So, I'm back home.
It's weird isn't it? I don't want to be an Englishman who lives in France and compares it constantly with living in the UK, but from time to time, I am that man.
I try hard not to be the kind of person who says "how much?!" when I pay for petrol in England, but I say it. I try really hard not to be the person who praises french supermarkets (so much cheese!) and groans at the thought of English sliced bread. But hey, here I am.
I tell you what though - I love the UK for it's love of fat people. We always moan in the UK about body fascism and size zero models, but people are happy and live normal, fairly healthy lives with a bit of fat. Some of us even find a bit of bulk a turn-on.
Now, being well built is one thing but no-one, absolutely no-one, wants to be the fattest person in the room.
In the UK I'd never be the fattest person in the room. There's definitely some pounds to be lost here, but I know many fatter people. In the UK. In France I am the fattest person I know. How did this happen? I go to meetings and am the biggest person there. Ditto nightclubs, ditto restaurants, ditto everywhere.
My fancy Gym membership is helping me to lose some, but even though I enjoy the view of the fit bodies working out, I miss fat people in the gym. There's nothing better than people fatter than yourself to give your confidence a boost. Well guess what? I'm boosting everyone's confidence but my own at the gym.
But I continue to go. If only for the nice towels and the hydrotherapy pool.
And the baking hot sauna.
And the outdoor swimming pool in summer.
And that boy behind reception with the curly hair....
6 commentaires:
I love France. I love the way that blokes have a sneaky look at me even though I am old enough to be your mother. I love the way that even old grannies will go topless on the beach and think nothing of it. I love the way you can go into a food shop and, despite all the EU rules and regs, there are still people at the counter smoking and holding a dog under their arm.
One thing puzzles me though. How can French people stay so slim and svelte when there is all that good stuff to eat. I put on 6lb in one week in the South of France, swam every day and walked miles. A mystery.
But even worse than dogs in shops are dogs in restaurants....
One particular episode come to mind...."is he bothering you" the old lady said as her dog humped my leg. I was at a really good restaurant on a third date (in itself almost unheard of) and had a dachshund giving my ankle a good seeing to.
The old girl had ordered steak (medium rare) for her little darling and it seemed that all of that red meat had put him in the mood.
Anyway, as the old lady couldn't bend down, and as the dog was refusing to listen to her commands of "leave the nice man alone", my date ended up grabbing the dog and ceremoniously plonking him in the woman's lap.
Quite funny really. I guess he felt a certain sense of propriety over my leg....ha ha
I love France too. We have been living in the Limousin for 3 years next month. My friend and I got whistled at as we walked through a market on Saturday. It was from someone in a window above us. We didn't look so that we could maintain the illision that he was 25 and gorgeous, not 80 and toothless!
hello Debra and the swearing lady....
Nice to see you both here.
I wish I got whistled at in the street. I get honked at a lot - but that's mainly due to the locals refusing to adapt to my English driving style. ha ha.
On being bulky in France: Although you may find you are often the fattest in any given group of french folk, you will also probably find you are the tallest.
I've noticed that although they do have some huge bastards, for every Fabien Pelouse there are 4 Dominicis.
Hi Stew, thanks for dropping by.
It's true - not wanting to disrespect my hosts, but they are a nation of shortarses!
I'm also usually the least hairy person in the room, for which I thank my parents on a daily basis! ha ha
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