We at The Last House wish to register a complaint

I was idly searching through my stats the other day to see who, if anybody, actually peruses the dear old chron.

I found that in response to some hapless reader's search for The Last House before Spain, bloody Google had strung up an advert for El Cheapo Repossessed Spanish Villas.

I ask you, is this either right or decent? As any fule kno (molesworth), the real Last House belongs to Claire's mum and is deeply classy.

Quite apart from the fantastical assortment of wrought iron decorating the roof, it was actually the elegant mountain hideaway of a very posh opera singer.

If I've got the story vaguely right, the legendary diva (whose name escapes me) sang at La Scala c.1900, escaped to her house in the Pyrenees when her lovers got over-excited, and expired, rather young and possibly romantically, c.1940.

Repossessed Spanish Villas indeed. I could complain to Google mais je pisse dans un violon. This appropriately musical idiom translates as I'd be pissing in a violin.

It's the best one I've heard from Claire in a while, and is the French equivalent of flogging a dead horse. Hence the two bone idle gees sunning themselves under some more of the diva's elegant ironwork.