Bazaar

Mr B has been shopping.

So, obviously, Mr B is home. Despite the best efforts of the French emergency services and taxi drivers. A crash (not a bad one - dented bumpers only) closed one lane of the airport road, resulting in a 30 minute stint of crawling along in first. And then the taxi drivers being on a road-blocking strike against the Uber folk added a few extra excruciating minutes (excruciating for a left-winger who wants to get out and join the picket line (they had a barbecue - beats a brazier...)

But eventually we were there and somehow squeezed four of us (I gave the kids the day off school) and all his luggage into the tiny car. And home to open Mr B's birthday presents, lunch royally on bread, cheese and rosé and generally get a bit caught up on life.

A quick shopping trip to rectify my poor wine purchasing, and also just generally swoosh about in the convertible a bit, then aperos, dinner and now movie night.

Three wishes? I only need one.