What the Harringay housewife did on her holidays

It was all going too well.
Despite my misgivings about RyanAir, they managed to get us on the plane, sitting together although the Priority Booking queue caused the usual mutterings from a few of the 'orange ladies' sitting near me,
("I bet they're not all Priority Booking etc").
The rental car was ready, car seats installed and we were off to Sarlat, promising the kids food as soon as we arrived...and that was where it all went pear shaped.

Although I had explained for the umpteenth time to Mr E that the French do not serve food at all hours , he insisted on pulling over to a roadside cafe to eat. My look of triumph as she shook her head at my question about food was probably a bit annoying but my husband is one of those people who has to see the grumpy face of the serveuse for himself before he will believe me. We were now behind schedule and the kids were getting restless. Arriving at Sarlat, we decided to find the campsite despite the wails from the backseat about pizza promised and not delivered. An hour and half later, after driving up and down the same road, exchanging insults and trying to calm two hysterical children who were now 2 hours overdue for their tea, we admitted defeat and headed into town. Mr E screeched into 'un parking' just as the nipperette threw up all over the back seat.
The extremely posh restaurant that we bundled them into took it rather well I thought when their peace was disturbed by sobbing children, furious father and mutinous mother. I ordered the children's menu, 'steak hache', it was raw on the plate...Bienvenue en France, I sighed and
handed the bread basket over to them.

There are no pictures of this holiday because on day 2, the baby's water beaker leaked all over my beloved camera and it died in my hand like a little fluttery bird. Fly tippers,litterers and fouling dogs of Harringay should not however feel safe...you have one week at most before I aquire my new camera and then I'm on your case again.

My daughter's bloodcurdling screams every time a minute insect landed on her were nothing to
the noise she made on day 3 when she stuck her hand under the boiling water Mr E was using
for the washing up. With her fingers stuck in a saucepan of water, she was driven screaming and
hysterical to the local hospital, filled full of painkillers and sent home with a magnificent bandage on her hand which she happily all paraded around the camp site on her return.
Just another typical family holiday, chez les E.

Luckily, perhaps due to 'vin mousseaux' tinted spectacles, life in the tent settled down to a slow pace, still punctuated by the screeches of my 'not at all impressed by nature' daughter every time she saw a spider, and my baby boy became progressively more mucky (and naked) as the days wore on.

Under the approving eyes of our Dutch and German neighbours, we sorted our rubbish and took
it to the recycling facilities on the site. The Perigord is spotless, despite the enormous numbers of tourists that pour in there. Not a cigarette butt on the street, which given that the French still smoke like the proverbial chimneys is no mean feat, no fast food wrappers anywhere despite the French teenager's love of McDo. Only one place had litter and graffiti, 'le jardin public' in Sarlat where clearly the rebellious Perigord teenager spends his/her Saturday night. The Dordogne itself is breathtakingly clean. Yet in a way I expected this level of cleanliness and attention to recycling, packaging, etc. Most of Europe is way ahead on this stuff. It was in the supermarket where I had my greatest surprise.

It is a shame there are no photos of the consternation on the face of the English people (us) when having bought a huge amount of shopping, we looked around for bags to put it in. The cashier watched with faint Gallic amusement as we flapped about before taking pity on us and telling us that there were cardboard boxes 'la bas'. And then it dawned...no single use carrier bags in the hypermarket. Was it just here? No, in all the supermarkets and shops we used, no one used plastic bags. Of course, being ecohousewife I had a shopping bag with me and the boxes became a fixture for a week in the car. There was no panic, nobody was refusing to shop because they could not have a plastic bag with 'HyperChampion' written all over it.

And now back in England, I watch in the queue as dozens of bags are handed out to supermarket customers, sometimes with only one item in them. You can't all have come in here on a whim and then bought a week's shopping. Did you suddenly realise that you were out of milk, bread and tea bags while sauntering up the high street and that it why you have to put three items into an enormous bag? Can you really not carry that can of coke and a cheese sandwich in your hand until you get to where you're going? Oh yes, you like to use them for your rubbish. Will that be the small bags you leave next to the bins or in the gutter on Green Lanes. Sorry, but free rubbish bag with every purchase isn't really good enough. Shopping bags not cool? If Mr E, northern beer drinking man par excellence, can be persuaded to use a shopping bag, so can you...so for today at least, Vive la France!

oh and RyanAir passengers did not disappoint on the way back where families with small children and people with mobility problems were out sprinted by the able bodied even though we were given a head start and there were plenty of seats on the flight. Are these the same people who insist on a carrier bag for their one item in Tesco?

p.s. Any one who saw the forest that is my garden at the moment will, I hope, agree we have offset our flight!