Behaving badly in France


I have been told off. I have been told I was embarrassing.
I took it well. I think.
Did I drink myself under the table? No. Did I do a strip tease at a Bull Fight? No. Did I take too many drugs? No, again.
I sat through a very boring dinner with a totally self obsessed man pontificating for three hours and I showed that I was bored.
It is interesting what is acceptable. He was drunk. So was the other boring man. They were both extremely boring and one of them was making odd passes with his elbows at me. But they are acceptable and there is no comeback. But I was not acceptable. Such fun.

Otherwise France is very French. Unless they are adolescent or rebellious, all the women have very short hair. The factories all look as though they were plonked from outer space. There are many lardons and it is fine. I still have no desire to live here.
I want to live in India.
The drive was infernal and awful. Far too long, and now we are here, I don’t want to go to the festival. I want to stay here, relaxing and being calm, (and occaisionally extremely rude.).
But I suppose we HAVE to go onto the festival because that is what we do, and we had the hideous drive because we had the trailer because of the festival. If we don’t go, then all that effort will be in vain.

As you can see, my being positive crown has slipped. I will find it again, I promise, and uintil last night it was all sparkley. Bu it is interesting the power one gives to others and their opinions and feelings. I was OK about everything until I got told off, then I look at my options and one of them was crying. The other was anger. Self justification was tried. All to get back in the good book of my husband. He appears to have become extremely virtuous and supportive of everyone. Comapssionate to drunk bores, and fine with lots of things that in London he would not give the time of day.
What is that thing that families do to one?

I promise to be more positive next time. I just needed to get it all off my chest. Do I feel better? No. Not at all. Do I feel isolated and seperate? Yes. Completely. Does it matter? No, not at all.

But the beach was good. 4 hours turning on a spit in the sun. I am a delicate pink all over. The sea was transparent, the sand was white and the helicopters flying overhead added so much! We were on a deserted stretch in the Carmargue where the patrols are usually done on horseback. But now it is helicopters searching for sex offenders in the dunes. It was very relaxing as they only passed every hour or so.

In the garden the cicadeas are going full volume. A constant roar of sound which stops. All of a sudden. Then all of a sudden starts again.