tinyjo | Nearly made it!

Couldn't resist the temptation to pop into the internet cafe while I'm in Florac for the market and pop in a quick post, even though I'll be back on Monday :) We've had a great time, although the weather is so hot (close to 40 most days) that you don't really want to do anything. The house is near the top of one of the mountains here up one of those tiny winding roads with a terrace looking out across the range - it's an amazing view. I've got plently of reading done on the terrace and a pretty good suntan :) The river in the village at the bottom of the mountain is dried up so I haven't done any swimming but I've been glad of my bikini just for sitting around in. We've seen a bit of the local wildlife as we've passed through - there were wild boars by the side of the road on the way home from the resturant one evening - although Dad didn't get to see as many of the local birds as he was hoping - they've all gone in search of cooler climes, although they'll be lucky I think. There was even a forest fire over the other side of the mountain from the house. Smoke rolled over the top all evening and we got ash dropped on us sitting on the terrace. I don't think I've even ended up putting on too much weight - we've only wanted to go out for a proper meal once every 2 or 3 days and have been enjoying bread, cheese and wine apart from that. The food is fantastic - escargots of course and then things like duckling and rabbit. No wild boar on the menu yet though.

I've found it hard being away from Alex for so long but we've had a couple of phone calls and lots of texts - my phone gets better reception up the mountain than it does in North Oxford! I hear Caption's gone pretty well and Archie seems to have fixed my windows install while putting Linux on my laptop. Now that I'm all relaxed, I'm looking forward to being home again.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Florac. I remember Florac - very nice place - in the Cevennes region isn't it...

Awe, me wants to be there now!

This is a true story written by a woman in England to her friend after a
swimsuit shopping expedition. "I have just been through the annual
pilgrimage of torture and humiliation known as buying a bathing suit.

When I was a child in the 1950's, the bathing suit for a woman with a
mature figure was designed for a woman with a mature figure - boned,
trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered. They were built to
hold back and uplift and they did a good job.

Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the pre-pubescent girl with a
figure carved from a potato chip. The mature woman has a choice; she can
either front up at the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a
skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus who escaped from Disney's
Fantasia - or she can wander around every run-of-the-mill department store
trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of
fluorescent rubber bands. What choice did I have?

I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of
horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the
extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra used in
bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets
from a slingshot, which gives the added bonus that if you manage to
actually lever yourself into one, you are protected from shark attacks.
The reason for this is that any shark taking a swipe at your passing
midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.

I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap
in place, I gasped in horror - my bosom had disappeared! Eventually, I
found one bosom cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the
other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib. The problem is
that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is meant to
wear her bosom spread across her chest like a speed hump. I realigned my
speed hump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.

The bathing suit fitted all right, but unfortunately, it only fitted those
bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out
rebelliously from top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of play
dough wearing undersized cling wrap. As I tried to work out where all
those extra bits had come from, the pre-pubescent sales girl popped her
head through the curtains, "Oh, there you are!" she said, admiring the
bathing suit. I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had
to show me.

I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking
tape, and a floral two-piece which gave the appearance of an oversized
napkin in a serviette ring. I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers
with ragged frill and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane pregnant with
triplets and having a rough day. I tried on a black number with a midriff
and looked like a jellyfish in mourning. I tried on a bright pink pair with
such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.

Finally, I found a suit that fit ... a two-piece affair with shorts style
bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and
bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful
outcome.

When I got home, I found a label that said, "Material will become
transparent in water."

Nearly made it!

no subject

This reminds me of a joke my mom sent me...