Chateau de Peyrepertuse

It occurred to me that I haven't posted anything informative and interesting about this beautiful part of the world known as the Languedoc.

So, rather than reading my usual rantings and ravings, here is a sample of some the wonderful places to visit here in this delightful corner of southern France.

Chateau de Peyrepertuse

The Rough Guide to France says 'if you only have time for one of the Cathar castles, let it be the Chateau de Peyrepertuse', and what a recommendation! High in the Corbieres, Peyrepertuse is an excellently well-preserved castle with stunning views across the countryside. The complex itself is vast, spreading the length of a jagged rock-spine with sheer drops at most points. Great if like me you are scared of heights! But once you've made the easy ascent from the car park and visitors centre through the thickets to the entrance, the breathtaking views are well worth the climb and the fear.

Some history...

The Cathar Castles, though many were built either before or after the Cathar era, are a collection of romantic and ruined medieval fortresses distinctive to the region of Languedoc-Roussillon. This twelfth century sect, whose names derives from the Greek word for "pure", hated the materialism and wordly power of the established church (don't we all), and initially pacifist they denied the validity of fuedal vows or allegiances. Of course this sent the Church bonkers and the Cathars were declared heretics in 1208, henceforth the evil meanie Simon de Montfort and his cronies descended on the area and massacured Cathar and Catholic civilians alike.

It took the informers and torturers of the Holy Inquistion another 180 years to root out Catharism completely.


Thoughts on the Cathars

I liked the sound of these dudes. Agreed with their values and moral standing, until I discovered that they didn't eat meat or have sex. Since then I've decided against setting up my own Cathars Anonymous online forum or Facebook appreciation group. Surely that would make me a heretic to my religion of choice, the Greek God of wine and fun times, Dionysus. Might as well chuck Bacchus in the mix too, as he always seemed game for a laugh.

Living in a Box

Feeling a bit ropey today, like my head has been crammed tightly in a vice and I haven't any available space for intelligent thought.

Bugger intelligence! I can't even get my head round doing the washing up! Thankfully Raffers is having his daily 3 hour afternoon nap (I know HOW lucky am I?) and Roy is wandering the house looking as dazed and confused as myself. At least he hasn't lost the ability to make a good cup of builders. Slurp. AHHHH.

Popular to contrary belief, my birthday was not the booze fuelled-drug fest-sex orgy I'd have hoped for. Of course I jest. You can keep the sex. It was in fact a rather mature and perfectly lovely few days spent with our good friends Pete and Jenna, who had flown all the way from the east end of Laaarrrndaaarrnnn to drink wine and enjoy the sunshine. So why on earth we feel so completely mullered today is beyond me.

Perhaps it is the dawn of realisation that 3 days on the booze is not as easy and pain free as it used to be. Even without the hangover, it's the sheer challenge of getting one's arse into gear. "Oh look the sink is full of dishes.....shit, how the hell am I going to sort that out?" Cue sobbing and running to the bedroom, throwing oneself dramatically on the bed like a Victorian lady of the manor. "I can't cope with this! I just need a cleaner!" - Or failing that, ANOTHER Gin and Tonic will do the trick.

So what can you do on a day like today? Watching Madagascar and Slumdog Millionaire is a good start. Drink tea. Surf the internet. Add some more mindless musings to my blog. Perhaps later I might set aside 45 minutes to work out how to load the washing machine, and 30 minutes spent plucking my eyebrows is never time wasted.

So Happy Sunday one and all, wherever you may be and whatever you are doing. Here is a picture of me today and I'm wondering if some of you may feel the same? xxx

Happy Birthday

It's my birthday today, so I'm up early having enjoyed a luxurious champagne breakfast in bed prepared by Daniel Craig wearing nothing but a smoking jacket and a red rose between his teeth.

After Daniel has heped me open my thousands of presents, including a diamond ring to rival that of Cheryl Cole, the keys to a brand new convertible Mercedes, plus designer shoes and bags galore, he will bathe me in ass's milk and give me an all over body massage with a unique blend of essential oils freshly prepared by DC himself this morning.

We will then lie back on our designer satin sheets, gaze into each other's eyes and spend the rest of the day.......mmmmmmmmm......ooooooooooo.....ahhhhhhhhhhh........ggggggggrrrrrrrrrr.......
(Cue noises from the street - 'allo, 'allo', bonjour madame, ca va? and then some nonsense about le meteo) uuuuhhhhhhhhhhh, what? Eh? And I'm awake.

I've just checked and Daniel isn't lying next to me exhausted from all the rampant love-making. Roy is though. Thank heavens for that! So I guess he'll be up soon and jumping into birthday mode. Shall I hunt for the presents or just wait for them to be bought to me on a silver platter? Best not spoil all the surprises he has planned. Mmmmm, still not much movement. Was that a snore I just heard?

Anyway, plans for the BIG day that marks the beginning of my descent into the wilderness of my 30s, are as follows:

1). Have a cup of tea (balls, we have run out of English teabags. Right, have a cup of pissy French tea)

2). Deal with the usual early morning tantrums from Raffers..'MILK' 'TOAST' all screamed in my face. Dole out a good dose of the naughty step.

