Hugh Grant, surely not ?

You know that you have reached the zenith of your dreams when you catch your teenage son reading your blog and inviting you out for the evening all in the space of 24 hours.

Last night we hit the town together, Castelnaudary to be exact. Such a pretty spot with a small port off the Canal du Midi and famous for its dish Cassoulet, a thick pork and bean stew designed to stick to your ribs.

We settled into our plush seats in the cosy theatre, my don't the French just love their heating turned up full ? The thick deep red velvet curtains swished open dramatically and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. There, only feet away from me, was the living breathing form of Hugh Grant. Hugh Grant, in Castelnaudary on a Wednesday evening presenting the dance theatre show of the lycée, il n'est pas possible ! Same impossibly thick floppy hair, same foppish manner and now warbling in gutteral French a Charles Aznavour love song and grinning at us all. The 'French Yoof'' groaned audibly. Honestly if Hugh or Gemma for that matter, (more likely) was looking for a seriously sexy French double here was their man.

After that the tempo revved up considerably and I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't going to get to meet 'our Hugh' after all and enjoyed the brilliant mixture of dance and theatre.

I really tried very hard to get a pic of 'the imposter' swooning into his microphone but it was way too dark so I've posted a pic of 2b instead. Not only is he better looking he also performs a much hotter dance routine. Move over Hugh, or whoever you were.