...is taking a lot longer than any of us expected. See, he was supposed to get his boat out of the water, fix it, paint it and then take off for Italy, Spain, and all points south. That was the original plan. Once he got the boat out, though, he found out he’d not be able to get the repairs he needed done until after the first of September. He decided to pass that time here painting our house.

Well, we have no house to paint, so he took on Véro’s place, and did a smashing job. But he’s good, damn good, and he knocked her place out in no time flat. What to do?

Well, he’s driven the tractor a few times, cleaned the combine, piddled around with some other little chores that, while nowhere near as important as painting my house—for example—have and will save us lots of time later on—us being Marc, of course.

At the end of August, we called up the port where the boat is stashed to confirm that work would be able to start on (or even around) the first. Nope. He’d been pushed back to the fifteenth.

With that in mind, he decided to head out for Italy anyway. Once there, he’d pick up a car and then meander his way back north, work on his boat, then take off for Spain. No problems.

(Might I just add here that the way he deals with these ‘no problem’ situations is infinitely more laid back than I could possibly ever do—even if I were sedated to the point of being comatose.)

So, how to get Mr. W to Italy? Train? Takes too long. Plane? Ryanair out of Paris or Brussels is cheap as chips—if you get your ticket six billion years in advance. Hey, why not hitch a ride with a truck driver?! I mean, c’mon, this is Mr. Welshy we’re talking about. His life is one big adventure. So yeah, why not. Marc called a friend of a friend who just happened to be heading down to Italy today. Sweet! Arrangements were made and we had a celebration dinner for the leaving of the Welshman…

All Mr. W has talked about his entire time here has been cheese. Yummy, yummy cheese—all full of cheesy goodness and strong odors. MMM MMM CHEESE. So, to say good-bye, we, of course, had Raclette. Yummy, cheesy, (light? Bwahahaha) Raclette. All I can say is Mr. W was a very happy (stuffed) person.

So today he should be gone, right? Well, not quite. See, when Mr. Truck-driving Friend person arrived to get loaded, well, he ended up not going to Italy. Oops!

So what to do ?

Well, tomorrow we have to drive to Paris to get Christine’s passport and Consular Report of Birth Abroad done. Bless you SNCF—driving is actually so much cheaper this go ‘round. While I’d much rather take the train—no worries about parking—I’m not quite ready to shell out the over 120€ for two tickets to Paris. That’s just rigoddamndiculous. So, we’re going to drive to Nanterre—on the other side of Paris from where we live—and hide our car in a friend’s garage.

And now we’re taking the Welshman along with us. He’s taking the over-night train into Milan where he’ll catch another train to take him on to wherever it is he’s going.

So if any of you out there in Gay Paris need a bit of painting done, I can lend you the Welshman for the afternoon. You just have to buy me lunch.


Update: Well, ain’t Murphy just a big fat beyotch! While driving into Chaumont to get Christine’s passport pictures done, my better half called to let me know the Friendly Neighborhood Truck Driver called—he’s got a colleague going to Italy tomorrow, are we still interested? Well, duh! 145€ for an overnight train ticket or the chance to see some scenery while springing for a couple of meals? So we went to the gare to get the ticket refunded. Later on Marc’s cell phone rings. I jokingly say, “That’s the truck driver calling to tell you he’s not going to Italy bwahahaha.” Sometimes my psychic abilities amaze me. It was indeed the truck driver. But instead of canceling he’s just put Mr. Welshy off for a few hours. He’s stuck in Lille overnight, so packing him off in the morning is not possible. He’ll have to wait until early afternoon, but he will be going…barring any more phone calls. Ugh!