We’re still in the south of France and I seem to have become the mosquito version of a McDonald’s drive-through. Easy and convenient for a quick bite and open 24 hours a day.
No cream has succeeded in relieving the itching and no spray is able to repel the critters.
But that is not the only misfortune to have befallen us. We were really looking forward to our summer hols in Cannes, but Ricky Gervais could make a sketch out of what has happened to us. In fact, he could probably write a whole series.
As we returned to our apartment for lunch, the lock made a strange sound then seized completely.
Soon, a sinking feeling greater than that experienced on Blackpool’s The Big One ride took over.
The reason? All our possessions, money, passports and phones were inside and we couldn’t get to them.
Panic-stricken and fearing that our last chance would be a trip to the police, we received a glimmer of hope.
An Englishman was working nearby who got the number of a local locksmith from a neighbour.
After breaking into our apartment, the locksmith, displaying all the Gallic charm of Eric Cantona, informed us we’d need new locks and presented the bill.
Call out charge 150 Euros, new locks 265 Euros and tax bringing the total to an eye-watering 495 Euros.
If you’re a locksmith and want to own a Ferrari and a motor cruiser, then I suggest you move to the south of France.
By this point my girlfriend, Sarah, was feeling very unwell so I had to call a local doctor.
Could things get worse? An 80 Euro callout charge for that. And because of break-ins by drug addicts, we had to go to the police station to find out where the late-night chemist was.
After a six-mile round walk, I returned with Sarah’s medication and fortunately she soon felt better.
Ah, you say. Luckily you had travel insurance Rick. Well yes, if I had accidentally broken the lock or Sarah knew the place where she ate the dodgy prawn we’d be fine.
Put it this way, if I see any meerkats on my travels, I’ll be kicking them!