This is what the exterior of my house looks like today; decor includes a huge truck from Dijon, wet cement
, and stonemasons everywhere.
So there’s a wee reality check for anyone who is under the mistaken impression that renovations in France are any more glamorous than anywhere else in the world.
It’s a shame there were no little boys around, as they would have been as riveted
as the big boys you see in the above photos, happily mucking around in the freshly poured cement
in their rubber boots. This was lost on Clem, who was teething and like her mother, couldn’t give a toss.
To make life just a little bit crazier, at 7:00pm tonight we’re also expecting Père Frot, the Catholic priest who married Franck and I and baptised both Charlotte and Camille, for dinner to plan Clémentine’s baptism on June 21st.
Here’s the account of his last supper at our house, complete with with my very intimidated parents and mystical gougères.
Would love to write more, but have to go and make the house Priest-ready. Present overabundance of cement may make this difficult, as it does tend to stain priestly robes…