Saba, queen of the Caribbean

After the longest night of the year, in the cold, gloomy depths of l'hiver lyonnais, let me take you back to a warmer time and a sunnier place...

Sunday 23 November
Dawn breaks, and the chirping of frogs is replaced by bird song. Due to be picked up at 8.45 we're all down at the restaurant for 7.30, eager for breakfast. The doors are firmly closed and we're forced to wait ten minutes. The breakfast is worth the wait, and our table is right next to the nectar bird feed just outside the window, so we have ringside seats for the hummingbird show.

Sometime after nine the taxi eventually arrives, Vincent rather than Garvis today. We meet our companions on the boat during the ride down to Fort Bay - an American foursome and a Frenchman. At the boat we're introduced to Tom and Kat, boatman and dive guide. Kat checks we're all geared up and then we're off to the first site, one of the famous Saban pinnacles.

Dive 1: Third Encounter
The Wigs have brought their own gear, and neither makes it more than a few feet below the surface. Sporting a brand new wetsuit, Sogs flounders underweighted on the surface, and Jogs' regulator fails to give him any air. The three hirers all enjoy a fantastic first dive - blacktip shark spotted on the way down, then a swim off the plateau to 'Eye of the Needle' - a needle shaped pinnacle topping off at 27m.

Dive 2: Tent reef
After a surface interval of little more than 90 minutes, we're back in the water for the shallower second dive. This time the Wigs make it to the bottom, though JeB's regulator is still misbehaving. Boulders, overhangs, coral outcrops and abundant life make it another very pleasant dive.

Afterwards, Vincent drives us back up the mountain and drops us off in Windwardside for lunch. Then we undertake the steep climb up the first part of the Mount Scenery trail back to the Ecolodge. 300 odd steps and 120 metres higher we collapse back at the lodge for a siesta. Then we relax in the hot tub with our resident bird humming busily around the flowers mere inches from our heads. Magical.

We walk back down the road to Windwardside for dinner at Brigadoon, chief entertainment provided by the maitresse du restaurant, Trish. Well watered with margaritas and wine as we are by the end of the evening, she judges us unruly enough to be treated to her stock of bawdy jokes - four ways a girl has an orgasm (butt of the joke, the most sober male on the table), and four ways to peel a banana. Imagine the punch lines yourself...

At the start of the evening we planned on walking back up to the lodge. When push comes to shove we take a taxi.

Monday 24 November
Morning off from diving, we embark on a circular walk out and back to the Ecolodge. Up along the Crispeen Track, down and along Bud's Mountain trail, up to join the Mount Scenery Trail and finally back to the Ecolodge. Courting hummingbirds, killer ants, posing anole lizards and exotic foliage all spotted during the walk. After lunch, it's another rendezvous with Garvis for the ride down to the dive boat.

Dive 3: Greer gut
Kat's driving the boat this time, and our guide is Troy. Pleasant pootle down at twenty odd metres, with numerous coral outcrops, morays, lobsters, sailfin blennies dancing in and out of their holes, and an electric blue flounder.


After siestas and hot-tubs, we venture back down to the Brigadoon again for an early evening talk about Saba's history and diving. While one of the Sea Saba dive guides expounds, Professor Margarita downs his newly discovered drink of prediliction. Afterwards we feast at the Eden restaurant while the wind blows outside.

Tuesday 25 November
Morning dives again. After another hearty breakfast, Vincent is our chauffeur for the day and takes us down to a boat rocking gently at dockside in the northwesterly swells. The weather means that the more adventurous dives on the northwest side are off, and Tom and Troy take us instead to the more sheltered south coast.

Dive 4: Hole in the Corner
Another pleasant dive in swaying swells, down a gentle slope littered with lovely hard coral. Sharks number two and three of the week spotted, blacktips. One of them apparently swims mere feet behind me as I'm pointing the camera in the other direction.

Dive 5: Tent reef
More coral, more boulders, more fish, more sponges, a sleeping nurse shark.

Post-diving, we're dropped off in Windwardside, eat too much pizza, find the museum closed, and undertake the long climb back up to the Ecolodge. Afternoon spent recovering and relaxing in the hot-tub. In the evening, after the ritual Margarita aperitifs, the on-site restaurant serves up a delicious Indonesian buffet, which we enjoy with our French dive buddy Arnaud.

Wednesday 26 November
Another morning off, and we get more ambitious with our hiking. Mount Scenery here we come! Fortunately, at the Ecolodge we have a head start, about a third of the climb done already. Up, and up, and up we go. Steps, then muddy path, then a scramble over rocks.

By 1015 we stand atop the highest point in the Dutch kingdom, with panoramic views of St Martin, St Barts and St Kitts & Nevis. From there it's all downhill, 877 metres down to Fort Bay again.

Dive 6: Greer gut
Those northwest swells keep rolling in, but the diving with guide EJ is still good. A large free-swimming moray makes me curse myself for deciding to dive sans camera.

Another talk in the evening, this time chez nous at the Ecolodge on Saba's geology and wildlife, given by lodge owner Tom van't Hof, who was instrumental in setting up the island's marine park. After several drinks and another delicious dinner, the guffawing calls of the Margarita bird and the Jogwig echo through the dark rainforest night.

Thursday 27 November
After a bumper breakfast and amusement watching our aspiring wildlife photographers vainly trying to capture hummingbirds at the honey trap, we wait for our usual pickup on the road above the lodge. And wait, and wait. Vincent eventually turns up, we stop off at the dive shop in Sea Saba, where Vincent is summarily sacked for dereliction of duty. Nonetheless he takes us down to Fort Bay and we sail forth with a grumpy boatman and dive guide Scott.

Dive 7: Tedran wall
The swells mean the visibility is the worst of the week, but we still have a lovely dive along a stunning drop off. Turtles, stingrays and pipe fish all spotted.

Dive 8: Hot springs
Turns out the boatman is grumpy because the boat engine is misbehaving. Second dive is close to home and includes the diving highlight of the week: a small turtle smarter than the average diver lures the lesser Jogwig into swimming alongside it, head first into a large lump of rock. Professor Margarita's guffawing laugh can be heard above water as far away as the top of Mount Scenery. Afterwards we clear masks and limp back to port. Garvis picks us up for the ride back up the mountain while we listen to our American buddies telling us the two dives we've just done are the two worst they've experienced in four years on Saba.

Margaritas and delicious T-bone steak in the evening back at the Brigadoon. Trish starts telling us the same jokes, until we remind her we've been here before. Back at the lodge we play Sh*thead by candlelight late into the night. It's almost ten by the time we're in bed.

Friday 28 November
Last day, sob, but what a day. JeB and the Americans aren't diving, but their 'constructive criticism' and our polite but persistent requests to dive more pinnacles pay off. The swells have subsided so Kat and EJ take us and a French travel agent (there for her job, une fille chanceuse) out towards the holy grail.

Dive 9: Shark Shoals
Awesome double pinnacle, the first starting at 28m, the second at 36. Sadly, deep dive means short dive and it's over all too soon.


Dive 10: Man O'War Shoals
Last dive of the week, and it may be the best. Another double pinnacle, but rising from a sandy bottom a mere 22m down. Dive starts well when a nurse shark swims right underneath me as we reach the bottom. From there we move on to morays, fireworms, filefish, and towards the end of the dive watch a real-life marine drama being played out. A tiny octopus, no bigger than baby's fist, is harassed by a pack of wrasse. As we watch, he frantically changes colour and texture, and flees across the reef but fails to find refuge. We surface before witnessing the end. Did he escape or did he finish as fish food? We'll never know...

