And suddenly it’s February and the P-O is on fire

! The mimosa is blazingly and fragrantly beautiful…and did you know that it was the official flower for International Women’s Day in 1946 in Italy? No, I didn’t either but you will find out if you continue to follow me that I am full of random and totally useless pieces of information! :-). Anyway, apparently it was chosen as a symbol of female strength, sensitivity and sensibility. And quite right too!

My husband is a French man. That automatically involves a certain deep rooted and genetic necessity to stop regularly on the roadside for a pee, often facing oncoming traffic. Busy main roads do not daunt him! In the UK, he would probably be arrested for flashing. In France, other men might even join him for a chat about the weather. C’est la vie when urine France…ou la pie! Hairy daughter Poppet, who takes after her Dad in so many ways, has taken it upon herself to protect him from animals and humans on his scent,  and queues up patiently, awaiting her turn to cover his tracks! I do have photos but am presently happily married and intend to remain so

So what’s the different between French vs British roadside toilet etiquette? Same bladder, different cultures.
The Frenchman sees a tree, a hedge, a layby, a lamp post, extracts the necessary….. and pees. Minimal or no drama
But the British Man…ah, the British man would prefer to suffer in silence for 50km, before apologising profusely to everyone in the car for his insufficient bladder capacity and climbing silently out of the car, tail between his legs. He will then check that no one is within a five-mile radius, squeeze himself behind the car door or anything that might mask his discomfort, post a look-out where possible, feel deep shame and apologise to any  passing cows or sheep that happen to witness his humiliation.

And while I’m on a roll….Ladies, please don’t think you’re off the hook.
While French ladies will stay calm, find a discreet spot and return with no apology and dignity intact, a fair British maiden will wait until her bladder is at bursting point, panic,  only ask to stop the car if it’s an absolute emergency, worry about being arrested, seen, or reported, and take 20 minutes to reassemble herself whilst probably getting nettled in the bum.

She will also probably apologise profusely and repeatedly (“Sorry about that everyone. Needs must haha”)for the next 20km. What’s more, the French woman always has tissues in her bag, knows exactly how to squat without falling over backward in a knot of knickers as she fights to keep both her balance and her bottom below the parapet. Not so our English roses!

And talking of squatting, (and we’re not talking about illegal house occupation) check out THIS ARTICLE from an annonymous lady (who later revealed herself to me – metaphorically) who warns of the dangers of the ‘pipi sauvage’ during processionary caterpillar season. Read and squirm ladies. I shall say no more!

Pop back next week to hear about my fabulous few Font Romeu ski days…spoilt by a ski jacket bought in 2005 whose retro look has definitely not come back into fashion.

Join me next week for another ramble? Hope so. Xx