Our new home for the next week.
Balcony view.
Our home exchange hosts are there to meet us and show us around the apartment – see pictures. All very comfortable and quality furnished with an amazing balcony and view of Cannes Bay. They’ve left us some essentials like roles, jam, toilet roll and not forgetting wine.
Bedroom.
Back to the apartment and soon set up Apple TV, with red wine, brad and cheese for tea. Sleep through yet another episode of Sex Education
Amazing view over Cannes Bay from the balcony.
The origins of the quran:
Supermarket with 4 cash desks, 3 of them swap staff at the same time, so only one in operation. Customers have been in line that long some of them are now eligible for their pension. Then when they finally get to the lone checkout girl they get to witness checkout at the speed of an arthritic tortoise. Send the cashiers to Aldi for some speed training. Why I’ve even got a new phrase – “Slower than a French supermarket checkout”.
An hours free parking at the supermarket. They’ve obviously never shopped with Wendy. Why she needs at least that to get past the tinned goods isle.
Kitchen
Then spend the rest of the day just enjoying the apartment and the views, along with a little beer and wine. Weathers a mixture of sun and cloud but at least it’s warm.
What is it with the French and their 22 character passwords. Password for nuclear launch codes would be shorter. Are they that worried about some stolen wifi. Fortunately most of them have, and desperately need, a QR code to scan. Apples share password code feature is a life saver or else I think we’d still be sat there typing passwords.
Then you might wonder how come I’ve a photograph of a French bank vault? Wrong, it’s the steel door to our apartment. Is this a high crime area?
Bathroom with bizarre shower.
Do battle with the shower, or should I say lack of it. There’s just a shower hose in the bath not even on the wall. How can people live without a proper shower? Another querk of this lovely well-appointed apartment is the lack of cups, just one with a handle and two without – much too hot for folk like me who don’t have asbestos hands.
Cannes old port.
After our usual lazy start we set off down to the port in the old town. Plenty of expensive outdoor parking. Wow, we get to see the 5th British car this whole trip. The French economy must be really suffering and if that Macron geeezer doesn’t improve his demeanour and attitude to the Brits then hopefully we’ll stay away in droves – mind you they’ll have got shut of him by next year.
Street mural. in Cannes.
Have a walk along the front and as usual, there’s a big expo on in the conference centre promoting and selling French TV series. Of course the tourist info centre is closed for lunch.
Have a walk around the old town and then along the beach. Gorgeous weather and all very pleasant.
Coffee at a beach cafe, no rush just watching the world and the fully clothed go by. Wot no topless beaches and supermarkets with no baked beans. Like the UK this country is going to the dogs too.
Finally, get to see 20 stone of topless adipose tissue, those nipples are scraping her knees. Enough to put anyone off sex or women for life, should be used in aversion therapy. No need to apply electric shocks just the sight alone would do the job. I was going to post a picture of something similar but feared for my reader’s sanity.
Back home for a leisurely beer and wine.
Driving around Cannes is sheer hell, traffic lights and zebra crossings every 10 feet; narrow streets unfit for even a scooter; twists and bends enough to wear your steering wheel out; pedestrians who don’t know the difference between roads and pavements; drivers with zero patience; carved up twice now by bitches in mercs, of course I’ve given them the Churchill salute; cyclists who ignore all conventions, mind you that’s the same the world over; and if all else fails you have an exhaust bandit trying to drive his extended phallus up my exhaust pipe.
Someone should level the whole place an install an American North / South and East / West grid system – I know we’re a couple of Philistines. As for those American friends who say the UK’s roads are narrow they should come to this hell hole.
I start every day vowing not to loose my temper but within 5 minutes of this hell I’ve lost it.
Cannes beach.
Free parking in St R. Wendy lashes out and has a fish burger at MacD’s. Their coffee is great. So we sit by the sea like two old dears. Alas no really pleasant sights on the beach. Not really much to see in the town.
Coffee on the beach.
Yeah, sat on the balcony with bread, cheese and wine – the Holy Trinity of the table – for tea tonight. Much to Wendy’s annoyance, I could live on this. So what do these items have in common? Never thought of it that way before but they all rely upon yeast.
