isms), it was still no match for the sky's tears (how poetic) and so we both suffered with the umbrella-turning-inside-out situation as well as being blown and subsequently dragged halfway across the town. 

2. This next one wasn't actually too bad (just trying to tell the story chronologically hehe), well - 'twas indeed wondrous - when we got to Pret, aforementioned dear friend suggested us both buying warm toasties, and golly, were they amazing. *I had mozzarella, tomato and pesto for any interested!

3. Walking back up to school was interesting: it mainly mirrored the walk down - thereby featuring many intense confabulations (great word, please do look up) regarding the exciting nature of how this blog can be translated into Latin (I know right, so exhilarating!!) For the most part, we were blissfully unaware of how there was a guy behind us, sniggering under his breath the whole way (blame his overhearing us on the wind - it was so strong you had to literally shout to have a decent conversation). 

4. Time to shout more profanities at the sky such as "I hate you England" (statement from said dear friend) and "oh to have a faulty umbrella" (yours truly). 

5. Thinking we were safe, we kind of jogged (I know, what is this) the last few metres to the sixth form common room. 5, 4, 3, 2 - PLONK. My paper Pret bag was so wet it had exploded; straw, napkins, fork (pls don't ask why I felt the need to have a fork for a toastie, I don't know either), drink, crisps, beloved toastie, and random paper fragments, all littered the ground. In our panic to pick it all up, my friend managed to drop her wallet, which caused another panic a few minutes later; just after her own bag had done exactly the same thing. 

6. We walked into the common room breathless, drenched, windswept, freezing, and, most importantly, hungry. Needless to say, the luckily-still-warm toasties were much enjoyed!

So, there you have it. The dramatically told (naturally) story of my lunchtime. Hope it was thoroughly enjoyable for you (though nothing could be as enjoyable as a Pret toastie - please try if you haven't already experienced the wonders). 

Until next time, 

The (very exasperated and) happy blogger

Ps: happy October! Hope it's a great one for you 

#BLAUGUST - Day 26 - Marché Madness

Hello dear readers, 

So I had an exciting morning today at the local Lorgues marché, where there were so many people which was really surprising actually (I guess in Britain not so many people turn up to a small village market!) but not surprising in some ways because the market was amazing and had such a big variety and gah (long sentence exhaustion). 

Here are some photos: 

 

Les tomates (edited version on Instagram!) 

Les legumes, aka yum - although temperamental sometimes, refer to #blaugust post number 8 for an embarrassing story regarding that! 

I loved the look of the prickly ones in the middle (if anyone knows what they're called please tell me below!) 

Lorgues is so pretty and has so much character - it's just the look which I completely associate with the south of France & Provence. 

As well as vegetables, there were also clothes, jewellery, sweets, hand-made tablecloths and many other food items at the market - if you ever have a chance to go to one, please do. 

I dread to think how long this will take to post with bad wifi!! 

Sorry about how my posts aren't great at the moment - it's just I've got a plan for future ones which I'm saving up till September, so please just hold tight for that! 

The very (satisfied as bought some exciting clothes which hopefully no one else will have at school as it's always a crisis when you wear the same clothes as someone else and) happy blogger 🇫🇷

#BLAUGUST - Day 8 - The Wrong Parsnip

Hello dear readers, 

So I was pondering what to talk about in today's post whilst waiting for my mum as she had her hair done. The hairdressers in our local town is opposite the greengrocer's, and looking at that shop reminded me of something that happened around Easter time. Something pretty embarrassing. So naturally I thought it would be a good idea to share it with you people of the interwebs. Oh golly... 

I think it was late in the week, nearing Easter Sunday, when I went into town for a similar reason as today, but earlier this year. As my mum sat in the hairdresser's chatting to all her many friends there, I was charged with the daunting task to go and get the parsnips. Parsnips. My favourite vegetable. Not supposed to be a difficult job. 

Having had no luck in Waitrose (refer back to a recent post for a little more about this particular shop!) as the humble parsnip was obviously in high demand, and that put together with the fact that they were out of season, meant that they'd sold out. So I popped down to the greengrocer's. 

