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'