So off they went and I am still here. I am Le directeur sportif and I am still here. I stayed because the Bambino would hopefully make an appearance before I swap places with The Sports Therapist. She will leave her brother and come back after dabbling in the cycling world while I leave my normality to be subsumed by the cyclists’ world, whims and diva-isms. Hey ho, that’s the cyclist I know how to handle.
I will have missed Corsica, but if the Bambino shows up the no Corsica coastline would compare to meeting my first grandchild. Angel-One visited hospital yesterday afternoon to see if they could kick start things but as it didn’t seem to work I settled in for for soup and the film ‘A Good Year’. This was purely to try and get me into “La Vie Francais que je t’aime”.
The cycle cover I bought to try to protect the bikes from grit and dirt thrown up buy the car, had apparently ripped by the time they got to Dover. What a waste. I sense a better design for a budding entrepreneur. I do not know what will become of it nor if it will make it home so we can send it back to Amazon with a full product report.
Today Angel-One showed signs of movement and she has to go back to Worcester tomorrow morning so hopefully the Bambino is on it way. I hope so. I need to know my Angels and Bambino are ok before I board that plane early next week.
Yesterday every time I heard cars pull up or noises I kept thinking that it was the cyclist. It is a most odd feeling hearing them, the key turning the lock, but then remembering they are not there. Tonight I have spoken to the cyclist and he told me that he kept turning to the Sports Therapist expecting to see me and calling her Sweetheart, only to turn to see it was his sister not me. It was lovely to hear, but how strange how you become so subconsciously wrapped up in your other half.
Tonight I did something I have never done before. I went to sainsbury and got a meal for one. Not a healthy meal, just a mini pizza and a rhubarb fool (which I haven’t eaten incidentally). At the till I looked at my meagre offering on the conveyor belt and considered all the people I had seen do this before I had felt sad for. Today I was one of those people.
So I sat with a glass or two of French wine, a mini pizza, and the DVD of ‘French Kiss’ to try and get me some Ooh La La. It didn’t work. The Cyclist is in my beloved France on a ferry to somewhere that looks truly amazing (Jessie J’s favourite word don’t you know!), but I am not there. We do these tours together. We are a team. He cycles. I support. Yin and yang.
By the end of this weekend I hope that the Bambino will have shown his face and that Angel-one is back home and embracing motherhood. The plus side is that I will be able to watch the final of The Voice. (Yee ha! Come on Mike.) I have threatened the cyclist that I could download it to the ipad and watch it with him next week. I don’t think he was amused.
For now that is where I leave you. Angel is off to hospital in the morning. My Cyclist is on an overnight ferry to Corsica as I write.
And I really should try to get some sleep as I never can when the cyclist is away. Especially on motorbike holidays like he is taking as soon as we are back from Spain/ La Vuelta D’Espana. Don’t get me started. Calm down girl. You may have given up all your annual leave for two years to work for the cyclist so you don’t get any real holiday or rest from the summer 2012 to summer 2014 but some people don’t have to work. So it’s only right that The Cyclist has told me that after treating me to three holidays (Call this a holiday!) this year that I fully fund the next one.
Something seems wrong somewhere?