Provence meets Chigwell

It's strange really as I've found it unsettling being around so many English again on holiday in Provence. I must feel at home now in Paris as despite having the crazy son myself, it's irritating having other families noisy children biting at your ankles. Honestly though, some of the English parents are even more annoying than their offspring. Surrey WAG was omnipresent with her gormless but no doubt fabulously nouveau riche husband and their brood of three. Assumed number four was on the way but she said she's eaten too much foie gras. Luckily, before I congratulated her. She turned out to be desperately friendly which just makes you feel like a meanie for such negative judging.

Since my husband turned manorexic (obsessed with eating the right foods) and downloaded the 100 press ups in a minute iPhone app, he's been confidently hanging around the pool. His six pack is almost complete - a new 'I'm almost 40 now' obsession. Son's potty training has gone to s!£@. Literally. I downed a champagne almost in one at the shock of seeing him pee all over the stone floor in full view of the smart restaurant diners. Mortified doesn't begin to describe it. Keen as mustard daughter found another young male admirer - we're not supposed to call them Cougars now, are we? Anyway, Samuel from LA was 6 and had more than a touch of the mini movie moguls about him, speaking in a droll, deep, semi-patronising manner. Daughter meanwhile was far more interested in analysing the 'constellation of stars' than the virtue of the Nintendo Wii in the VIT room (Very Important Teens room) that had been stormed by sugar-high, not so important 5-10 year olds whose parents didn't want to pay vast sums for babysitters while they dined.