Keeping count

As the weather in Lyon finally seems to be tending towards spring, so the winter Olympics dominate the TV and sporting news. La France was rather pleased with itself early on - 7 medals, including 2 golds, garnered during the first 3 days.  After the feast, the famine. No French medals to celebrate between Tuesday and Saturday. Redemption on Sunday in the form of the biathlon, again. At last another medal, silver this time.

From sporting escape to goal break. The famous escapee of last year, Jean-Pierre Treiber, was found hanged in his cell on Saturday, so ending his life in a blaze of publicity to match that surrounding 3 months on the run from prison last year and the original double murder of two women (including a well known actress) of which he was accused. In a note allegedly found in his cell, he continues to claim innocence. The truth will probably never be known...

Domestically, life in Lyon trundles along. We had dinner out on Saturday, for the first time in months, and sampled a smart new Italian restaurant a few minutes walk from the apartment. Very nice Mon Bistrot Italien was too, even if it was second choice, suggested by the restaurant I originally chose, which is closed Saturdays. Note to organiser, check opening hours first. The upset stomach suffered afterwards was not believed to be connected with Italian food, rather the bad domestic habit of consuming food well after the sell-by date. HP sauce the prime suspect on this occasion, though the bacon butties were very nice. Thus physical activity on Sunday was restricted to a gentle walk and an afternoon's sleuthing in the cinema.

Finally, a small red letter day today - 10 merveilleux ans de vie ensemble. Congratulations to ma bien-aimée for putting up with me so long. A small celebration in order this evening...

Black motoring days

This weekend marks the mid-point of the French winter school holidays, and that means tomorrow is one of the busiest days of the year on the roads as one third of the country goes back to school, another third goes on holiday, and the final third are in the middle of their two weeks off. Fittingly, as hordes of holiday makers head onto and off the slopes, in the region around the Alps Saturday is classed as black in a similar fashion to the way ski pistes are classified - green for no problem, black for scary...

It's not been a good week to be a motorist in general. Yesterday the government announced more measures to improve road safety - principally more cameras, which will be harder to spot than current models, and the introduction of average speed cameras in key places like tunnels. Since automatic speed cameras were introduced in France seven years ago, the number of deaths on French roads has dropped by more than 40%, though last year an average of 12 people per day still died. The aim of the new measures is to reduce annual road deaths to below 3000 by 2012.

Another bit of news yesterday that is likely to cause grief for motorists in France, was the threat to go on indefinite strike by petrol refinery workers, in support of the strike at six Total refineries, including the one just south of Lyon, and over worries about the future of the industry in France. There are apparently just 10 to 20 days worth of petrol stocked in France...

Galacticos eclipsed

Oh ye of little faith. As we walked away from the stadium through the sleet and rain, it felt just like the old times at Gerland last night. The Madrid superstars in their fancy 300 million Euro boots were outplayed, outfought and out-thought by a team of Lyon journeymen that at last found a performance and the desire to satisfy the demanding fans. And with a goal scored by everybody's favourite player, Jean II Makoun. Wonder if he'll get booed as usual during the next league game...

Not that everybody should have been so surprised. It was the fifth time Read Madrid have played their French bête noire in the last five years, and they've yet to win. Last night was the third successive time they've slunk away from Lyon, beaten, with their tails between legs good only for step-overs and fancy flicks that go no-where.

Of course the return leg in three weeks could be a different story. Probably will, if you take the pragmatic view. If there's a lack of Lyonnais euphoria this morning, it's partly through regret that OL didn't score more than one goal. They certainly deserved to.

Frosty times

The coldest winter for 25 years continues. Today is the 7th day in a row that temperatures have failed to climb above freezing. So, on Saturday evening we bundled up well to make the trip to the draughty concrete arena that is home to Olympique Lyonnais. OL matches this season are a bit like the weather - dull, uncomfortable and chilly. They've managed to grind out a few results since Christmas, but failed to warm the hearts of the fans, who still regularly call for the head of coach Puel. Trepidation will be high on Tuesday, for the visit of the over-paid, over-hyped galacitos of Real Madrid. We await it with interest...

Otherwise the weather over the weekend kept us mostly indoors - la bienheureuse slaved away in the kitchen while I lazed away in front of one screen or another - computer or TV. My excuse was that during the week I finally got down to doing a rewrite of book two for the purposes of resending the sample chapters to the agent who displayed mild interest. Surely two whole afternoons of work, merit a small rest...

Delayed relief

Dèja vu, of sorts. Arrived at the airport yesterday to be told by the lady manning security that my flight wasn't due to leave for another four and a half hours. About turn to the airline desk where they tell me the delay is even longer - six hours, with the flight scheduled to leave at around the time the not-so-mighty Cannoniers would be taking a half time break in their battle with the red Scousers. No point in going then, so I caught the bus home, again. Still, at least this time I wasn't left sitting going nowhere for five hours in the cold, draughty prefabricated hangar that passes for the low cost airline terminal at Lyon airport. And at least this time there was a happy ending to the match, which we watched in the pub after an enormous fish and chips dinner and went a little way towards easing the pain of the previous two.

