“Kirsty, do you want to bed with me?“
This is what my friend Kirsty thought The Husband said to her while we were having lunch last weekend.
Understandably, she almost spit out her Rosé.
What The Husband actually said was, “Kirsty do you want to bet with me” (as in place a bet).
Ah, the joy of accents, never a dull moment.
We were having lunch with Kirsty and her three perfectly behaved, perfectly adorable children (well four really, but since one is still too little to even sit in a chair, we’ll go with three or three and a half) to kick off our twenty four hours together in Le Petit Village. Kirsty’s husband wasn’t with us for lunch but would be joining us later because get this… he was cycling from their home outside Aix-en-Provence up to Le Petit Village. Clearly he’s an Aussie masochist, because as if that 57km/ 34 mile trek uphill through the Luberon wasn’t enough, he decided to go a crazy out of the way, way bringing his total cycling time to five hours. Masochist.
And since he wasn’t there, Kirsty’s two year old decided that The Husband should be his new Daddy and proceeded to call him ‘Daddy’ from across the lunch table. I think I actually saw The Husband’s biological clock tick tock all over his face (boys can have them too you know). Bless.
After the Kirsty bunch got settled into their gîte, Kirsty and I set off on a wander through Le Petit Village and I got to give my first tour of the season. I was more than a little rusty, which was sad because by the end of last summer I had it down pat… like could maybe start charging, down pat, although I would never do that… that would be tacky.
The Husband and Fifty met up with us along our tour, and Kirsty got to discover that Fifty does indeed in fact exist, he’s not just a character (but Fifty was more than a little peeved that he wasn’t asked for an autograph). And she also got to discover that Fifty does not like it when you hold a large black camera up to your face. Basically, Fifty thinks that you’ve morphed into some strange robot or something, with a large lens for a face. Cue the barking (he also doesn’t like people on bikes… in his little puppy brain, it’s like a person is half human/ half bike… it’s freaky).
Then The Husband got Kirsty to do something I would never ever do (no, not bet with him). They both entered the very scary teeny tiny door that brings you into the medieval wall of the village, and then climb smelly old topsy turvy stairs up out onto the walkway on top and next to the campanile. Uh, no thank you. But Kirsty did it! (Clearly she is not afraid of Nazi Ghost Zombies). And when she was up there she snapped the picture that is on top of this post. Of course as soon as Fifty saw the camera he barked like a lunatic.
P.P.S. Check out Yummy Laura to see what I and four other expat bloggers have to say about living abroad.
It's Me, Sara Louise 
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