I'm all up for paying a bit to go and look at someone else's dining room. Obviously I spend most of the time stealing leaflets, bouncing on the beds and pretending to smoke a pipe in all the plushly-upholstered armchairs when the guides aren't looking, but usually I'll spend a few quid and not resent it that much, and maybe buy a packet of branded mints and a teatowel in the Gifte Shoppe that I have to walk through on the way out. But I have to say that the Château d'Ussé (only 2 stars in the Michelin guide, even if it was inspiration for Sleeping Beauty), offered me a world of joy that I could only ever dream of.
See this chap? He's supposed to be a medieval soldier showing off some armour. I thought a bit more Genghis Khan, myself, and he only seems to have one eyebrow. But still we are not allowed to touch his face with our hands, or so the sign tells us. But it gets better, for leave the 'armoury' and who do we find?Yes! it's everyone's favourite, the Gurning Footman, balanced on his magical transparent flying disc!
Stop, stop, I hear you cry. No. For the good Duke pays for his childrens' new ponies and his wife's new ermine stoles with the 11 Euros he reaps from every visitor to his Château, and I think it's only fair to tell everyone what excellent value that 11 Euros presents. (11 Euros is about 8 quid in English money, and no I don't know what that is in dollars.) Exhausted, we clambered to the top of one of the magical towers that you see at the beginning of this post. What is that delicate tinkling melody? Yes! It is One Day My Prince Will Come and yes, the good Duke is milking this for all it's worth because - lo! What is this? Yes! A lovely tableau of the sleeping princess and her prince. Down to the cave we go (not that kind, the wine store kind), and my heart goes cold. 
What on earth is this girl thinking? And what does she think she's going to do with those grapes? Un peu porno, non?
Whatever it is, this chap seems to like it - and he's obviously got an awfully good sense of humour.
And they'd like to join in, but they're not sure where to put their hats.I won't even go in to me getting diaspora and diorama confused. I'm not sure it's even really relevant. All I know is that that 11 Euros was the best money I've ever spent, ever, on anything, ever. Apart from the 4 Euros for the Cat Museum in Richelieu, of course.
14 comments:
I visited Ussé just about 2 weeks ago - how nice to see that all my fine plastered friends are still doing well, and have lost nothing of their perkiness. Was sad to see that the eyebrow regrowth hadn't much progressed, though.
Seriously, this is the only one of about 10 chateaux I visited that I considered a shameless rip-off, and annoying to boot. That you could get an amusing blog entry out of it is testament to your good humor and blogging prowess. So a dusty Chapeau to you !
Oh my Good GOD! You were in France and you didn't pop over to London for a cup of tea and a cheroot?
Actually I am living and working in Tours for the summer - for which I am eternally thankful to my soulless corporate overlord.
Cheroot, you say ? Tempting, although I haven't a clue of what it is. Add some boiled squirrel to the menu and I'll have no choice but to visit. That channel thingy is swimmable, yes ?
i think you two may be flirting. Gently.
Ain't nothing gentle about my flirting with Johnnyboy P. (Queen Trot On, indeed.) I am convinced he is a bloated 48 year old banker who smells of wee and won't be convinced otherwise until he joins me for tea at a McDonald's of my choice in London's fashionable West End.
NB: I am celibate until not fat, as you well know. It is merely an intellectual crush. On both sides, I suspect.
You seem to imply that smelling of wee is somehow objectionable.
I may take offense (only intellectually, of course).
In any case, on saturday I was in the Pyrenees, flitting about in mountain pastures, doing Julie Andrews swirls, rubbing shoulders (among other things) with friendly sheep, horses, cows, donkeys and vultures - so at least the wee smell is not just my own.
But if you drive by again, do let me know - I know the best McDonalds in the Loire Valley (I tried them all).
I don't eat McDonalds, for it is the Work of Satan. But my mother and I, in discussing you this afternoon, decided that you are definitely An American, and I suppose that's why I instinctively suggested a McDonalds.
I am not coming up your manor again 'cos I'm near Cognac and going back to Blighty on Sunday.
Wee-smell only bad if you intend to share a bed with someone. Fact. So you're safe.
NWM x
We barely know each other and already you break my heart. An american, moi ? The horror, the horror. Now did I go and call you an australian ? Did I ? Did I ?
You just made me pee myself with rage. Again.
Well you started it with all your chats about being over the water and that. I didn't know you meant bloody France did I. France. France.
Sorry about making you wee yourself. Do you wear special pants? My mother and I think you are 63.
I wouldn't mind be an Australian THAT much. As it happens I am English. Which is nice.
French ? FRENCH ??? You're killing me.
There are other countries than the US across that big body of water, you know. Like, on top of it ? That big place with all the trees and beavers and drunken indians ? That place where the inhabitants are fairly easy-going - until you mistake them for americans ?
Oh. You're a Canadian. I had a very 'interesting' experience with a Canadian at the beginning of the year. Is there something wrong with you, too?
Do you like beavers?
There are many, many things wrong with me, though I try to compensate for them with my impeccable beaver-wrangling skills.
Beavers are crafty little things; often hard to approach, once tamed they'll provide endless entertainment during long winter nights.*
I'm actually french canadian - therefore our children will have hybrid vigor - none of that british buck-toothiness in my genes. You do want children, of course ? I'm certainly not building our log cabin myself, that's what the little buggers are for.
Where should I send the nuptial canoe to fetch you ?
*hey, you started it.
All mouth and no trousers. That's your problem. It's not like I haven't OFFERED to show you round London, but if you insist on skipping about the Pyrenees like a gaylord rather than starting what could no doubt be a beautiful (intellectual) thing, then, well, it's your loss.
Very strong response to the beaver question.
And what does she think she's going to do with those grapes?
In a sentence?
Perles anales, naturellement!
Post a Comment