Busy doing nothing

I've been wondering what I've been up to recently and have come to the conclusion that 'nothing' just about sums it up. What I mean, of course, is that I get up, go to work, earn a crust, come home and fart about. I've also been fighting recalcitrant software, given up in true grit style and resorted to good ol' Word.

La Plage des Lézards, Carnon

Last night we made it to the sea, hurrah! For a beer at a beach bar/restaurant in a light breeze and ambiance de vacances. There are several of these beach venues along the coast between La Grande Motte and Carnon (and beyond) but I keep going back to les Lezards, mostly because it's the nearest, but also because it's just plain pleasant.

Several of the others have an excess of silicone and overly brown taut skin about them, the beach babes of a predictable type, usually with balding, often dumpy (richish) men. If they aren't young and nubile, they are 'of a certain age', skinny, and well-weathered. They'll be sporting some serious money around their necks and wrists, a pale blond hair-do, something tight and white, and an unfortunate shade of lipstick.

Their sisters in the back of beyond are the opposite - plump, dressed sloppily in nothing that goes, and with that odd red hair colour that local hairdressers must get as a job lot.

Both are a far cry from the French woman so beloved by English newspapers who is chic, skinny, probably not brown cos it results in wrinkles, and wouldn't be seen dead anywhere outside Paris (16th), the Cote d'Azur or, at a pinch, Vichy (for the waters).

Down here on the 'populaire' beaches of Languedoc you see rather more effort than taste.

And having had a nice bitch, I can get back to my rather yummy home-made felafel made with my New Mixer (Carrouf Home) and wonder how I managed without since I broke the last two. Glass of frosty Puech Haut rosé in hand, natch. Cheers!