Never. Ever. Again.

You know, I'd never been into the restaurant at the end of our road, except once, to ask if they'd change a 50 for me. They did. I quite liked them for that. So when the bus was late, it looked like it was going to rain, and the normal local restaurant we go to was closed, we thought we might go to this place for dinner.

Never, ever, again.

The people who drink there - and they were all drinking, we were the only people naive enough to eat there - are, to put it politely, eccentric. Batshit insane, if we're being more honest. The 50-something woman in a red sequined cowboy hat, too much makeup and too much wine serves as a life lesson to us all. Particularly when she sings along (badly, needless to say) to country music and bitches loudly about her husband.

However, none of these - nor even the crap quality of the wine - would be enough to make me hate the place. Nor would the badly painted, and frankly scary, paintings of white horses on the walls. (Horses shouldn't have eyelashes like that, for a start. Just wrong.) No, it takes roaches to get me to utterly hate somewhere. Lots of roaches. Crawling along the walls. Luckily, I'd finished eating by that point - the food was actually very good, but not good enough to make up for roaches. I left, as quickly as I could, without actually running outside. Paul asked for the bill, and explained we were finishing our drinks outside because of the roaches. Owner shrugged and ignored us for half an hour, at which point he came outside to see if we wanted another drink. You would all have been proud of me for not actually hitting him, or screaming at him, or doing anything other than asking again for the bill. You can joke around when your establishment isn't filled with vermin, thankyouverymuch.

Anyone know who I report health and safety violations to in France? Can one do such a thing?