Hit the rue, Jaques

  Au revoir, bitches. As a little treat, I organised a weekend for myself and the management to, well, I'm pretty sure I've given you enough clues already but if you haven't worked it out, we've gone to France. First thing this morning we slid aboard Rosie and shot past all the poor saps heading into London while we darted in the other direction to the Eurotunnel.

  From Calais it was a short meander, via the coast road for maximum scenic joy, to Boulogne sur mer and an unusual place I found on Airbnb. While all this might give the impression that I'm currently sitting in some rustic bar on the quay, tapping away thoughtfully while sipping a Pastis as the sun goes down, nothing could be further blah blah etc...​​​​​​​

View from the quay

  Reality is that though I am watching the sun go down, I'm still in Hackney. I've done my usual trick of being organised and, as an extra treat, I've left my computer at home. (How brave is that?) This means that tonight and tomorrow night's posts are pre-written so I can concentrate on one of my favourite pastimes, eating French food with wild abandon.

  Normally this just involves finding an impressive boulangerie and buying enough patisseries to bring on diabetes. (No really, I'm out of control sometimes). We'll be an hour ahead so as you read this the management and I will have moved on to part two of my gourmandise, a little bistro.

  As we're on the coast, it'll probably involve fish and given my record that often means bouillabaisse. Oh dear, we're only leaving tomorrow but all this talk of food has got me frothy already. Time for a cold shower. A demain, mon cher. 

Kirk out

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