Plan B

Dear readers, I wouldn't want to give you the false impression, reading this blog, that my life is one long sunny day... or that every Sunday is the opportunity for a great, photo-filled family outing to pretty, photogenic places.
I mean, if that were true, it would be quite depressing for everyone else really, wouldn't it?

No, in the interests of honesty, allow me to tell you about this not-so-fun Sunday.

It was one of those days where nothing really seems to go as planned.

FH really really wanted to take us out to visit a village an hour and a half away from Toulouse. So after the usual hour-long preparation stage (picnics, suncream, just-in-case jumpers plus a mountain of other "stuff"...), we piled into the new car and set off.
As we travelled along the motorway, the sun started to recede into the rear-view mirror, and the clouds formed ahead. I couldn't resist muttering that this state of affairs was exactly what the weather forecast had predicted. This comment put FH in a super mood, as you can imagine.

We ploughed on but pretty soon the sky was not grey but black, the traffic came to an abrupt halt and an ominous panel informed us: SLOW DOWN. STORMS AHEAD.

At this point, we (OK, I) panicked, and insisted we turn back. No way was I ready to affront another storm, two days after getting the cracked windscreen fixed.
A few more snappy comments were exchanged, and we ended up doing a U-turn.
By now it was midday, and BB was hungry and fed up. So as we drove along looking for somewhere "nice" to stop and have our picnic in the drizzle, two of the car's passengers were sulking and one was whining. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

FH made a stop in the first village we came to, we all piled out and trudged around the deserted streets for 10 minutes like a hapless group of refugees, until it became obvious that this was "the village that time forgot" and there was blatantly nothing to do here.
FH asked me tersely what I wanted to do now, but I was beyond expressing interest in anything at this point. To be honest, when you're 7 months pregnant with an extra 6 kilos pressing on your bladder, the next toilet stop is pretty much all you can think about.
"I don't care, I just want to go to the toilet!" I snapped. FH grimaced. BB scowled.

So how did we salvage this disasterous day?
Well, as chance would have it, we were just two minutes away from Carcassonne airport... so with no other option available, we ended up going to the airport café for omelette and chips.
Yes, we are the sad people who actually go to the airport just to have lunch, even when they have no plane to catch...
BB rallied over a huge plate of chips, and I didn't even care that he hasn't eaten a real vegetable for 6 weeks (chips are basically vegetables, right?).


We had the added bonus of watching a Ryanair flight take off as we ate. Woopie, an aeroplane. Always makes my day, that does.

And then we drove home again.

A 2-hour round trip, plus toll charges, all for the pleasure of a plate of chips at the airport.
Yep, there are days when things don't go according to plan.
And when we got back to Toulouse, the sun was still shining...