get the suncream...

We're all going on a summer holiday, doo-be-doo-be-doo-be-doo-be-dooooooo. Ah, Cliff, m'ol'mucker. You are the beginning of every persons voyage to that perfect summer abode...
This time tomorrow I hope I'll be dusting down my sunhat, squeezing into one of two really old scrappy bikinis and supping on some trez-tasty French wine.
But don't worry trusted readers: all 2 of you will be kept posted of my French antics because despite the house location being ultimate Pyrenees rurality - there is internet! hurrah. So, I will be updating Mothers Ruin with tales of woe as I finish of the 5th camembert of the morning, after a couple of bottles of Boujolais, and checking that my children haven't turned into real-live-human-prunes in the swimming pool.
Now. What is the French for just-one-more-chocolate-croissant, oh, and what the heck, chuck in one of those Vouvray's too..?
Au revoir petit choux as they say sur la continent!
(Although, before we get to France we have to do the whole RyanAir shite on a bike will we be sane this time tomorrow? I probably will be pissed on my 8th bottle of Bier Blondes, nursing wounds gathered in London Stansted... But all shall be revealed my pretty, all shall be revealed...)
Boff Boff! Bon Soir!