I had an unwelcome blast from the past this week, my ex partner of some 5 years has popped up like a bad penny asking for money. Naturally, I told him very politely, and without using the actual word, to 'p*ss off'

So now my curiosity is aroused and I start to wonder what he is up to, as the mere fact I have heard from him means there is no doubt he will be up to something, and after a bit of cyber stalking, I came across his blog http://ga-jit.blogspot.com/ and yes, he is up to something and I genuinely wish him every success.

But more interesting than that was a link to a blog called 'Durdle Dora' created by his wife. A great blog as it happens, which I genuinely enjoyed reading.

But even more interesting than that were the strange references to her husband, my ex. ‘Today me and Mr DD went over to Portland for a nice long walk down to Church Ope Cove' really? you must be kidding. During the time we were together, the furthest he had been known to walk was from the sofa and back to switch on the telly!

..........and then another one, this time it’s a real classic - ‘Mr DD went sea fishing this week’ hilarious! The only time he ever went fishing, was when he fished about in the fridge for a beer!

Is this really him? My ex? The ex who's only real interests were wine, beer, telly and peanuts. Crikey, this Doodle Draws, Dumble Door or whatever her name is, certainly has managed to change him.

Then finally, with this little gem, it all started to make sense. ‘Me and Mr DD took our two pences down the seafront arcades this afternoon. Slot machines! well at least now I understand why he needs money.

Some people never do change......

Yesterdays blog appeard to attract a lot of comment, well bring it on I say, and the more the merrier. I especially like the ironic comments from people who really feel sorry for me and think that I must lead a terrible, unhappy life. Well, I can reassure everyone that life here is never dull with Mr Frog in it, and who else gives me so much to write about, and anyway, what could be more exciting than waiting for the next time he lets me down? If I ever do get bored I count myself lucky its not me who posts on my Face book status on a Monday ‘is it Friday yet?’ I wonder if there are some people who think what I write about is real life, every one knows real life isn’t like that, don't they watch Eastenders? or is it they just don't get it?

Another gold medal winning classic from Mr Frog this weekend. We went to dinner on Sunday with his Uncle, after the meal ended by then it was easily 5pm, so not supprisingly, having been restrained from moving since midday, Mini frog started to kick off, so he took him to the car and I said my goodbyes, then I went and sat in he car with Mini frog and he went to say his goodbyes. About 3/4 hr later we started to get a bit fed up so went in to see where he was and he was back sitting at the table with other glass of wine in his hand, smiling and porting proudly his badge saying ‘I just graduated from the school of thoughtlessness’

I went to a funeral recently, a well known local man who ran a bar in the village. The sort of Breton village bar that’s hasn’t changed, or probably even been cleaned, for many, many years but still holds an ubiquitous charm. He was a man of few words; he had throat cancer a few years ago and found talking difficult. Mini frog was particularly fond of him, their relationship that of grandfather-grandson, which more often than not erupted into a gentle boxing match or physical play. A local journalist wrote an fitting obituary, published together with a handsome photo. I showed mini frog the picture in the paper. ‘Oh look’ he said ‘Its Marcel’ then very excitedly announced ‘I want to see him again’ ‘Oh really’ I reply, wondering how I am going to explain his absence, ‘why is that then’? He replies by making a chopping action with his hand and says ‘well, I want to hit him’. A fitting truibute from a 3 year old!

Well things aren’t any better in our household, since New Years Eve when Mr frosty paid us a visit and forgot to leave. Valentines Day, has been and gone, yes, you know, that special day when love is acknowledged with hearts and flowers. An acknowledgement of my existence would have been nice. I thought for one fleeting moment last night that I could see a ray of something shining through , but alas, a polite inquiry to the reason for his smile revealed the fact that it was because I had cleaned the car.
Note to self: must clean the car more often. Now what shall I get for his tea, Poison Pizza or cyanide crepes?

As you might guess from the title of this blog ‘FAT’ for me is a bit of an issue. I am the Queen of the yoyo where diets are concerned, so whilst living in France for the past ten years I have begun to wonder why aren’t French women fat?

There are of course exceptions, but they are generally quite slim.

One of the first things I realise is that French women don’t go to the gym. In any case there aren’t any, well certainly not in rural Brittany there aren't, and mostly they don’t have time, poor things, they are far too busy, holding down a full time job, doing all the household chores, doing the school run, fetching their men folk from the bar and of course stopping everything to shop for and prepare a nutritious, four course meal, which will be on the table on the dot of Midday!

So then, what about the eating? I enquired recently, of my (slim) female froggy friend what she eats for Breakfast. It will, she tells me, normally consist of slice of bread, a natural yogurt or maybe a small piece of cheese (yes well she is French don’t forget!), black coffee WITH sugar and a fruit. Oh and another thing, that yogurt and cheese will be the 100% fat, full Monty as rest assured our French friends don’t do any sort of low fat, low sugar, diet or lite!

On to lunch then, when normally there will be soup, some crudités with vinaigrette, maybe some charcuterie and a main course of meat or fish with sauce, potatoes and of course some cheese (the left-overs from breakfast?) plus salad and a small desert, crème caramel or such like. Also on the table will be bread, butter, water and wine. Supper is a simple affair, soup and a chunk of bread and maybe a small piece of cheese (more cheese? You are joking)

So why isn’t she then, our fine French cousin, the size of a châteaux with the backside of a large Auto bus? Well, by using my finely tuned analytical skills have deduced that a French table contains a little bit of lots of tasty things, they will be in season and bought fresh the same day. The meal will start also with an empty plate so our French lady will have eaten elegantly sufficiently from a communal dish from which she has chosen her own portion, and no doubt washed it down with a small glass of wine……..

A few other random observations, and my theory starts to take shape – French men don’t like fat women…..French women would never consider a life with out bread……French shops don’t sell fat clothes….French women don’t diet………French women never deny themselves a little bit of something chocolaty or a glass of champagne…….

So there we have it, French women aren’t fat they are perfect (well nearly perfect - actually most of them stink of fags and over ripe camembert)

In our house at the moment it seems like everyone has got the ‘Hump’. Mini frog has it with the frequency of a pre-teen. I know it is true, because more often than not my (and I don’t think unreasonable) requests to ‘get dressed for school’ or 'come and eat your cornflakes' are met with retorts such as ‘no’ or ‘Eddy is busy',or sometimes he just gives me a look, of which I am in no doubt whatsoever that if he had the vocabulary of a pre-teen he would say ‘piss of mother and just leave me in peace to brumm my tractors', and then he turns away and carries on brumming.

The cat also has the 'Hump'. Since I have blocked up her secret trap door to the attic, where I suspect she does nothing other than while away her time sleeping in warmth and peace away from Mini frog, or doing a sneaky wee in the corner, she just stares me out with her yellow eyes, or else sulks.

Mr Frog also has the 'Hump', which I am sure has something to do with the fact that since New Years Eve I have withdrawn all conjugals. This is due to a couple of ‘incidents’ which occurred over the holiday period, mainly involving drink (his drinking I hasten to add) and when ‘the’ brain cell must have also been on holiday.

As for me? oh boy! oh boy! have I got the 'Hump'