Final hot-tub, final margaritas (the strongest yet, served up by our host), and final dinner of the week back at the Ecolodge. Afterwards we polish off a bottle of complementary wine playing cards again, and I regret boasting of my prowess at not being the sh*thead the previous night, as Lady Luck and my fellow card-sharps turn cruelly against me. Not once, not twice, not thrice, but four times in row...

Saturday 29 November
Last hearty Ecolodge breakfast. We wave goodbye as the Wigs and Professor Margarita catch the morning flight back to St Martin (though their luggage doesn't) before winging their way home to chilly Jockoland, and even chillier Michigan respectively. La bienheureuse and I spend the afternoon pottering in the warm Windwardside sunshine and find the museum still closed. We labour one last time up the steps to the Ecolodge before asking for our luggage to be taken up to the road. One of the staff roars up the path on the quad bike with our luggage in a trailer behind him. A couple of minutes later we catch up. Quad, trailer, luggage and driver are all in the ditch. Fortunately no serious injuries to man or machine, and he manages to get everything back on the path intact. Garvis eventually arrives takes us down the road to Fort Bay one last time to catch the afternoon Edge back to St Martin...

We arrive back at Pelican Marina as the sun begins to set and struggle to find a taxi. A grumpy driver eventually deigns to take us to our hotel in Grand Case, though his mood isn't improved by taking an Indian family as additional fares and thus getting stuck as the swing bridge on the main road opens to let the last daytripping yachts into the lagoon. He seems baffled about why we want to go to 'all that way' to the French side rather the Dutch, but gets us there by 7pm and I sense he's mollified by a 5 dollar tip.

Le Petit Hotel reception is closed, but the security guard is waiting for us with an envelope and room key. We quickly settle in and then stroll out for a gourmet meal in the self styled gastronomic capital of the Antilles. Back in our gorgeous room on a bed the size of our entire Ecolodge cabin, we are lulled to sleep by the sound of waves breaking on the beach yards from our balcony. I could get used to this...

Null weekend

A nice, quiet weekend. Just, err, football to occupy and vex the mind. Deux matches nul, as the French would say. First to the pub on Saturday afternoon to watch les cannoniers frustrate their way to a 1-1 draw, and then a Sunday evening trip to Gerland to watch OL and OM play out a stalemate, nul et vierge. Most entertainment, for les gones at least, was gained from the vociferous booing & whistling of former player Ben Arfa.

In between, on Saturday evening we went to Léon de Lyon, a Michelin-starred restaurant, as stage n in the celebration of la quarantaine. Michelin-starred until a couple of years ago, that is. It has since reopened as a mere upmarket brasserie. Very nice meal, all the same...

Elsewhere it's the weather making the headlines. The Massif Centrale is buried under several feet of snow, tens of thousands of homes cut off from the electricity grid due to 'a particularly heavy type of snow' rather than a outdated network, according to EDF, floods in Provence, and 5 metre waves on the Cote d'Azur washing away funfairs. In Lyon it's just been very cold and damp.

Lights, flights, too much action

Exhausting business, enjoying yourself. Barely two days of rest and recuperation (for me at least, la bienheureuse wasn't so lucky, rushed off her feet at work) following the holiday before we were welcoming Miss H and nos gooner confrères, J&C, for the Fêtes des Lumières. They were up before 5am for the flight from Stansted, in Lyon relaxing chez nous by eleven, and then soon having a siesta after a snack lunch of soup, cheese and saucisson. Told you it was tiring, having fun.

Refreshed by the nap and a champagne apéritif, in the evening we attacked the lights. Saturday night at the Fêtes des Lumières - the time when Lyon is at its busiest, millions of people on the streets. Still, we managed to fight our way through the crowds and see some of the main displays in the town centre and ended up at the Marché de Noël for vin chaud and tartiflette. After wending our way home, there was just enough strength left for a small nightcap...

Sunday morning - lie in. Croissants eventually purchased at about eleven am, and breakfast turned into brunch. Then it was out stomping the streets again, visiting the Marché de Noël again in daylight, before returning home via the christmas tree market at the bottom of the road. While la bienheureuse cooked, assisted here and there by her not so trusty sous-chef, les filles did a marvellous job of decorating tree and apartment. JW read his paper and helped with putting up any decorations more than four feet off the ground.

Such a relaxed afternoon was had by all except chef, that what was intended to be a late lunch/early dinner to give us time to go out lightseeing again turned into plain dinner. Not plain in the taste sense of course - delicious roast lamb, followed by cheese and tarte tatin, washed down by a bottle of wine or three... You can see where this is heading. By the time we were all sated, any desire to venture out onto the cold, crowded, albeit marvelously lit streets had all but vanished.

Monday morning - la bienheureuse was up at six to catch a flight for a day trip to Monheim. The rest of us had a lie in. In the event, flight delays meant she didn't make it to Germany and ended up back in the office before our guests had surfaced. Meanwhile, the lazy foursome eventually went out for another wander and a lovely late lunch in a Lyonnais bouchon. The slightly less lazy three then climbed Fourvière for a view of the distant, just-visible Mt Blanc, while Miss H went shopping. In the evening the four of us managed to get out again for a whistle-stop tour of the light attractions on the slopes of the Croix Rousse before meeting la bienheureuse for dinner in a restaurant on the banks of the Rhône.

And that was another Fêtes des Lumières come and gone. Tuesday I was gone too, off to catch an early flight to Porto, la bienheureuse was gone again, off to a 3 day training session just outside Lyon, and our guests were gone home, left to find their own way to the airport.

I enjoyed two days of lovely sunshine and sightseeing in Porto, a trip marred only by the football result and the carrying of a heavy cold. The latter meant I didn't get round to a visit to any of Porto's famous port cellars. Perhaps, next time. La bienheureuse got time off from her training course for good behaviour to see OL's match against Bayern. It helped of course, that she offered the spare ticket to the course organiser. They had an interesting trip down from the surrounding Lyonnais hills through the snow, and I returned on Thursday to a freezing Lyon and surrounding countryside covered with a light blanket of snow. If we weren't both so tired from all this merrymaking (and work), we'd be off up the mountains this weekend...

From sand and sunshine to snow

It wasn't quite as bad as a certain other return from holiday, but to arrive home on Tuesday to be greeted by near-zero temperatures and a light snow shower was something of a rude shock, having left a beach side hotel in 30C sunshine a little over 12 hours previously.

La quarantaine de la bienheureuse was the excuse (again) for the Caribbean trip. It was a holiday in three parts - a couple of nights rest and recuperation in the Dutch part of Sint Maarten/Saint Martin, before a week's diving in Saba, followed by another three nights in French Saint Martin. All in all, highly enjoyable. Part one went like this...

Thursday 20th November
Up before the crack of dawn to catch a connecting flight from Lyon to Paris. Fingers crossed that we haven't forgotten anything during hasty packing the previous evening, after la bienheureuse ends a hectic time at work and I stay up till after midnight printing out first rough draft of book number three. Partial recovery from less than five hours sleep during the eight hour flight (business class courtesy of air miles) to Saint Martin is ruined by over-indulgence in champagne, wine, etc. Result: both suffer from hangovers before the plane has even landed. A stroll along the beach to a converted bus café to watch the sunset over cocktails, and the five hour time difference unusually allows recovery from hangover to take effect before going to bed.

Friday 21st November
Early to bed, early to rise. A full night's sleep, albeit in one to two hour chunks, mean we're up soon after dawn and out early in search of a supermarket to buy breakfast. Croissants, fruit and yoghurt set us up for a stroll along Simpson Bay in the morning, scouting places to dine and buying swimwear for la bienheureuse. Eat a picnic lunch back at our hotel, situated on the narrow strip between Simpson Bay beach and lagoon.
Spend afternoon on the beach watching waves. Added attraction, the planes landing and taking off on the main airport runway mere yards from the beach. Fish dinner at a lagoon side restaurant.

