“What do you call a man named Cliff? ... Oh wait, Cliff...!”

Once again, in a stereotypically chronological-confused style, here is a brief word about my weekend spent with my lovely younger sister, Fiona, and her best friend Eliza. It has been a long time coming a) because I was once again waiting for the photos (just a little sly shift of the blame there) and b) because the repercussions of that weekend were pretty fierce re: major fights with my (now former) landlords.

Now that the propriétaire fiasco is but a distant memory, I can once again indulge on what was an extremely funny visit from Fiona and Eliza. Arriving the day after Celyn left (perfect timing!), the girls had only really decided to come out to France the week or so before. Despite being a little lastminute.com it all worked really well.

Train Edinburgh London. Hotel. Flight London Bordeaux. Bus airport train station. Train Bordeaux Le Buisson. Bus Le Buisson Sarlat.

I am eternally grateful to the girls for managing to make it in one piece (just) all the way to Sarlat, a major achievement in itself. It was such a treat to have guests and not have to worry about driving across the country to pick them up. However, their arrival happened to coincide almost exactly with my violin concert, which turned out to be not quite what they were expecting. Instead of a concert hall, audience, programmes and all the other frills one would usually anticipate, it actually took place in Sophie’s house on the outskirts of Sarlat, with a roaring fire, a motley collection of chairs, stools and cushions for the ‘audience’ (average age about 10) to sit on, and a slap-up meal afterwards. It was great fun though, and the ‘violinists’ played extremely well – however, I don’t think I (or the girls for that matter) will really be able to listen to Twinkle-Twinkle in the same way ever again.

We made our excuses and peeled off early in order to head back to my [dutty] bedsit for some dinner and perhaps a little too much wine. Sunday, another gorgeous day, was spent wandering the streets of medieval Sarlat and marvelling upon just how difficult it was to find somewhere to have a cup of coffee. Thanks to Dad, we were able to go out for dinner on Sunday night and, in his honour, went to old favourite Les Tulipes for some kir and pannenkoeken. As a matter of fact, much of the weekend revolved around eating and sleeping. As two hard-working (ahem) first-year students, it seemed as though the girls had a little bit of sleep deprivation to rectify, and there is no where better to do it than in a rural French town in the late winter months. Unfortunately, a few disputes with the landlords cast a bit of a shadow over the stay, but as a matter of fact seemed to bother me a lot more than they. As ever, Fiona and Eliza remained completely unfazed by the fact that in two days, we collectively got into more trouble than I had ever experienced in the previous four months. Cheers guys!

Eliza and Fiona (and Jasmeena?) in the sty. Matching jumpers

Our phenomenally abstemious Saturday soiree



Explanation of academia vs school teaching



Getting ready for dinner on Sunday

Les Tulipes

Watching 'The Switch'... agaain

The girls in Sarlat's main square

Anyone for bread? Cheese? Ham? More ham? More cheese?

In total, it was a wonderful weekend of laughing, family guy, protein, wine, really badly told punchline-less jokes, trivial pursuit, Petit Prince biscuits, homemade packs of cards, and sleep. Thanks so much Fiona and Eliza for making the effort and coming out – I absolutely adored it.