Arctic French Monkeys

I’m back in France.  Actually I was here for new years too – but felt crappy and ended up in bed, sober, by 11.30 on New Years Eve.  Gotta say I enjoyed the ferry crossing in both directions (despite floor sleeping on blow up mattresses).  My daughter – “is this the Ryan Air of Ferries, mum”?  Yep, it was cheap – £120 to get five of us all the way across the channel and back – plus car – but it did the job.  Snow on deck, naval vessels out of Portsmouth, and not a lorry driver in sight.  Nice.

Now I’m back.  I already have dirty finger nails and an aching back after a hard days graft on the house.  Today we made a second bedroom, with the cunning use of stud walling.   It all looks rather lovely (to mine eye), although a tumble of junk awaits us downstairs in the morning.  Arriving in darkness (with Landrover and trailer), my other half didn’t notice the splendid redesign upstairs has meant that all building materials have been scattered like an upturned biscuit tin of goodies onto the ground floor.  I hoping to manage a major clear up before heading for Ikea in Rennes tomorrow afternoon, and the MAIN REASON for coming to these parts and staying in a freezing freepart-renovated building in mid-winter – the Arctic Monkeys.  Les Singes Arctiques better be good!

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