This shop is very authentic and traditional, but lacks something which I, as a self-proclaimed fledgling in the knowledge of root vegetables, cherish: labels. I scanned the shelves under the fiery gaze of the shopkeeper, searching for parsnips. Parsnips, parsnips... Aha! I spotted a tray full of pale, root vegetables which were long and had the roots sticking out of them, etc (you get the picture: it looked, miraculously, like a tray full of parsnips). So I reached for a brown paper bag to put them in - but as I was doing so, something made me hesitate. The ancient conundrum which has brought down entire civilisations and all-powerful nations: were these really parsnips? 

Self-conscious of my hesitation, especially as the shopkeeper had a son, perhaps a few years older than me, and so naturally my single teenage instincts made me feel the need to be suave and faultless in his eyes. So... Um... I ran off. 

After having given up on jogging as, let's face it, one who does not enjoy running must not run (for fear of excess perspiration and the judgemental glares of any onlooking onlookers - Confucious), I resorted to searching Google Images for the word "parsnip". Never before have I stooped so low.

I was now getting quite agitated, questioning my sanity: this was my favourite vegetable; I'd eaten it an infinite amount of times, and even seen it in its raw form when it had decided to grow in my dad's vegetable patch. So why was I so unsure of what it looked like?

I stopped in the middle of the high street, people rushing past me on all sides, (I enjoy making this far more dramatic than it actually was) to reconsider my options: go back, and get them - they were so like parsnips, so would it make much difference if they weren't? And they really must be - there can't be any other vegetable that looks quite so similar... Or go back to my mum empty-handed, devoid of one of the key parts of our annual family Easter lunch? 

I made up my mind and rushed back to the greengrocer's, much to the evident surprise of the shopkeeper. I filled a brown bag with eight or nine parsnips (I wasn't really counting) and brought them up to the counter, feeling chuffed about my excellent judgement. 

The shopkeeper stared at me; still apparently surprised. Surely it couldn't take that long to get over the fact that I came back to his shop! 

He slowly started to put the parsnips onto the balance, and eventually regained himself enough to inquire of me: "What do you use these for then?" 

Now it was my turn to stare at him. 

"We... Roast them for Easter lunch every year" was my confused response. 

"Huh! That's unusual... Never heard of that before." 

I continued to gawk at him. By this time, everyone in the shop (including young son of shopkeeper) was staring at me, wondering why I had the audacity to roast the humble parsnip. 

Then it dawned on me. These, in fact, after all my careful consideration, were not parsnips. 

The shopkeeper obviously had a mind-reading talent as well as one of staring in disbelief, as he said: "You don't want them anymore, do you?" 

I gazed at the eight fraud vegetables, which seemed to be taunting and chuckling at me from their comfy spot in the balance. 

"Um... No. Sorry, um" I mumbled as, having grabbed the evil things from the counter, and seized the brown paper bag, I rushed back to their original tray on the other side of the shop. In my agonised frustration, I clumsily dropped them on the floor, and who bent down to help me but the shopkeeper's son. I threw them into his arms, and, grabbing the paper bag unconsciously, perhaps to keep as an excellent memoir of the embarrassing occasion, I made a run for it across the street and into the safe haven of the hairdresser's. I then breathlessly reported back to my mother that I'd had a horrific root vegetable debacle and that I was a terrific failure as far as dutiful daughters go, whilst also imagining how the bewildered fruit and vegetable shoppers were now chuckling to themselves, thinking the same thing. Great.

So there you have it: one of my many embarrassing moments. 

If dear reader, you enjoyed this (if your answer is affirmative then I may consider removing the 'dear' from that phrase... Only joking... Actually I'm not) then do comment below or share this or something - sorry, I don't get technology - and I may relate to you another story or two in the future. 

In the meantime, thank you jolly much for reading, 

The very (embarrassed as sharing this with whole interwebs gah help and) happy blogger 🍠 

Ps: above emoji is the closest I could find to a parsnip - my only consolation is that at least this time I know it's definitely not the aforementioned root vegetable - therefore count that as a success. 

Pps: if you're interested, the day after this happened, my dad went to Waitrose and managed to get two packets of fresh parsnips, so none of this need have actually happened! And it's safe to say that now, whenever I'm walking past that particular greengrocer's, my strides definitely become faster. Sigh.