Sat 22nd November
7.45am: Sitting in the smallest room in our little hotel apartment contemplating life when I hear a tremulous call from the bedroom: 'Honey, I've done something very stupid...'
Hastily wiping up, I dash in to find la bienheureuse clutching a wad of tissue to her left eye, which has just been speared by the window winding handle while she bent over to check nothing had dropped under the bed. Visions of a bloody, pulped mess instead of an eyeball, and a cancelled diving holiday flash before my own eyes, but the damage turns out to be not as bad as first feared. Blurred vision and a painfully bloodshot eye apart, la bienheureuse deems herself healthy enough to tell the taxi which turns up at that very moment to take us to the marina rather than the hospital.

Trying my best not to look like a wife-beater, I take care of the check-in and immigration formalities for the boat to Saba, while ma bien-aimée holds an improvised ice pack to her eye. By the time the boat leaves at 9am she is able to dispense with the ice pack and don sunglasses. We are thus able to enjoy the ninety minute, 25 mile trip and look forward to the week on Saba. La bienheureuse even feels confident enough to predict she'll be able to dive the next day.
We arrive in Fort Bay, get our passports stamped dockside, and are met by Garvis, trusty taxi driver for the week. Saba is a volcanic rock of barely 5 square miles. It has one main road, but what a road it is. Winding steeply from Fort Bay (the only dock) across the island and down to the airport the other side (supposedly the smallest 'international' airport in the world), via the quaintly named main town The Bottom (not altother apt as it's at about 250m) and Windwardside (the other main conurbation, population about 400, altitude about 400m), it was built entirely by hand over the course of twenty plus years by the islanders under the guidance of a self taught road builder after Dutch engineers had said it couldn't be done.

Garvis drops us off at the offices of Sea Saba in Windwardside so that we can carry out pre-dive formalities before picking us up again to take us up to our home for the week, the Ecolodge Rendezvous. We get out at the end of the road, at the highest point on the island reachable by motor vehicle, and then drag our baggage the further two hundred yards to the Ecolodge. There, we are shown to our one room wooden 'cottage', with solar powered lighting and shower (no mains electricity at the lodge), private porch and hot tub. We settle in, eat a delicious lunch at the restaurant, and then take turns to laze in the hammock and watch a humming bird buzz around our chalet. Later in the afternoon we undertake the wending downward road to the airport to watch the others arrive on the last flight in. Spectacular landing it was too, runway less than 400m long, perched on a flat(-ish) bit of lava flow a few metres from, and 40 metres above the sea.

Having been told that Winair flights to Saba have a habit of not taking place, and hearing that our boat was the only one to make it to Saba that day, we are relieved to be fully reunited as JeB, Swigs and the builder all duly emerge in 'arrivals', complete with baggage too (of which more later).

Garvis ferries us all back up the mountain to the Ecolodge and we celebrate all making it in due fashion, with dinner and margaritas in the Rain Forest restaurant at the Ecolodge. Alcohol and an 18 hour journey soon contribute to drooping eyelids, and everybody's in bed by eight thirty, being lulled to sleep by chirping frogs and crickets. There's diving to consider the next day, after all...

La saison des grèves

C'est l'automne. Strike season has arrived in France. Air France pilots have just finished a 4 day stoppage to protest against retirement reforms (notably allowing them to carry on till they're 65), which we've been watching somewhat nervously as we're off on holiday in two days. And later this week, railway workers, teachers and postmen are all due to go on strike.

Meanwhile, having lost his court case against the firm selling voodoo dolls in his image (appeal pending), Sarkozy is as busy as usual elsewhere, saving the world financial system, chuckling at the Socialists failure to choose a new leader, gloating about the fact the France's economy is not in recession (thanks to huge growth of all of 0.1% in the last quarter), arresting the Eta leader in the French Basque country and comforting les proches of a French MP who has just killed his lover and then himself. Ok, perhaps not all of that, but where there's credit to be taken, he'll claim it...

Mixed and missed matches

Highs and lows. After the social excitement of last weekend, a quieter Saturday and Sunday just gone. A minor trek around the pubs and bars of Lyon on Saturday eventually turned up one showing the relevant game of the round football variety, rather that the sundry egg-chasing internationals elsewhere. Wish I hadn't bothered.

My French team of choice fared rather better last night, despite being overrun for most of the game by Bordeaux. Two first half goals were enough to hold out during a second half seige. The visitors got one back late on but it wasn't enough to overcome the sort of performance French commentators somewhat euphemistically call a 'très realiste'.

The novelty for me was going to the game with one of our neighbours, rather than la bienheureuse (who jetted off in the afternoon on yet another business trip - York rather than Monnheim for a change). It arose after Madame engaged me in a conversation about football a couple of weeks ago, and told me her husband would welcome the chance to go to a match with us. As it happens that's problematic as we're season ticket holders with fixed places, but I said if one of us wasn't going he'd be welcome to use the spare ticket. Nice to get to know at least one of les voisins a bit better. Only taken 6 years...

Wining, ducking and dining

The weekend trip across La Manche turned out to be as enjoyable as expected and more. The excuse for turning it into something of a celebration was l'anniversaire de la bienheureuse, even if it is still more than a month away.

The eating and drinking got off to an auspicious start on Friday evening, with a Cambridge-based group visit to the Rice Boat, a highly recommended Kerala restaurant in Newnham. Excellent curry and too much wine resulted in a hangover on Saturday morning, but that was soon cured by watching the footballing gods restore right to the world with the defeat of the evil red empire by the patched up red and white forces of beautiful football.

Thence to Central London to meet up with more friends, principally from la bienheureuse's time in Canterbury. First stop Vinopolis, with a guided tour given by une belle portugaise followed by an excellent meal at the in-house restaurant Cantina, and more drinks in a riverside pub. Good wine, good food and a gin cocktail - what more perfect night out is there?

A rather more judicious intake of wine resulted in a somewhat clearer head on Sunday for the duck tour. Not the winged, webbed footed variety in park ponds, but an amphibious landing craft painted bright yellow and used as a vehicle for a tour on both land and water. The best bit of course was the splash down the ramp into the river.

After a late lunch on the South Bank, next stop was Bexleyheath for overnight lodging chez les bons docteurs C, entertainment provided by the tireless J-Z double act and sparklers in the rain. Monday, after le fils ainé was gently persuaded to forsake our bed for a trip to school, we spent a typical Sunday morning watching DVDs and the driving rain outside while the JezDoctor worked upstairs. Then it was off to Gatwick for a delayed flight back home.

Winning and wining

Another day, another routine 2-0 victory for OL last night, against the team they beat with somewhat greater difficulty in an 8 goal thriller in Bucharest two weeks ago. A point in their next game against Fiorentina will be enough for qualification, but a loss would throw it up in the air again.

More football and wine in prospect this weekend, with a trip to Blighty, a game at the new home of football against the evil red empire (can't say I'm entirely looking forward to that), and a couple of evenings out with friends in early celebration of la bienheureuse's completion of four decades. Saturday evening is another wine tasting evening, which may leave a few thick heads for the tour on a duck the next day...

Wine, chocolate and a nightmare prolonged

Highly enjoyable weekend, in all ways but one. Friday evening, JeB and the Soggy Doctor are due to arrive late on, mobile phone beeps: text message saying they won't make it till Saturday morning. Turns out to be a complicated story involved a late connecting flight, forgotten passport and needlessly checked-in luggage, none of which on their own would have been a problem, but in combination proved fatal. Seems J&S, BA and flights to Lyon are not a happy mix. Heureusement, they catch the early flight the next morning and are here by ten-thirty, to be whisked straight from the airport to the wine fair.