According to government statistics during 2020 HGV’s travelled 16.4 billion vehicle miles. During that same period 3.07 billion of those miles the HGV’s were empty. That’s 18.7% empty. As well as recruiting more drivers perhaps it is also time to look at working smarter and use IT to reduce that waste.
Meanwhile to the mafflards (A mafflard is a term for someone who is a pure klutz. Words and Phrases From The Past calls a mafflard “a stammering or blundering fool; a term of contempt.”) responsible for these statistics, perhaps it might help if you decided upon one unit of measure, preferably miles, rather than sometimes using miles and others using that Evil Union measure, kilometres.
Relaxing sunset.
Beach cafes at this end of Cannes are vey expensive so being cash strapped pensioners we stroll down to other beaches to our previous days watering spot. One cafe allonge lasts a whole hour of people watching on the beach. Wendy tries a Latte and survives it, hope she’s not going to start polluting my coffee machine with all that milk. What’s happened to the french, the women seem to have become a nation of prudes, no eye-candy sights to keep me entertained.
On .he road to St Raphael.
Well a really good walk today, all of 4.7 miles.
It’s Kurt’s birthday and as usual we’re away for it. Give him a ring to wish him happy birthday and say hello to the kids. Of course its the witching hour before they go to bed, they’re feral. After 5 minutes we’re ready to turn to drink to cope with the nosie and excitement. Within that short chat one of them is banished to the naughty step – I’ll leave it to your imagination as to what her name was. How do Kurt and Fiona cope with them, they both look stressed and in dire need of alcohol. But we still miss the kids.
Shucks, how did those lilly white boobs manage to spoil my photo.
When I look at the layout it almost seems like there’s some lost space. Why didn’t they put a door from the hall into the bathroom. Tapping walls looking for priest holes or hidden compartments. But alas nothing. Oh well, they’re french and in a country with Priorite Adroite and no baked beans anything goes.
islam – the religion of peace
What is it with the French and their weird fascination with bathroom sinks? There are thousands of perfectly sensible designs, but it seems that there’s an excess of designers out there who have to come up with new crazy, impractical designs – deep, square, flat – to justify their existence, that the gullible French rush out to buy, like a nerd dashing to buy a new Apple product. And yet they leave kitchen sinks alone, no messing with that common-sense design.
Beach at Nice.
It’s only 25 minute drive and I’d already keyed in a car park to make life easy. Find the car park, supposedly with 380 places, this one only had about 30. Oh well it’ll do. And then I see the price.
Wendy buys a sandwich and we sit on the promenade while she eats it and fends off pigeins and aggresive seagulls. The colour of the sea is amazing. If nothing else it was worth it just for that. Have a walk down to the far end of the promonade and back. The beach is all pebbles not a bit like the ones at Cannes. All in all quite disappointing and note to oneself, don’t bother coming again, Cannes is so much nicer.
Yeah, the Union flag is at least 6″ higher than the French one.
Drive home for afternood tea on the balcony, followed by a beer, some wine, Chicken Faijatas and a good snooze through some mediocre TV. Lovely eating tea out on the balcony in glorious technicolour sunshie and that amazing view.
Two items of delight today. The Azure blue sea at Nice and tea on the balcony overlooking Cannes – how lucky can we be.
Fear not said he, all the French fishermen’s sabre rattling will amount to not even a sardine as of course the French authorities will step in and stop their illegal activities. In your dreams.
Promenade de Anglais in Nice.
Pink carpet at TV series festival. No stars.
Have a saunter around the old town. Wendy sees a dress we both like, that’s rare, but sadly the shop is closed for lunch. We call in on the way back. “One size fits all.” says the shop assistant “put a belt around”. Never mind that it still hangs off her shoulders like supermans cloak. Ridiculous. It’s a wonder she didn’t tell us it would shrink to a perfect fit with wear.
Stroll down onto the beach for a coffee and a last relax by the sea.
I’ve just started to apprecaite the layers of Cannes:
I’m not usually one to bang on about human rights but for Iran I’ll make an exception. Every thing you need to know about human right in Iran.
https://www.amnesty.org/en/location/middle-east-and-north-africa/iran/report-iran/
Occaisonally one of the Morlocks escapes on their noisy, two wheeled phalus, and disturbs my quiet relaxation on the balcony up in Super Cannes. If only I had a snipers rifle. Mind you I do have some empty glass Fischer beer bottles.