Frog holiday April 2009
This Easter we decided to brave the French weather and head out to my parents place in Vigiers. It's a beautiful spot, nestled in between more acres of vines than you can possibly imagine and right on the golf course (where else?!).
The forecast had been rain, rain, rain, but the week ended up being absolutely beautiful with only one morning of vaguely horrible weather.It was so good that the boys ended up in the pool almost every day. Oliver learnt to dive off the side with gay abandon and Pip to be dunked with even gayer abandon. By the end of the week Oliver was swimming up and down the pool in his armbands completely by himself and climbing in and out of the pool to hurl himself in at the deep end. Pip, after a shaky start, ended up happy to be waterboarded for hours on end. He'd be very at home at Gitmo should Farnham life prove too staid.
We had day trips to Duras to the haunted castle and a long, fabulous lunch for the princely sum of 10 Euros each (3 courses); Bergerac where we rode on the tourist boat and experienced the highlight of Oliver's holiday when he got to pee over the side of the boat; Saint Emilion with yet more wine and good food, and the slowest train trip round the vineyards known to man. Even the regular trip to Sainte-Foy-Le-Grande Saturday market was made interesting by the insistence of a strange man trying to sell us cough sweets by luring the kids into range with a small, terrified wild boar. We also got a private showing of a local art by a couple of boys who'd moved over from the US and settled into the bo-ho lifestyle Saussignac had to offer. Oliver showed his appreciation for the art in the only way he knows how: by jumping into some huge puddles and having to take his clothes off.
Pip had dedicated one-on-one time with Nonna and now won't be separated from her without copious amounts of tears and Oliver got to play golf with Big G at the driving range, have a playdate with some French friends and practice his French on some unsuspecting natives. Even Jeff conversed a little Francais when not analysing his golf grip and swing. I got to eat and drink and play 4 holes of very bad golf. Why is it your perfectly straight, long shots on the driving range turn into slicing, short nonsense on the golf course?
Thanks Nonna and Big G. Tops holiday. Shame we had to come back really.
The forecast had been rain, rain, rain, but the week ended up being absolutely beautiful with only one morning of vaguely horrible weather.It was so good that the boys ended up in the pool almost every day. Oliver learnt to dive off the side with gay abandon and Pip to be dunked with even gayer abandon. By the end of the week Oliver was swimming up and down the pool in his armbands completely by himself and climbing in and out of the pool to hurl himself in at the deep end. Pip, after a shaky start, ended up happy to be waterboarded for hours on end. He'd be very at home at Gitmo should Farnham life prove too staid.
We had day trips to Duras to the haunted castle and a long, fabulous lunch for the princely sum of 10 Euros each (3 courses); Bergerac where we rode on the tourist boat and experienced the highlight of Oliver's holiday when he got to pee over the side of the boat; Saint Emilion with yet more wine and good food, and the slowest train trip round the vineyards known to man. Even the regular trip to Sainte-Foy-Le-Grande Saturday market was made interesting by the insistence of a strange man trying to sell us cough sweets by luring the kids into range with a small, terrified wild boar. We also got a private showing of a local art by a couple of boys who'd moved over from the US and settled into the bo-ho lifestyle Saussignac had to offer. Oliver showed his appreciation for the art in the only way he knows how: by jumping into some huge puddles and having to take his clothes off.
Pip had dedicated one-on-one time with Nonna and now won't be separated from her without copious amounts of tears and Oliver got to play golf with Big G at the driving range, have a playdate with some French friends and practice his French on some unsuspecting natives. Even Jeff conversed a little Francais when not analysing his golf grip and swing. I got to eat and drink and play 4 holes of very bad golf. Why is it your perfectly straight, long shots on the driving range turn into slicing, short nonsense on the golf course?
Thanks Nonna and Big G. Tops holiday. Shame we had to come back really.
posted by Emma Sweetwater at
April 21, 2009
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