Apparently so.

Still, if it wasn't for having to wait for those jerks to return from their leisurely lunches, we never would have encountered Flunch.

Flunch is a cafeteria type place, sort of like the Autogrills you find in Italy. You get your tray, and select your salad, beverages, dessert, bread, whatever looks good. Then, you pay for it and whatever main course you want, selecting from the pictures on the billboard sized menu hanging behind the cash registers. Then you take your receipt to the Flunchy Grill, or Flunchy omelet station or wherever and place your order.

We were a bit unclear on the concept (where's the hot food?), so I settled on a cheese plate and a small baguette with a pichet of rosé wine. And once I figured out that you were ordering food sight-unseen (apart from the rather unappetizing pictures), I decided to stick with the cheese. I didn't realize they had omelets, and I figured that had I ordered the crepes, for example, I'd get the last shriveled, dried out one huddled in the corner of the hotel plan. My luck is like that.

Good thing, too. The camembert and whatever the hard cheese was were very good, and the Roquefort was the best damn blue cheese I have ever had in my life. Ever. I suppose that's what being close to Roquefort does for you.

All in all, we rather liked Flunch-- not just the place (which had some rather groovy modern art on the walls), but the word. It's a noun-- come flunch with us! It's an adjective-- flunchy grill, flunchy burgers. It's an adverb-- we had a flunchy good time! We considered having one of their "Soufflez!", but decided not to risk it. Besides, we had to go see the flunching mechanics and just didn't have the time. We decided to have one after dinner, but we forgot about it, so we never did have a souffle in France.

I sort of regret that, even if my waistline doesn't.

Saturday night was pretty standard-- a trip down the pub, followed by the Late Night Bar of Evil. Mr. Evil-Wanabe played some terrible music, interspersed with a minute of this and a minute of that due to his chronic indecision. I think he was drunker than usual. Still, we had fun and stayed out way too late.

We had a relaxing day yesterday. We ate a late lunch in the square, enjoying the sunshine and the beautiful weather. After that, we sat around reading the Sunday papers and watching people as they came back from the beach. When it started to get chilly (Yes! It started to get CHILLY!), we went to the pub and chatted with friends. That's when I discovered I have a fan club.

My fan club consists of one overweight, extremely drunk middle aged man. "I watched you playing darts, and you're very, very good. And pretty. Very good and pretty. You beat everybody!" After telling me this, he started slurring the same thing over and over again to anyone who would listen, starting with Elvis and continuing on with anybody who came within earshot.

Actually, nobody wanted to listen. But my "fan" wouldn't let a little thing like that slow him down, if he even noticed. It was embarrassing and more than a little creepy, especially once we figured out that he was the guy who had been in with his wife and small son. He's a nice enough guy, I'm sure, but I'm still hoping that he's just here on holiday, and that they haven't actually moved here permanently.

We got home at a reasonable hour and had plenty of sleep, which is a good thing. Today is warmer than yesterday, but still not as hot as it has been for the last few weeks. Just a normal summer day, thank God, although the walk back from the grocery left me pretty darn sweaty.