Amour Propre

Jean-Pierre and his 'oh so gorgeous' son Sebastien arrive early to swell the workforce here at Le Chateau. Papa is forty something and still retains the naughtiest grin whilst fixing you with that 'you know what' twinkle in his eye. An irrisistable rogue. Son Sebastien is twenty something and seriously possesses 'it'. Even in these current chilly conditions he insists on wearing the tightest pure white t-shirt stretched to the maximum capacity across his broad firm chest. Get the picture ? Which is why this morning found me unusually enthusiastic on the D.I.Y front.

Sebastien insists on practising his English with me. There should be a law against Frenchmen speaking English. Completely and uttely decorative young Frenchmen speaking English should be locked up for their own safety. Prime example. "You want lie down" ? he says gesturing towards the tiles awaiting fixation to the wall. I must have blushed because he looks confused. "I am left" he ventures. I'm not about to explain the finer points of right/wrong, right/left however endearing his efforts are.

Jean-Pierre requests that I steady the step ladders for him whilst he does a particularly tricky manouevre with some piece of wood in the bathroom. Which is where His Lordship finds me. Inches away from an extremely agreeable French workman's taut derriére and not staring away as decorum states on these occasions. "What are you doing" ? he demands. "You promised to help me in the garden this morning". I would have thought it was very very obvious what I was doing but I had to do some quick thinking on my feet. "You know that most accidents occur in the home" I reply, delivered in what I hope is the right balance of righteousness and indigination sprinkled with a 'forty something workhorse's' concern for her troops. I should have known better, he knows me only too well by now and I wasn't fooling him for a nanosecond. Well I suppose if the espadrille was on the other foot I would feel slightly miffed too under the circs.

I was overwhelmed by love and tenderness for 2b when he announced last night that as a special birthday treat he had phoned up Steve Wright in the Afternoon on Radio 2 and requested a song for his Mother's birthday. We will never know however if Mr Wright obliged as I kept on closing the bedroom door firmly throughout the afternoon as I was varnishing the floorboards. It did however explain why 2b kept poking his head solicitously round the door and leaving it ajar and the volume rose at an alarming rate. What is she doing listening to Radio 2 in France ? I can hear you thinking to yourselves. Have you tried a diet of French 'pop' muzeek ? I know I know 'When in Rome'......