3). Go food shopping (Roy has offered to come with me as it's my birthday. He's all heart, I know)

4). Drown my sorrows in a sea of Gin

Should be a good day!

To Tweet Or Not To Tweet

Last night I introduced Roy to the wonderful world of online social networking. Now those of you who know our hero (in this particular tale as opposed to your everyday action type) you'll be aware that he is one of a rare and dying breed. Yes, ladies and gents, Roy Boy is perhaps the last person on our lovely planet who has regular access to the worldwide web and yet does not indulge in the shameless self-promotion that is social networking. "No way!" I hear you cry. But yes my friends, 'tis true. He isn't the slightest bit interested in whether Carole whatyamacallher who he sat next to in Chemistry over 20 years ago is married to Barry whojamaflip who lived next door but one to his Great Aunt Phylis in 1976. He wouldn't even bat an eyelid at his cousin's ex-boyfriend's latest status update telling his 365 'friends' that he's enjoying a cup of tea and a wank whilst watching This Morning. Nor that the girl on reception at his old company has just bought home a kitten but is scared her fella is 'gonna kill her!' I'm telling you people, he simply just doesn't care!

So imagine my surprise last night whilst logged on to my Facebook account and catching up on the latest happenings with all of my 262 dearest and closest 'friends', he strolls in and plonks himself down besides me with all the wide-eyed wonder of a boy scout on his first ever camping trip.

It's important to point out that he had in fact been drinking. There is of course no way on this earth that he would stoop to the depths of depravity that is Facebook or Twitter if he hadn't have been under the influence of something reasonably mind altering. The fact that it was only booze and not acid is still somewhat surprising.

After perusing typical Facebook fodder - photos of stag do's/new born's/trekking in South America etc., plus endless images of pissed up antics - we turned our attentions to Twitter. Now, let me make this clear. I do not Tweet. I don't actually know anyone who does it, and yet the Media would have you believe that every person on the planet, be they young, old, thick or with half a brain, is at it. I mean who the fuck actually thinks that someone, or anyone who has a life, is interested in knowing what you are doing every second of the day. Hey I know, let me just scratch my arse and change a tampon and alert all 200 of my 'followers' to this. Or better still, my boyfriend has just prematurely ejaculated and I'm now having to pretend that 'it's fine.' I mean for the love of God, who really thinks that we give a shit?

Apparently, we all do. People love it. You see them on buses and walking in the street, mobile phone in hand, scrolling up and down and typing in nonsense, smiling and giggling to themselves, content in the knowledge that they're inside the life of another human being 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

I did of course check out one of Twitter's more famous Tweeter's - Mr. Ashton Kutcher. A few months ago I'd read a story in the Times concerning a Tweet he'd posted containing a rather personal photo of his missis, Demi 'gimme' Moore-plastic surgery, in the nod. I mean what a pratt. Was she humilated? Of course not! Just another opportunity for her to showcase the latest ass tightening technology and what's rocking in the world of designer vagina's. Good call Demi, just keep dealing out that wad of cash and you'll be 21 forever!

As for Ashton's Tweet's, well I couldn't understand a bleeding word of what he was gobbing off about. It was all abbreviations and cyber 'it' words. Basically a load of old balls to a cyber has-been like myself.

Within half an hour Roy's interest had naturally dwindled and I was left to stalk Katie Price, Stephen Fry and Coleen Rooney. It can be a lonely life locked in the world of online stalking, but as long as you have your 'followers' or 'friends' you can rest assure that someone out there in cyber space actually cares about your bowel movements and your mundane journey to work.

Overworked and Unpaid

I feel as if every time I login to my Blogger account I'm preparing for an overdue apology. I sort of dread it really, especially when I realised it's been nearly a month since I last posted. A month!? Where did that go?

Good question. I think the majority of it has been taken up drinking the local tipple, along with many a pre-dinner G'n'T, preparing, serving and eating 3 meals a day, plus changing bedlinen and cleaning bathrooms in preparation for our latest guests.

I had been warned that once we moved to the south of France (especially and convienently coninciding with the summer holidays) that we would be inundated with house guests. Aint that the truth!

I am absolutely knackered and in desperate need of some TLC. A Clairol foot spa and a cup of Horlicks will do for starters. Plus some 'quality' time with my boys. Or preferably with my big boy running around after our little boy, while I 'supervise' (sit with feet up watching chick flicks, drinking tea and barking orders).

This weekend we are off to the Emerald Isle for a wedding and a night out sans Raffers, and boy are we excited. I can't wait to be the guest for a change and think a break will do us all the world of good. The summer sun is getting to me and I'm shamed to admit that I'm actually looking forward to sliping on a cardy, or even my beloved leather jacket, for a few days respite by the Irish Sea.

Come Monday I'll be dying to get back to top up my tan, just in time for our next bus load of visiters flying in to celebrate my (extremely significant of course) 29th birthday!!!

Bring on the dancing girls and hire in a chef! I'm on strike!