I’ve decided not to travel with Aude any more – she seems to be cursed. We caught our train out of St Raphael this morning right on time and made an effortless journey to Paris. Arriving in Paris with plenty of time to spare, we went down to catch the RER D back to Gare du Nord, only to be met by a group of police pointing us in the other direction. Someone had apparently left a suspect package on the train and they were closing the station.

Plan B involved a connecting service across a couple of other RER lines, and we eventually made it to Gare du Nord with plenty of time to spare.

It’s back to work tomorrow, another holiday over. Only a few weeks until New Orleans, thankfully.

Saturday morning we were up early to visit the town hall in Roquebrune, where we need to submit all of our paperwork for our civil ceremony. Part of the process is an interview with the mayor (or his delegate) to ensure that the marriage is genuine and to go over all the details for the day.

We were met by the adjunct mayor, a generously proportioned woman with an apparent predilection for sunshine and a disdain for soap. She was our first real brush with the French etat, and represented everything that is bad about the civil service in France. With little genuine power but a keen desire to demonstrate her importance, she decided to throw impediment after impediment in our way. “I’m not sure it’s possible” was her favourite response, and her interpretation of the laws governing marriage changed with the wind.

It was not the most positive meeting I’ve ever had. She seemed unimpressed when I asked whether it would be easier to elope to Las Vegas. I suspect Guantanamo detainees are treated with more respect than she afforded us.

The trauma of the town hall behind us, we headed to a much more agreeable lunch by the port in Frejus – moules frites washed down with a couple of beers. After a brief stop to look at some decorations for the wedding, we were off to Brignoles for a quick chat with the woman coordinating the details at the chateau and a champagne tasting – and then on to ‘test drive’ the hotel and restaurant at the Abbaye de la Celle.

The hotel was absolutely beautiful, with genuinely warm service and a lovely room with our own private garden. We were greeted with two glasses of wine from the vineyard in the back. After we’d settled in, we went into the Alain Ducasse restaurant and had a lovely dinner of asparagus with kumquat sauce, grilled fish with roast potatoes, caramelised pork with stir-fried vegetables, cheese, and a chocolate fondant. The food lived up to the hype – it was a lovely evening. Stuffed to the seams, we trundled off to bed.

Woke up today to another beautiful March morning, a slight frost on the ground but predicted highs of 17C later today. The café at the train station has started to stock Cadbury’s Crème Eggs, a sure sign that spring can’t be far away now. We’ve actually had a very mild winter, so as nice as it is to have spring on our doorstep, it doesn’t feel like the long-awaited relief that it does in some years.

My week at work seems to be flying by. We’re busy pulling together all the write-ups from my client who prints money, and even I am surprised by how much we accomplished in such a short time. Two of my junior guys have been locked in a project room for three days straight cranking out the slides – I’m giving them the final review this morning, which should be a welcome relief. I’m sure they’re keep to put this to bed. I’ll go out to the client to present the findings later this week (hurrah – a day where most of my time will be spent on trains).

Wedding plans are continuing apace. As I wrote on my other blog (the one on our wedding website), the heavens seem to have aligned. After weeks of chasing various ‘Letters of Freedom’ from various Catholic parishes around the world, my prayers were (literally and figuratively) answered all at once, when all the parishes concerned emailed me on the same day (and within hours of one another) to tell me that they would be sending the required Letters in the next 24 hours. So we’ve managed to navigate the tricky intricacies of the Catholic Church’s bureaucracy. I’m not convinced that the French bureaucracy will be quite so straightforward.

In other news, Dara is coming to visit for the weekend. It will be a good chance to catch up with an old friend, and knowing Dara, quite literally swapping war stories. (For those of you who don’t know Dara, she spends most of her life moving from one war-torn country to another – currently living in Afghanistan). We were going to meet in London, but I’ve managed to lure her down to Canterbury with the promise of cooking a traditional Sunday roast.

Well, the weather didn’t cooperate, but otherwise we had a lovely weekend in Normandy visiting Aude’s grandfather.

Having narrowly avoided the Friday evening proposal-writing session at the office, I ended up spending several hours talking to my mother on the phone on Friday evening – and subsequently didn’t get to bed until nearly midnight. Which, with my early starts most mornings, qualifies as “late” these days.

We set off early on Saturday morning (too early, actually – I prefer my weekends to start after 6am!) and caught the 8am Eurotunnel to Calais. From Calais, we drove down to Montreuil sur Mer where the Wine Society has their European shop, and restocked our wine cellar. On the recommendation of the shopkeeper, we decided to try a local restaurant for lunch but changed our minds when we were put off by the proprietor.

She was the stereotypical arrogant, rude French person that every English-speaker fears – the stuff of whom legend is made. And Aude was right there beside me to witness it all – and agreed with my assessment. It’s people like this that are giving the French a bad name.

It was all our fault, you understand. We’d entered the restaurant at 11:50am. Aude had politely asked, in French, whether they were serving lunch yet or whether we were too early. “You’re too early,” came the reply. “Come back when we’re open!”

We asked what time they opened. “12 o’clock!” she said.

We should have recognised her displeasure at having arrived ten minutes before the designated serving time and left then and there. But since there wasn’t a full menu posted in the window, we asked if perhaps we couldn’t have a quick look at the menu. I’ve never seen such a roll of the eyes or heard such a sharp intake of breath. Who were these two idiots in her restaurant, so mal élevé?

We left the restaurant, wishing her a future of bankruptcy and food poisoning. We had a steak around the corner instead.

Lunch behind us, and with a boot full of booze, we headed down to Normandy to meet Aude’s grandfather. Luckily, we had a much warmer reception when we got to the Manoir where we were staying (more about that with photos to come later). We were greeted like long lost friends. The hotel and room were beautiful, with a warm log fire to greet us.

We spent the afternoon visiting with Aude’s grandfather and looking through some old family photographs. Jerome, if you’re reading this, I’ve seen the photographs of you in the pyjamas with bunny ears. God help you if you should ever decide to go into politics.

We had a lovely meal yesterday evening with Aude’s grandfather at a restaurant in the centre of town, then went back to his place this morning with a charcuterie and had lunch with him. We hit the road around 2pm with the best intentions of seeing some of the Norman coast, but it wasn’t to be. It poured with rain all afternoon.

Our plans thwarted, we headed straight for the tunnel and caught an early train home. Short of my mother calling, I should be in bed by 10pm tonight, ready for another week!

Aude picks an apple, the fruit that made Normandy famous…

Aude in front of the Manoir

Tired of having only one boyfriend, Aude chats up some of the alternative Frenchman. Her first effort isn’t terribly successful, landing her a boyfriend a lot like most of her ex’s.

Her second effort was more successful. She caught this good-looking fellow, but eventually rejected him because she found him a little two-dimensional.

Suddenly, every Frenchman in town heard that there was a young single girl on the market. Aude had no choice but to hide for cover.

Aude and her grandfather outside his house.

Matthew and Aude’s grandfather. For the record, he doesn’t hate me (despite the body language here). It’s just that Aude and auto-focus have an uneasy relationship, and this was the only shot that was even remotely in focus!!!

Aude and her grandfather in front of his house in Orbec.

Matthew and Aude’s grandfather. I haven’t farted. Honestly. Please see my previous comment about Aude’s auto-focus ability.

Aude’s grandfather as we had lunch together.