Four hours of tasting and purchasing later, we arrive back at the flat loaded with 14 cases of wine, nearly half for the annual Meribel ski trip, I hasten to add. There my mood is darkened by events in a far-off stadium, but recovers during the course of a characteristically convivial evening. Canard à la JeB et tarte tatin washed down by a couple of the afternoon's purchases.

The gastronomic weekend continues on Sunday with a stroll through the park to a chocolate festival, which needless to say, includes a stall selling chocolate wine. The Chocoholic amazingly resists making any purchases. Stroll back in lovely autumn sunshine, belying the floods elsewhere in the region, admiring the animals in the zoo en route.

Guests safely deposited at the airport, we just about manage to summon up the energy to trek out to Stade Gerland where OL manage a competent victory to stay 4 points clear at the top. Torrential rain during the game threatens to drench us, but stops in time for the trip home.

And this morning, needless to say again, la bienheureuse is in Germany again while I attempt to stick to a self-imposed deadline to finish roman numéro trois by the time we jet off to tropical waters in two weeks. Hmm, better get down to it...

Five minute nightmare

Well, that was a largely forgettable week. Cold, wet and miserable. Particularly on Wednesday. What was otherwise a good trip over to Blighty (flights on time, survived encounter with the law) was completely spoiled by the cauchemardesque ending to the norf london derby. One of the great premiership games, they're calling it. Great if you're not of the red & white persuasion.

A warning not to loiter with intent around airports. Was waiting for my chauffeur at Stansted on Wednesday evening, at a place not officially designated for picking up, when a car with yellow & blue livery pulls up. Polite policeman rolls down the window, asks what I'm doing, and asks to see ID. Radioing my name through evidently produces the information that I'm not on the most wanted list, and he kindly tells me he hopes I don't have to wait in the cold for my lift much longer. I'd thought I was out of view of any of the sundry CCTV cameras as well...

And so on to this weekend. Hopefully I'll have finished sulking by this evening, when guests JeB and Dr S arrive for the weekend winefest. The annual Salon des Vignerons Indépendants takes place over the next few days. Perfect for sorrows, the drowning of...

The dark nights close in...

Last week diversion was supplied mostly by the world of French politics, voodoo dolls and all, while domestically the main event was the heating finally going on, and staying on. A couple of mild days early in the week were followed by a ten degree plunge in maximum temperature. The sunshine returned over the weekend, but temperatures stayed around the seasonal average. Can't claim we did a lot to take advantage of the nice weather. A walk in the morning sunshine on Saturday was cut short because of an over-optimistic clothing choice on the part of one of us. La bienheureuse went home while I went and bought some wood for a minor projet de bricolage.

Sunday I set about putting up a couple shelves, filling the apartment with sawdust in the process, while la bienheureuse caught up on some work, necessary because she's never in the office these days. Oh yes, she's off on her travels again this week, in Germany until Thursday. My first trip in a month comes up on Wednesday, a vitriolic local derby in prospect...

L'espionnage, l'escroquerie et la diffamation

Plenty of entertainment in the murky world of French politics at the moment, dirty tricks popping up everywhere you look: a former premier ministre facing prosecution, the current president suing a former secret service boss, a left wing politician being spied on by the MD of a weapons company, who in turn is suing the former for defamation, and last but not least, the French president's personal bank account being hacked by a couple of petty thieves, who apparently only took small amounts to try and avoid detection. Personally, I'd have cleaned him out and published the details.

The Clearstream affair rumbles on in the background. Former PM Dominic de Villepin is facing prosecution for turning a blind eye to what he supposedly knew was the falsified list of accounts holding bribe money. De Villepin in turn talks darkly of policital pressure on the judiciary. Meanwhile, his bête noir, Monsieur Le Président himself is suing a former boss of the French Secret services for libel and invasion of privacy after extracts from the latter's personal notebooks were published in a French magazine. Precise details of the dirt he has on Sarko are glossed over in the media...

Sarkozy seems to be developing a taste for using the courts in his private life. A few months ago he became the first sitting President for 30 years to do so when he sued a journalist who published details of an alleged SMS message from Sarkozy to his now ex-wife. He later dropped the case when the journalist backtracked and apologised. And now he's threatening to sue a company which has produced a voodoo doll in his image. About time someone stuck pins in him...

Another, unrelated side show at the moment is the attempt by the boss of the French branch of Taser, the company that produces the 'non-lethal' Taser gun to squash Olivier Besançenot, the leader of one of the numerous left-wing political parties in France. Last week Besançenot reported an attempt to bug his house to the police, and 10 people were subsequently arrested during the investigation, including the head of Taser France, 2 private detectives and several policeman (presumably off-duty at the time). All this preceded the start of a court case in which the Taser France boss (who admits having asked for 'checks' on Besançenot) is suing Besançenot for defamation after he suggested in his blog that Tasers were probably responsible for the deaths of as many as 150 people in the US. Meanwhile the latter is threatening to sue the former following the break-in and bugging of his house. Who said the US was the most litigation-loving country in the world?

Guinness, pizza and football

L'été indien clings on. A brief interruption late last week for a couple of cool, cloudier days, but le soleil returned for the weekend. Witness the photo below of the Passerelle du College reflected in the calm Rhone this afternoon.
Yesterday we took advantage of the nice weather by spending the afternoon in the pub. Though finding a pub showing the appropriate match did necessitate a long walk in the sunshine. Eventually persuaded an American barman in an Irish pub to show the English game on a French channel. And le club londonien le plus français eventually obliged with a win.

Afterwards we meandered to Gerland to watch a live game, stopping on the way for a pizza. Just complete the cosmopolitan day. Les gones, still smarting from an inhabitual 3-0 thrashing in their last game struggled for form again, and we slightly lucky in the end to fight back for a 2-2 draw against Lille. Reasonably entertaining game, particularly listening to the moans and complaints from our season-ticket holding neighbours.

Another quiet week ahead. La bienheureuse is travelling again, though a routine overnight trip to Germany this time. And I inch closer to the finale of oeuvre numéro 3...

Whistle a tune...

Another quiet few days on the domestic front. La bienheureuse returned tired but unscathed from her encounter with the European bureaucrats in Brussels, I've been plugging laboriously away at my chosen metier by carrying out another minor rewrite.

Elsewhere, while the financial world continues to fall apart, the football world carries on regardless. I passed up the opportunity to watch OL ladies beat Arsenal ladies 3-0 on Tuesday night in favour of watching l'équipe masculine de France play Tunisia in a friendly. Les bleus continued where they left off in the previous couple of games - a minor resurgence in attacking form balanced by a continued disorganisation in defence.

The perceived return of a semblance of team spirit and cohesive play has been enough for the Fédération de Football Français to confirm Domenech in his position as coach on Wednesday. However, that decision was overshadowed by the fact that the large Tunisian support (outnumbering the home team fans) in the Stade de France loudly whistled the singing of La Marseillaise (by a singer of Tunisian origin). Much outrage amongst politicians and media the next day led to Sarkozy summoning the president of the FFF to the Palais de l'Elysée for a dressing down.

A subsequent announcement that any similar future incidents would result in the game being abandoned has been somewhat derided in the cold light of day this morning as being in the heat of the moment, with the impracticalities of such a move being pointed out. UEFA have said only they and the referee have the power to abandon a game. Others have questioned the effect of turfing eighty thousand disgruntled fans out on the streets of Paris. Unlikely to be peaceful, I venture...

La musique et la litterature

A momentous week in France (quite apart from the global spiral towards financial chaos), which saw the 30th anniversary of the death of Jacques Brel, perhaps France's most famous singer-songwriter, and the announcement of the farewell tour of the man who is perhaps France's most famous living singer, the man they simply call Johnny. In fact both of them are Belgian by birth, but we'll ignore that - the French often do, in the case of les belges wallons.

