We are on holiday in France: a few days in Paris, then a week in the south. I'm not entirely sure that Gertie and Gilby were ready for a long afternoon in the Louvre, but that is precisely what they got yesterday. So far all is good: Gertie was a little disconcerted by the fact that there were no lights on in the channel tunnel, even though we were in a brightly lit carriage; but no one has been car sick and Gertie has cleverly managed not to wet the hotel bed yet. Happy days!
But a few truths have emerged. A few posts ago, I was blogging about Gertie's capacity to make sweeping generalisations. I had assumed that this was her three year old mind attempting to make sense of her world by categorising things. It transpires that she in fact inherits this trait from her father, as a few short quotations should amply demonstrate:
"Right, I've got to be on my toes here, the French are all lunatics." (whilst negotiating large roundabout en route into Paris)
"They love a pharmacie; grooming, preening, waxing, they love it." (whilst driving past a street containing an inordinately large number of chemists)
Now my husband has lived in France and loves it and the people, so I don't think this is xenophobia. I think I have just never noticed this characteristic in him before.
But another truth that has been revealed came from Gertie herself as our plates in a restaurant arrived piled high with an assortment of vegetables. "I only like mushrooms and broccoli at nursery, not at home or in restaurants."
Oh. I see.