I was really very unhappy after driving for twelvety hours down the most boring roads in the known universe. On this subject, however, I would like to give an extremely hard stare to the Novotel in Reims, where we stayed overnight en route and which had nothing by little tubs of evaporated milk to put in the tea in the room. At least I was saved by the fact that at long last the French seem to have got over their historical aversion to fresh milk and dragged their sorry arses into the whole concept of, you know refrigeration, so I didn't have to put up with ghastly UHT in my morning cuppa. I'll even teach you in French if you ask me nicely.
#The breakfast club for free online how to#
Seriously guys, how hard can it be? I'll come and teach you how to do it.
The same old: teapot of hot water, teabag in a little paper envelope and no flipping milk. Like, practically five pounds when I have my real brain installed) then they would at least deliver it in a proper state to be drunk.
We inadvertently turfed up at a very chi-chi lakeside hotel one afternoon, where I ordered a tea, foolishly thiking that if I was paying 5 euros for a cup of bloody tea (yes, that is FIVE EUROS, my friends. I was able to ignore it while the new ones were still but stumps, but now they're more or less completely in and the milk teeth are still there, and it's starting to freak me out a bit.Anyway, if anyone can point me in the direction of a really good recipe, I'll be very happy.īut really, indecent tea. At the top, I mean, two, and then two more, like a shark. I suspect oldest b-boy liked it mostly because it is soft and does not necessitate the intensive chewing action required of a normal baguette and which I am forever nagging at him to practise. The Mighty Hunter returned from an early morning trip to the local boulangerie bearing this briochy stick of loveliness and we were all smitten. Honorable mentions to ice cream, tartiflette (which is not exactly hot July fare, but when in Rome etc etc) and baguette viennoise. I wonder if being in France while the Tour is on is a bit like being in Britain in the two weeks after Wimbledon when everyone is suddenly prancing about in tennis whites.įood, obviously. MrB was in bikey heaven on those hairpins. Truly turquoise, like the turquoise felt-tip you use to draw 'mountain lake'.Ĭows with actual bells on - how do Alpine farmers ever get any sleep - what a blimmin racket.īicycles. As I ploughed up and down a completely empty campsite pool in blistering 30something degree heat I promised to myself that I would try very very very hard to be happy if I ever win the lottery. Mountains, cable cars, glaciers, flowery meadows, geranium-clad chalets and other associated features (see 'cows' below). So, we are back from our holidays, and very blissful they were too.
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