Ententes Cordiales

Well a very exciting weekend all in all. Started on Friday with the tinkling of a silver edged invite landing on the mat from Monsieur le President Nicolas Sarkozy and Madame Sarkozy (aka the lovely Carla Bruni) inviting Monsieur and Madame Francois Domange to their reception at the French Ambassador's residence in London on March 27th. The very same day that we had planned to spend a romantic work/pleasure day in Brighton. The opportunity to gawp at the gorgeous Carla close up is one I didn't initially feel I could pass up - though Francois is adamant that he will not cancel a pleasant day out (not to mention a business opportunity) to stand in a crowd of overdressed French expats in order to meet the most insufferable president of recent times. He is also incensed that the accompanying list of instructions require us to arrive over an hour before Monsieur Le President - ostensibly for security reasons - but clearly more to do with the national propensity to arrive everywhere (fashionably) late. Our friend Gerry kindly offered to go in Francois' place but the second instruction on the list requires us to bring our passports with us - so this is just not a plan that has legs, or wings, or any other means of transport - unless Gerry suddenly starts speaking fluent French and wearing V-neck jumpers...

I love the idea of swanning around the Holland Park Residence sipping bargain Champagne and eating canapes - but I guess not going will save me the humiliation of being the largest woman there, with the least hair, and the only one actually eating the canapes. I also have absolutely nothing to wear to such an event - well I have things to wear but unfortunately can't do any of them up which is not a good look for me.

Thanks to the unbelievable generosity and kindness of Joe H, I took Luc to the Arsenal again on Saturday to watch them drawing with Middlesborough. Before they finally scored he had his head in my lap wailing that he wanted to go home - I found myself saying things like 'It's not over till the final whistle blows,' and other even more unlikely remarks. He was consoled by the fact they did at least score once - and more so by the extremely healthy organic, locally reared, hand made burger from the stand outside the ground (ha ha...).

I have to say though that I have come to adore the thrill of the game - there is nothing like sitting surrounded by 60,000 supporters cheering (or swearing uncontrollably as on Sat) at your team. Despite feeling incredibly exhausted ever since I finished radiotherapy, I foolishly made a night of it going to the pub and for a meal afterwards - great fun, but possibly not to be recommended a mere 4 days after finishing 5 weeks of radiotherapy.

I probably would have come through it far more unscathed if it wasn't for the fact that on Sunday we had an endurance test worthy of a Japanese game show which involved sitting at the Hackney Empire through four hours of authentic Turkish folk dancing and singing (I use the word 'singing' in its broadest possible sense), largely performed by people under the age of 10 or over the age of 75, waiting for Luc and his friend Harry to perform their 3 minute modern dance slot. Don't ask. Francois commented at one point that at least we'd saved the several thousand pounds we could have spent on a Turkish package holiday to experience the same delights. Lucky really that Harry's dad videotaped large chunks of the show to play to his unsuspecting wife who'd managed to escape the evening with some cannily-timed prior arrangement.....you're in for a treat Pippa - or possibly a divorce.

The boys were delighted with their performance which we all agreed was the highlight of the evening. We still haven't worked out why it was in the middle of an Eastern European cultural festival - but Luc had to be almost physically dragged off the stage as he bounced back on for a final 'jump' and cannot wait for next year....ohmygod.

Sadly I've been paying the price for my high octane weekend and have had to cancel everything else this week - including my much awaited visit to meet Stanley Tiger - cousin Jane's new baby. The fatigue is absolutely unbelievable - really unlike anything I've experienced so far. Any hope of losing the stone in weight I've managed to put on since January is but a distant dream as my craving for sugar and carbs becomes worthy of an 'intervention' and the only exercise I'm capable of at the moment is moving my hand to my mouth.

We are off to Shropshire for the Easter weekend and I cannot even imagine how I'm going to pack a suitcase as things stand - but am hoping that a couple of days in bed will help and the weekend of fresh air and good food may help to recharge these old batteries.

As the Sarkozy/Bruni reception approaches I feel more inclined to agree with Francois - that just getting the invite is enough.