Oh, I wish! At least we are in France. Although not in Provence. And - we are here just for a few days. Got here this morning. On the "silver-fox-express" out of Oslo. Apparently, nobody under the age of 60 travels to southern France in February.
I could pretend that I am all "tres blasé" about this whole trip. Like I do this aaaaall the time. But I am not. In fact, I am extremely excited about the whole thing. I almost can't stay still. You see, we are going hunting. For a summer house! In France! Which is, like, a whole different country. Far away. With great food and wine. Where it actually gets warm in the summer (not too bad now either). And where they have AMAZING shoe-shopping! I think this calls for a very loud "yay".
YAAAAAAAY!
Ah. Good to get that off my chest.
So, now the cat's out of the bag. And - if you are fairly good in maths - and are able to put two and two together - you just might understand why I SUDDENLY had the motivation to voluntarily take up French lessons this autumn. That was not a totally out-of-the-blue, mid-life-crisis, I-need-to-realize-my-inner-self thing. As you can now see. I am just being practical. I need to be able to communicate with the gardener. And the pool boy. In a language other than body language. Ahem. I guess that came out a bit wrong. But - you know what I mean.
Speaking of which - I do need an "encore" of my second French course. The little that I learnt is already getting rusty. Merde.
AU REVOIR!
(The title "A Year in Provence" is referring to the novel by Peter Mayle).
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