Today was paella day. Just in case you didn't know that. But before we get to that, there's an old joke that goes something like this.
"Hi, babe. Can I buy you a drink. You know, I'd love to make you breakfast. How do you like your eggs?"
"Unfertilized, please."

For some reason, that old gag was in my mind as I prepared eggs for the Goddess's morning offering. After that was done, Thierry and I headed to the supermarket to get the necessary ingredients for tonight's planned meal, which I'll get to later. Trust me, it will be worth hanging around for.

Anyway, we arrived at the beach a little later than normal ( the beach being the one in front of Club Orient, in case anyone is in any doubt). Our arrival coincided with that of the rain. There are no prizes for guessing which of those events had the greater impact. The rain didn't last too long, fortunately and we were soon settled into our usual beach day groove. For lunch, we had brought some cheeses and pâté and a nice bottle of Chinon. The sun was so hot that the Brie quickly turned into cream. I made two swims of the beach, one of which was justification for the trip to the Perch for Happy Hour. There's still no sign of Willy and Kenny, who is a hugely nice guy, some how lacks Willy's touch ( or do I mean heavy-handedness) when pouring drinks.

By the end of the afternoon, after the requisite bobbing and snoozing and reading (not necessarily in that order) we left the beach just as a pretty heavy rain shower moved in. It looked like it was going to wipe out the rest of the day but in the end, it lasted only five minutes or so. Weather patterns here are unpredictable, to say the least.

Back at Club F, after shooting the necessary breezes with our hosts and fellow guests, the serious business began of preparing paella for the night's dinner. C&T had obtained a brand new paella pan and Thierry and I had got all the ingredients that morning for a serious paella. We had invited Luc & J-C from Le String and with our fellow guests we were eight for dinner. I put my white chef's apron on and headed into the kitchen, sans culottes. It was as hot as hell in that kitchen and this Naked Chef wasn't getting too close to the stove without some form of protection from career-ending splashes, let me tell you. In the end, the paella worked out great and a fun night was had by all, in a couple of languages. We saw the night out with a last swim before The Goddess succumbed, under the triple influences of sun, fresh air and alcohol, to the spell of Morpheus and I settled down to write this journal.

Good God! but I love this place.