If Hallyday is best described as a French Elvis who didn't (quite) kill himself young, Brel is much less easily characterised. Newsreel of his stage performances invariably show him alone in a spotlight, dressed in a dark suit and tie, his face covered in a sheen of sweat. He seems to be loved mainly for his lyrics and astute commentary on life. As much a poet as a singer.

Which leads us neatly on to the other big news in the French cultural world - the French author JMG Le Clezio winning the Nobel prize for literature. The news had been widely acclaimed despite the fact that he's half-British.

Flying deer and cultural dynamite

A momentous week in France. And that's ignoring the fact the world's financial system in on the brink of total collapse. I'm talking about something far more important - culture, namely popular music and high literature. There were three big events in France: the announcement of Johnny Hallyday's imminent retirement from live performances; the 30th anniversary of Jacques Brel's death; and the awarding of the Nobel prize for literature to another Frenchman, JMG Le Clezio.

On the domestic front it's been a quiet week. We took advantage of the mini-Indian summer yesterday to have a stroll round town, where there was a bit of a party in Place Bellecour, laid on to celebrate the 40th edition of Le Petit Paumé, a free guide to Lyon produced each year by a team of students. Bands, jugglers, acrobats, tigers in cages, a hot air balloon, and a kite-flying demonstration were all squeezed into the second largest square in France.

Still nice today, but la bienheureuse has just left for the airport to spend 3 days in Brussels, learning how the European Union functions. Guess someone has to...

Physical crisis

Dunno about the credit crisis, my body seems to be in the throes of a mid-life crisis. Knackered my neck last week (whilst rather foolishly attempting to do some press-ups in a vain attempt to maintain some semblance of physical condition), and then discovered a chipped tooth at the weekend. I thus had to pluck up courage yesterday for a first visit to the dentist in six years, and experience the joys of the chair with a stiff neck. That said, it all turned out fine, tooth repaired (though he told me it really needed a crown). Neck still stiff though, think I may have suffered a prolapse relapse, so to speak...

Otherwise it was a quiet weekend. Ritual pub trip on Saturday to watch les gunners struggle once more to breach a packed defence. Enjoyed the last minute if little else of the game. Sunday we were intending to go out for walk, then to the cinema then to the restaurant. However, the nice morning weather had disappeared by the afternoon, I realised there was a particular episode of an american cop show I wanted to watch on TV (a sad indictment, I know, but it's one of the few programs we can watch with an English soundtrack), so good intentions swiftly disappeared.

Today the good weather is back and la bienheureuse is off to Germany again. Only one night trip this time though.

Autumn follows

A much more successful trip across La Manche on Tuesday - four goals that could have been eight, and two flights that arrived early. Left a chilly, blustery Blighty on Wednesday afternoon to find late summer still clinging on back home, while la bienheureuse left an even windier, colder Berlin to arrive back in a still fairly mild Lyon yesterday. This morning, however, l'automne seems to have arrived. Cool, occasional showers, with an even colder forecast for tomorrow. Might even have to turn the central heating on, even if the forecast is for a return of sunshine and warmer weather on Sunday...

Tigers, indians, spanish and italian

Highly enjoyable weekend, apart from one obvious down point. Arrived in the varsity city late afternoon, met up with the maçon-jardinier, got a lift out to the fens, and was rewarded for stealing Harry's seat by being sat upon. A dog's journey. An evening of traditional English gastronomy followed - beer in the pub, where we were joined by the german gooner and nephew, followed by curry, an excellent one too.

More delicious cuisine, à l'espagnole, was on the menu saturday, a late lunch chez J&C, before setting off for the late match at football's mecca. Least said about that the better, save to note that the visiting tigers certainly enjoyed their pilgrimage down south. And better them than most other teams in the division...

Up early Sunday for a stomp to the coach stop, thence to Stansted for the flight back which arrived 20 minutes early. Wonders will never cease. And finally home again, to be greeted by another enticing meal, à l'italienne, lovingly prepared by la merveilleuse bienheureuse. A weekend of being spoilt by everyone, except footballers...

Travellin' life

My turn to fly this weekend, pleasure rather than work, needless to say. Only the second game I'll have attended this season, note. Weather forecast looks promising. Been sunny here for the last 10 days, rather cool though, so not quite what I'd call an indian summer. Return on Sunday for a brief reunion with la bienheureuse before she jets off to Berlin for four days. Meanwhile, I'm back in Blighty on Tuesday, for the opening of European hostilities. Shame the orange airline doesn't do air miles...

Cultural weekend

After failing last week to be named European city of culture 2013, Lyon joined the rest of Europe for the journées du patrimoine over the weekend. Our personal appreciation of the city's cultural heritage was somewhat restricted. We ventured out late on Saturday afternoon, intending to look inside the Bourse de Lyon, but got there just as it was closing. Only thing to do then was to continue to the pub where we were able to appreciate an example of sporting culture, as les jeunes Gunners taught Bolton a lesson in the footballing fine arts. On the way home we indulged in more appreciation of another famous example of Lyonnaise art, cuisine.

Beer in pub, wine in restaurant, digestif on return à la maison resulted in a somewhat fragile head the following morning, but nonetheless managed a bit more of the current projet de bricolage, a cosmetic tidying up of our much-discussed french ceiling. And in the afternoon we succeeded in visiting one nearby building open for the journées du patrimoine, the Hotel du Gouverneur, the seat and residence of the military governor of Lyon.

Meanwhile, la bienheureuse is in incessant travelling mode. Brussels again at the end of last week, Germany today, Milan tomorrow. And then Berlin most of next week. Travel for my own work involves the arduous trip from computer to kitchen to make cups of tea and coffee. Such is life.

A colourful game

An exciting match at Gerland last night, with Les Gones having to come back from 2-0 down for the second time in a row. Another controversial comeback, with the goal to make it 2-1 being scored while there was a Fiorentina player lying injured in the area. Up to the ref to stop the game though, and he didn't, even if the player was eventually carted away on a stretcher. And this time OL couldn't squeeze out a winner.

It was un match halucinant, as the French might say. And with OL wearing their garish, new, fluorescent yellow away strip, Fiorentina in bright purple and les arbitres in luminescent orange, halucinogenic seems an apt word. Hard on the eyes. It was a bit like watching football on acid. I'd imagine...

Lyon, pas de culture 2013

Mild consternation in Lyon last night, following the decision to pick Marseille as the French European capital of culture for 2013. Les lyonnais have invested a lot in the campaign to be elected cultural capital, so it was a bitter blow to see the Mediterranean rivals get the nod instead. Mutterings about state support for la cité phoceéne, ascribed in some quarters to supporting one of Sarkozy's pet projects, the 'Mediterranean Union'. It seems however, that Lyon's main problem was already having a well developed cultural aspect. One of the criteria used by the judges was the need for regeneration, something Lyon has seen plenty of over the last ten years.

So in the end, la cité des gaules, can console itself with the fact that it is already seen as a European city of high culture. Indeed last weekend the city saw the culmination of the Bienniale de la Danse, with a parade through the town centre, described by some as the second biggest dance/music parade in the world, after Rio...

Floods of football

28C sunshine Thursday, 14C rain on Saturday. High summer to low autumn in one fell swoop. Otherwise a quiet week. La bienheureuse spent two days in Brussels while I laboured away at the keyboard. Football provided light relief. Much breast-beating and soul-searching in France last weekend following Les Bleus abject defeat in Vienna, but Domenech received a temporary stay of execution with an altogether more positive performance in Paris against Serbia on Wednesday. Decent game, though for once I was wishing I'd watched the England game instead.