Footnote to my travel misadventures of the past 10 days - phoned the Stelios 'customer care' help line when I got home to claim my refund, and eventually spoke to someone after a 15 minute wait. After my explanation he goes away for a couple of minutes to consult, presumably with a superior, then informs me that as the flight is not yet delayed by an hour he can't authorise the refund.
"What do you mean the delay's less than an hour, I was told it was a six hour delay?!"
"No, I mean at this moment in time, the delay is less than an hour."
Hmm... I look at the clock. Fifty-five minutes after the scheduled departure time.
"You mean if I call back in five minutes you'll be able to give me the refund?"
"That's correct, sir."
Great, another 20 minutes waiting on the phone? Screw that, I tried email instead. We shall see with what result...

The official blame for the delay yesterday was the weather. A few centimetres of snow at Lyon airport caused delays of between fifteen minutes and... six hours. Strangely, most Air France flights were delayed by a mere hour or less, while the only flights delayed by more than three hours were, you guessed it, FacileJet. It is cold again in Lyon. All day snow on Tuesday was of the wet, melt immediately variety in the city, though elsewhere, such as the airport, it apparently settled. It has since got even colder - maximum of minus three forecast today...

A chink of daylight

The cold, gloomy weather has given way to milder, and today much wetter, gloomy weather. However earlier this week I glimpsed light at the end of the winter tunnel. For the first time since early November, sunlight breached the windows of the apartment. Briefly, though a lower gap between two buildings opposite. Spring must be on the way.

On the home front it's been a quiet few days. La bienheureuse has been busy as usual at work, though still suffering jet-lag hangover, or something, finding motivation and getting of bed in the morning difficult at the moment. Likewise chez moi, though the cynical might argue that is a perennial condition. I've been putting off a rewrite and resend of the first 3 chapters of book two by working on another project which for the moment shall remain secret.

Otherwise there's been little to distract. On the public stage it's a quiet time of year. Aside from a two day rail strike, which passed without much comment, and the refusal of French citizenship to a man who required his wife to wear a burqa, the only political entertainment has come from a minor spat between two government ministers. The Garde des Sceaux (justice minister) Michèle Alliot-Marie (known as MAM in the usual French love of acronymic nicknames), and the Interior minster Brice Hortefeux have been exchanging fire over various aspects of law and order, most notably the recent spectator disturbances at League 1 football matches. The political front should liven up soon, with regional elections due next month.

Delayed pain

There was an upside to a yesterday in which a six hour flight delay was only the second worse part: tasty parsnip soup and Tarte Tatin awaiting me on my return from witnessing a horror story in the pub, which in itself was a poor substitute for attending the nightmare in person. 

The day was cold and bright as I set off for the airport at 8.30 yesterday morning through a city covered in a centimetre thick blanket of fresh snow. Arrived, went through security, waited for the flight. And waited, and waited. Eventually, an hour after departure time, they announced a further delay of two hours. No matter, still time for me to get to the holy ground in good time, and they offered a generous 4 euro 50 voucher for refreshments. Of course, in the extortionately priced refreshment kiosk, it didn't buy much, but it did help pass the time. 

And the time passed, and passed. Eventually, a few minutes after the estimated departure time, the flight was called for departure. Hooray, if it left reasonably promptly there was still time to make the match. Through passport control and into the holding pen that passes for a departure lounge, where we could watch passengers disembarking from the plane that was presumably scheduled to take us across the Channel. Think again. More than half an hour later, another announcement: "Your plane is here, but the flight crew (returning on another flight) won't arrive for another hour. Departure is estimated for 20 minutes after that."

Sinking stomach. A departure estimated at 15:40 would have got me to Stansted about 20 minutes after the match had kicked off, so at that point I gave up and went home. A claim for compensation and reimbursement is currently winging its way to Luton. Hope it doesn't get delayed...

I found other comfort of sorts in the fact that not being in London/Cambridge last night meant la bienheureuse and I could attend OL's match with PSG together. So we shivered (min temperature last night -6C) through 90 minutes of football, in most of which Lyon were outplayed by Paris, and were somewhat fortunate to find themselves only a goal down (thanks to a match-winning display by the reserve keeper) when the visitors had a player sent off with 20 minutes left. Labouring away, les gones finally conjured up an equaliser and winner ten minutes from time.

Otherwise it's been a quiet week since our return from Australia, spent catching up with work (for the wage-earner at least, including annual assessment, which deservedly earned 5 gold stars) and recovering from jet-lag, which seems to have hit us both more than normal. We did have an evening out on Friday, attending a Django Reinhardt centenary concert, which was foot-tappingly good in parts but dragged at times despite the virtuosity of the musicians. I'll blame the jet lag...

Meanwhile, on the political stage, the big news last week was the acquittal of Dominic de Villepin in the Clearstream trial, which is being seen as a bit of a bloody nose for Sarko. The feud continues with Villepin blaming the prosecution's decision to appeal on interference by the Elysée. I fear we haven't heard the last of the Clearstream affair...