Hello all. I’m sorry that I didn’t write a blog yesterday as we had just hopped off the plane. All events in this story are true.
So, here goes
Two years ago I befriended a strange mug that went down in history as the greatest mug ever. After a devastating accident, Mug was buried in the most amazing place. This amazing mug was buried in our neighbour’s back garden. After Mug’s devastating death, his wife Mrs Mug chose to take up his occupation. Although Mrs Mug does not have his eccentric fashion sense, she writes just as Mug once did.
While driving to the airport, Mrs Mug was so exited that she decided that she wouldn’t mind a Big Mac. However. the caring person that I am, I decided that Mrs Mug’s appetite would be severely decreased after a Big Mac. The reason for this is that Josh told us that the Macca’s paddies had been frying for about five hours and they probably wouldn’t have been extremely nice. After much persuasion, our energetic traveller decided that she would settle for a large fries instead. After an extremely quick customs check because it was 2:00 o’clock in the morning we settled down at our plane gate only to find that our plane was leaving at 5:00 o’clock.
When we reached our French destination, we decided to pick up the car from the awful clutches of the evil monster Hertz. After Hertz tried to delay the brave travellers, we finally broke through and got an upgrade on our car as our car had not arrived yet. After much anger, we eventually found our shack-like hotel, which, believe it or not was rated an incredible two stars! Mrs Mug was not impressed by this even after finding her bed had no bed bugs. My opinion soon dropped as after going to the toilet, I tried to wash my hands, but alas, I got a hail storm of water that hit my hands like a bullet from a gun.
We started the next day with a simple buffet breakfast which only had cereal or bread. We thought this was luxury compared to our other dreary airport hotel that we stayed in last time. We soon reached Verdun about three hours into our colossal journey. We had the tough choice of visiting a memorial or a bolangerie. Knowing us, you would know that we choose the delicious latter.
After an uneventful car trip, we soon reached our French house in a town near Colmar. After a prelonged tour, we settled in only to find that the nearest Carre 4 (Car 4) was only 10 minutes away. Everyone in our family except Dad dreaded this awful piece of information. We are now settled down on the coach eating a nice piece of French cheese and drinking some French wine. Well not me, but Mrs Mug and Dad.
Thankyou for reading this blog that might be bad, sad or even dreadful to some readers, but I hope I have amused some readers who might be looking for a little bit of humour.
PS – my dad has just read my blog and is still chuckling