England's new hero was back at it again yesterday on the domestic front, setting up the best footballing side in the world for an unusually comfortable win in the north-west yesterday. Meanwhile Les Gones made rather harder work of beating Nice at Gerland last night. Today's headline in l'Equipe says Nice were volé - robbed, principally by a linesman flagging for an extremely harsh penalty in injury time which handed Lyon the 3-2 win. The same linesman had earlier upset Nice by raising his flag then lowering it during the free kick which resulted in the equaliser. Not that OL's win was undeserved. Somewhat outplayed and 2-0 down in the first half, in the second they made enough chances to have won comfortably before they eventually did. Highly entertaining game, all in all.

Edvige à l'école

Plenty of polémique in France at the moment over Edvige - a pleasant girl's name, which in a nastier guise is an acronym for a database of personal details proposed by the Interior Ministry to be held on all teachers, politicians, union members, religious leaders and any other person 'liable to cause a breach of the peace'... In other words, Big Brother is watching if you have any sort of role in public life.

Not surprisingly the left and the centre don't like it one bit. More surprisingly, neither do business leaders and a significant proportion of the ruling right wing majority. Watch this space. Or rather don't, or else you might end up on police files...

Elsewhere, the country is back at work and back at l'école. Fairly significant change for school children this year with no more Saturday morning lessons, which 2/3 of French children took up until now. However, most children still also get Wednesdays off, which means only 4 days school work a week. Alright for some. Though to be fair, a lot still go to school on Wednesdays, they just do extracurricular activities rather than lessons. And the total number of hours of lessons per week has supposedly remained unchanged.

Sarko watchers this week have seen him revelling in his role as President of the European Union, notably acting as peacemaker in Georgia. Back in La Corse however, his love of the limelight is less feted. The head of security in Corsica last week was summarily relieved of duties following the occupation of the villa of Christian Clavier by Corsican nationalists. They didn't cause any damage but Clavier is a well known actor and close friend of Monsieur Le President. If nothing else, Sarko looks after his own...

Extreme weekend

We were looking forward to a quiet weekend, and Saturday didn't disappoint. Outside it was dark and wet, meaning we stayed inside, both nursing mild heads. Self-inflicted on one part (a mere half-bottle of wine on Fri evening), work/stress related on the other.

Sunday we are both feeling somewhat better and the weather is infinitely better. From a day of constant twilight and rain to a day of uninterrupted sunshine. La bienheureuse proposes a bike ride.
"Just a short one, up the river and back..."

Famous last words. We'd forgotten that it was the Lyon Free VTT - the annual velo tous terrains race/fun ride round Lyon. As soon as we got onto the quayside we met hordes of sporting types on mountain bikes cycling furiously in the other direction. So, we get to our usual turn round point and la bienheureuse says,
"Let's carry on a bit further, it'll be quieter."

Famous last words. We carried on, and on, and on. Until, 10km later, we reached Parc Miribel. Which, I have to admit, was very pleasant in the sunshine. So pleasant we cycled all the way round before heading back. All of which added up to a total of something like 35km. Just a short one...

After all the rain of the previous day, the river was very high. And it got higher still. On the way out, the path at the point where it passes closest to the river was still dry. On the way back it was flooded. Fortunately we spotted all the VTTers splashing gamely through it in time to divert onto the upper quay. Not stupid, us, we stayed dry.

Storming success

A quiet week on the home front, apart from a series of spectacular thunderstorms, one of which threw enough water against the front windows to cause one of them to leak. Otherwise, for me it's been gradual recuperation from holiday and settling down to work. For la bienheureuse, less recuperation, more work. She came back to 3 days of meetings, one of which included the necessity to conceive and compère a work-based version of Qui Veut Gagner des Millions. Seems the game was a hit, so a career in television beckons.

Elsewhere, France is back at work and back at school. Minor revolution on the latter front with the doing away with Saturday morning lessons. Which means French school children only get four days of school a week, as they still get Wednesdays off. Alright for some. Though in fact a lot of them do extra-curricular activities at school on Wednesdays and the number of hours of school per week has supposedly remained unchanged.

Water, lakes and more water

UK holiday, phase 2

Day 7, Thu 21 Aug
Leave Cheshire, negotiate torrential rainstorm on the M6 and arrive in the Lakes in time for lunch and rendezvous with the good doctors C and their deux fils J&Z in timeshare complex in Elterwater. Weather dries up and small boys are persuaded to go for a stroll along the river to Skelwith Bridge and back. Les petits much more enthused by prospect of late afternoon splash in the pool. Day of moderate wining & dining is completed by dinner in the café and retreat to the calm of our hotel.

Day 8, Fri 22 Aug
Meet up with la famille Clerc again in the morning and all set off for a wander around Grizedale forest. After lunch, wave goodbye to les docteurs et leur fils, and then undertake a more strenous stomp with a circular route from and to Elterwater, via Little Langdale, Colwith Force and Skelwith Bridge. Retire to hotel, exhausted, with one soleless boot, after huge lamb dinner in the pub.

Day 9, Sat 23 Aug
Drive into Ambleside to buy new boots, then embark on another circular walk from Elterwater, this time over the top to Grasmere, and back via Loughrigg Tarn. In the afternoon base of operations shifts to Waterhead to take part in annual gathering of the Sandford sisters clan. The majority of the 20 odd family members arrive during the course of the afternoon and evening.
Day 10, Sun 24 Aug
Le beau-frère et la belle-soeur make a rare appearance, enticed by the loose 40th birthday celebration of trois des cousins. Stroll into Ambleside is interrupted by demand to play a 2-a-side football game with 3 of the under-10s. Weather stays just about clement enough for a BBQ dinner, cooked under umbrella, and birthday cake.

Day 11, Mon 25 Aug
Starts raining, though initially not hard enough to discourage biking expedition to Grizedale forest. Leaving the hardcore mountain bikers to attack the 'North Face', the rest of us enjoy an easier seven mile rollercoaster in the drizzle. The septuagenarian in the party enjoys it so much that he persuades 'the youngsters' to do it all over again. The party of four, combined age almost 200, breezes past a twenty year old throwing up at the top of a stiff climb. Age sometimes has little to do with fitness. Spend less strenuous afternoon watching the drizzle, shopping in Windermere and an evening enjoying roast lamb dinner.

Day 12, Tue 26 Aug
Still raining, yours truly mopes indoors with heavy cold, gift from nièce numèro deux. Le beau-frère et la belle-soeur return to Wales to relieve parents of dog-sitting duties while la bienheureuse et la belle-mère go for an amble in the drizzle.

Day 13, Wed 27 Aug
Weather and cold dry up enough to allow flying 600 mile round trip to London, via Cambridge, to witness les cannoniers comfortably qualify for the group stages of the Champions League. Back in the wet lakes les cousins enjoy a well watered night out sans enfants.

Day 14, Thu 28 Aug
Drive back to Lakes, picking up une nièce et deux neveux en route, to find that it has stopped raining at last. La soeur eventually arrives from Bradford, and the afternoon is spent kayaking and jumping off the jetty into a frigid Lake Windermere. Evening spent celebrating the triple fortieth.

Day 15, Fri 29 Aug
The weather remains dry but we don't. An hour of canoeing on the lake is ended by a raiding party of petits pirates, egged on by les frères H, and la bienheureuse and I are unceremoniously capsized and dumped in the lake. The latter part of the afternoon is taken up by a football match, with the Sandford clan providing a few representatives amongst a multitude from the other large quaysiders family gathering. Discover the embarrassment of being beaten in a tackle and then taunted about it by a 15 year-old girl, and that my body thinks I'm too old for football. Fish and chips for dinner then wave goodbye to la soeur, la nièce et les neveux as they head back down to opposite sides of the Pennines.

