There is not much that I don't love about France, except foie gras. But it's hard to love a country when they start charging you for being vegetarian. It's not like there's a shortage of cheese in France that they can't just throw a slice on the plate! So as I make preparations for the summer's Pyrenean walking I fully expect, Refuge Marialles, for my €3 extra supplement, some extra quality vegetables.
Je suis aussi un peu annoyed that I had to fly home from Milan yesterday instead of taking my beloved tren de nuit. The rolling SNCF strikes finally caught up with me, and while I admire French militancy in the face of attempts by anyone to curtail the long lunch, I will never forgive them for making me fly into City Airport. This landing involves descending sharply through thick cloud with zero visibility until popping out next to the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf, thinking ‘ummm do we have enough clearance over the Excel Centre’, but before being able to worry too much about that getting buffeted by wind shear off the Thames and bouncing all the way down the runway into a reverse park at the terminal. I could, however, spend hours sitting on the DLR platform watching the prop planes swaying across the tarmac as they come into land, marvelling at how flight really is an amazing feat of engineering, or an unnatural act of magic (and where did I put my anorak).
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