Day 16, Sat 30 Aug
Apartment cleared by 9.30am, family goodbyes are waved and we set off on the drive down towards Cambridge. Arrive mid-afternoon chez le grand M et lady K, for a pleasant afternoon and evening in Hilton. Clear plate of delicious, but enormous lasagne, then somehow manage to swallow apple pie as well.

Day 17, Sun 31 Aug
Homeward bound. Leave misty Cambridgeshire and arrive in hot, sunny Lyon. Violent thunderstorm in the evening. Welcome back to France.

A five day tour of SE England in six easy steps

Day 1, Fri 15 Aug
Begin 2 week holiday in Blighty, part one of which requires meticulous planning. Catch afternoon flight to Stansted in a replacement aircraft, the smaller size of which forces Easyjet to offer lucrative bribe to passengers to take evening flight instead. Reluctantly decide dinner with friends is worth more than 500 euros. Play dodge the traffic warden in Stansted drop-off zone and eventually elude him long enough to effect successful rendezvous with J&C. The four of us travel to deepest Berkshire and spend lovely evening chez les Den-Es, worth all of half a grand and more. Eat & drink too much.

Day 2, Sat 16 Aug
Olympics and late breakfast, followed by expedition to the new home of football on the part of les deux Gooners, shopping expedition into Reading on the part of les trois filles, with the Den-E-boy left at home with the Den-E-baby. Both expeditions successful, despite a stationary traffic queue on the Westway flyover and a temporary splitting of forces en route to Norf London. Another pleasant evening at a traditional English restaurant, sampling local curry. Eat too much.

Day 3, Sun 17 Aug
Chauffeured back to Cambridge by J&C, and spend a lazy sunday afternoon in sunshine which prompts the decision to have a semi-BBQ - food cooked outside, eaten inside due to temperature dropping in parallel with sun. Eat & drink too much.

Day 4, Mon 18 Aug
Spend morning banking tax rebates and shopping for support material in Cambridge. Eventually track down car hire shop and pick up transport for the remaining holiday. Brave the M25 and Dartford crossing at rush hour and arrive for another pleasant evening chez le petit frère et sa novia. Eat too much.

Day 5, Tue 19 Aug
Bromley to Ascot, via Windsor. Rise late, after li'l bro has gone to work, and meander our way westwards. Stop off for lunch and an amiable amble round the Valley Gardens in Windsor Great Park.
Continue on to meet the rugger bugger and la Strat in Ascot. Another traditional English meal out, chinese this time, also in the company of N&C. Eat and drink too much. Spot the pattern?

Day 6, Wed 20 Aug
Phase 1 of holiday completed, more or less successfully. Head north to Cheshire. Brief stop-off in Gawsworth to visit les nièces et neveux, all in good form, thence to chez la belle-mère for an evening of recuperation. Eat & drink sensibly in anticipation of beginning of phase 2 the following morning...

Cycling, lost property and football

An eventful weekend. Friday evening we went to a bike shop and purchased helmets and a new saddle. The latter to better suit la bienheureuse's bum, the former to break the habit of a lifetime, and both because of a planned ride in the Beaujolais countryside the following day.

Lovely day it was too. Not too hot, but plenty of sunshine, and a very pleasant purpose built cycle path along the track of an old railway between Belleville and Beaujeu. The piste was only 11km in a flat, straight line, so midway along we branched out on a slightly more ambitious circuit round the base of Mont Brouilly. Another 16km, with a couple of short but reasonably stiff climbs. With a delectable picnic to start, all in all a not-too strenous and highly enjoyable day with about 35km of exersize.

Back at the car, my propensity for leaving things behind reared its ugly head. I couldn't find my treasured Chuuk hat. Tragedy. Going back through the events of the day, I decided I'd left it on the picnic table three hours earlier. No chance it would still be there. But it was. Lucky me.

On the way home, forgotten item two became evident. Stop for petrol, get out credit cards to pay, and discover French bank card missing. Fortunately (doubly so, because la bienheureuse had left her purse at home), I had enough cash to pay for the petrol. Only thing to fret about was where I'd left my card. More backtracking took us back to the bike shop. After driving straight there, I was somewhat relieved to find the card had been safely put in a drawer until I returned to retrieve it. Lucky me. Doubly lucky because the shop is closed this week, and we're off to Blighty for 2 weeks on Friday.

Sunday was recovery day, from the stress and the not-so strenuous exersize. In the evening I was back in my element, watching football. Yes, the French season has already started, and started the same way as the last seven. Comfortable, if not overly impressive 3-0 win for OL over a Toulouse side which seems likely to be among the favourites for relegation. And next weekend the real football starts...

Misty mountain slog

Hot weather, head for the hills. That was the theory as we booked a weekend in Valmorel. We drove up Friday and arrived in the pouring rain. Just a passing front, fortunately, Saturday was forecast to be warm and sunny. And so it was, from time to time. We awoke however to a misty morning.
Every so often it the clouds lifted and tantalisingly promised to clear away, so we stuck to the ambitious plan formulated the previous afternoon - an arduous circuit along the Crève Tête ridge above Valmorel to the east. Perhaps if we'd taken proper account of the difference in height between top and bottom of the walk, we'd have realised it was a little over-ambitious. But we pressed on regardless. Up, and up, and up, and up... 1000 metres up. And about five hours after setting off we made it to the top of the head-buster - Crève Tête, 2342m.

It was tough, but worth it. Magnificent views when the clouds lifted, moody forest scenes when they didn't, and beautiful alpine flowers of every colour & variety everywhere we looked. The video below is a panorama taken at the end of the ridge leading to Crève Tête. And having climbed to the top, it's downhill all the way home.


Exhausted but satisfied we were asleep by nine-thirty. Sunday morning dawned fine and sunny. Faced with a choice of another, less demanding walk, or taking it easy with a swim and a dawdle home in time to watch the Wenger boys on TV, we plumped for the formker. Suckers for punishment. But not stupid, because we caught the Altispace lift and started our walk to the Col de la Madeleine from the top. Lovely weather, comparatively gentle amble, lunch in one of the restaurants at the col, and I persuaded la bienheureuse that a different route might be more scenic.

First mistake. Not that it was more scenic - it was, and we had cowbell music along the way. The mistake was not fully appreciating that the alternative route took us a lot further down. And that meant it was a lot further back up to where we started. Route out: height difference negligible, total up and down - about 150m max, time taken - 2 hours. Route back, height difference the same, total up and down: more than 400 metres, time taken - 3.5 hours. 2nd mistake: a bit of faulty navigation meant we ended slogging up the marshy route of a drag lift. Still, we got there in the end. And the ride back down on the lift was lovely.

Men in tights

There follows a lesson in keeping a city centre apartment cool in the summer without the aid of air conditioning. Or at least, keeping it at bearable temperatures. There is a point to all this, though you have to skip to the bottom to find it.

1. Open all windows at night, to allow as much cool nighttime air in as possible. Doesn't help much if there is no breeze, as has been the case recently.
2. As soon as the sun starts shining in through the windows, close them and and close the shutters or lower the blinds.
3. Keep closed until late afternoon when the sun no longer falls directly onto them.
4. Open the windows again in the evening as soon as the temperature outside is lower than inside. Which at the moment isn't until bedtime.

Anyway, there I was, late afternoon yesterday, slaving away in a sauna-like study in front of a hot computer (heat generated by the friction of fingers as I melt the keyboard in a creative frenzy of writing)... Ok, stretching artistic licence a bit there, but what follows is true...

I was raising the blinds to let in more light when I was greeted by the sight of a man, leaning out of a window opposite, smoking a fag. Not an unusual sight you may say, but the image is made unsavoury by the fact that he was dressed only in underpants and a pair of stockings. Not the sort of view one dreams of having from one's front window. And before you ask, definitely male (30ish), definitely stockings (black nylon). Ahem, not that I dared look closely.

To add to the intriguing scenario, the window in question is equipped with what look like dark red satin curtains. I shall refrain from speculating about what was going on in there...

Le Tour des berges

A remarkably uneventful week, if that's not an oxymoron, in a warm and mostly sunny city. The lyonnais bourgeoisie gradually desert town for their vacances in July, though it's not until the first couple of weeks in August that the population reaches a seasonal nadir.

Not a lot to report on the home front either. Been writing steadily, if not prolifically, over the last few weeks, book number 3 now about 75% finished, la bienheureuse hasn't travelled abroad for 3 whole weeks, and most of the voisins are on holiday. Most exciting event of the weekend was a cycle ride along the river yesterday morning before it got too hot, having had a teetotal Saturday because of the after-effects of a half-bottle of wine each on Friday evening. White wine, too, we are becoming lightweights, alcoholically speaking.

Anyway, we did the full tour - north along the berges du Rhône as far as the bridge over the périphérique, and then all the way back as far south as the Parc du Gerland, then home. Total distance covered, about 22km. Might not sound like much, but to cycle-rusty legs and bums, it was.

Meanwhile, cyclists on a somewhat different level, planet even, came to the end of their 3 week trip round France. Le Tour 2008 is being seen as somewhat transitional, with the battle against the drug cheats seemingly being slowly won, and the old guard, brought up in an era where pharmaceutical aid was rife, superceded by the new, clean generation. So they say... There was plenty of suspense, right up until the penultimate stage, if only because there was no single dominant rider, but it seemed to me somewhat lacking in real drama...

Daft dogs & a wooden anniversary

A frustrating and interesting day last Friday. Trudging round town in search (ultimately fruitful if not entirely successful) of a suitable cadeau en bois, I happened upon a minor stir as I crossed the footbridge near home. A handful of people were watching a dog which had jumped into the river only to find itself unable to get out. It was in no danger, but couldn't scramble up onto the raised embankment just under the bridge. At that moment a police launch went past and someone attracted its attention.

Thus the rescue operation was launched. A policewoman donned waders, was dropped off into the shallow water around the end of the bridge, and eventually succeeded in luring the stupid animal round the side were there were some steps. Of its owner there was no sign, though it sported a collar and lead, but a bystander apparently offered to look after it in some way. Presumably he either knew the owner or took it to a shelter or dog pound, or took it home himself...

Second dumb dog I've seen in the river in recent weeks. The previous one had jumped in chasing a stick, been carried by the current past the slipway and been unable to swim back. Its owner was in attendance, but
I didn't hang around on that occasion to watch the denouement...

The following day we drove to the Auvergne again, for a short weekend away to celebrate reaching a wooden milestone. A night and a meal in a hotel in the Mont Dore ski resort was preceded by a long drive across the middle of the Massif Central. Taking the scenic route seemed a good idea at the time, and indeed, from the point of view of scenery on offer it was, but the 6 hour journey time wasn't. However, we still got there in time for a short stroll, and the pleasant evening weather encouraged us to take the télépherique up towards the highest point in the Massif Central, the Puy de Sancy the following morning.

Unfortunately the weather in the morning wasn't quite so nice. We reached the top cable car station in billowing mist, which was being blown across the top of the mountain in intermittent, swirling clouds by a howling wind. There were however, occasional breaks, and well, we were there, so we decided to climb the wooden staircase right to the top, despite being singularly ill-prepared for such a venture - sandals & light trainers respectively, shorts and a single light cardigan between us.



The video above gives some idea of conditions, but nonetheless we got to the top, waited 10 minutes in vain for a clear patch, then trudged back down again. Ten minutes later the summit was clear, and the weather stayed sunny for the rest of the day. Sod's law. Still, enjoyed a very pleasant stroll down, and drove home along roads newly surfaced in honour of the Tour de France, via a stop in St Nectaire to visit a church and a grotto. Took the autoroute back and halved the journey time...

Fêtes, Floods and Fireworks

The promised thunderstorms arrived on Friday, including one downpour with hailstones the size of grapes and minor flooding in the apartment. The rain was so heavy it got in through closed windows, first time I've seen that happen, though I suspect it was due to the shutter casings channeling water onto the window frame...

Two days of cool, occasionally damp weather followed, but the sun reappeared in celebration of the Fête Nationale on 14 juillet. We strolled out to watch the annual fireworks display atop Fourvière, though it was somewhat less spectacular than the extravaganza in Paris which followed a free concert on the Champ de Mars in front of 600 thousand people and was also in celebration of Quebec's 400th birthday.

Traditionally 14 july is also the day when a Frenchman tries to win the day's stage in the Tour de France. Yesterday was no exception, but a valiant attempt over two hors catégorie climbs was foiled by circumstances - a couple of the main contenders cracked on the famous Col du Tourmalet, which meant the other leading riders pushed as hard as possible to distance their rivals. Made for an interesting day though, and commentators here are gripped by what is turning out to be the most unpredictable race in years.

Orange storms, black Saturday

Second big weekend of the summer on the roads coming, the first to be marked black on the French scale of classifying road conditions - green, orange, red, black. In fact it's red elsewhere Friday & Saturday, but black tomorrow in the Rhône valley as half of France streams south to the Mediterranean beaches for their two weeks in the sun.

At least the vacanciers might have cooler conditions tomorrow. There's an orange alert in the Rhône department today, warning of thunderstorms, which should cool things down. La bienheureuse was on an overnight trip to Germany on Tues & Weds, acting as referee between feuding locals, where it was cold & wet, but was greeted on her return by a couple of days of hot and heavy sunshine. Have to say it has so far been a changeable summer...

It has been a quiet, steady writing week on the home front, enlivened by the Tour de France and some fireworks on the political stage. The surprising prominence of Brits in le tour was followed by the first 'medium' mountain stage in the Massif Centrale, while Ségolène and Sarko (or more accurately Sarko's minions) have been reprising their battles of a year ago. Plus ça change...

Adieu PPDA, rebonjour Ségolène

Entertaining political week in France. Mme Royale has been in the headlines upsetting Monsieur le Président and his supporters, first asserting that Sarkozy had nothing to do with Ingrid Betancourt's release, and then linking a recent break-in at her flat (the 3rd in 2 years where nothing was taken) with the 'clan Sarkozy'. Cue a parade of minions from the premier ministre downwards opining that Ségo had 'lost control', 'sunk to new level of pathetic stupidity', or 'like all other victims of crime, has a right to psychological help'.

Elsewhere, in Strasbourg, Sarkozy was taken to task for his decision to attend the opening ceremony of the Olympics in Beijing by the French Green MEP, Daniel Cohn-Bendit in a quite marvellous rant in the European parliament. Choice phrases include (rough tranlation): 'the more repressive the Chinese authorities get, the lower we bow before them... Monsieur Sarkozy will be given a nice dinner with baguettes in Pekin, exchange hugs & kisses and say "here you are, here's 3 nuclear power stations, 36 TGVs, and I don't know what else..." It's squalid!'

And finally, last night saw l'adieu de Patrick Poivre d'Arvor, former king of French television newsreaders, dethroned, according to himself and others, for having treated Sarko like a little boy live on TV. Wearing a suitably funereal black tie and jacket, he unemotionally read the news until his final words during which he quoted Shakespeare: "That which cannot be eschewed must be embraced."

A man with a 'colourful' past, PPDA. Father at the age of 15, first book (of over 30) published at 16 (1.5m copies sold), affair with a fellow newsreader which produced his 6th & youngest child more than 30 years after his first, conviction for fraud ten years ago, and so on...