The World Cup countdown gathers pace and, now that the last French hope has crashed out of Roland Garros, dominates the news bulletins more and more. It was with no little embarrassment that the TV presenter reported on Saturday that out of 18 men and 12 women who were in round 1 of the French open, by round 4 there remained just one Frenchman. And he managed only a single set in the fourth round before retiring injured. Eh bien, tant pis.
In the political arena, there's been a bit of a brouhaha over the last couple of days, starting with Sarkozy blaming his socialist predecessor François Mitterand for France's enormous deficit (7.5% of GDP) because it was he who brought in the reduction of the retirement age to 60 in 1981. Socialist Party leader Martine Aubry took offence - dead men can't defend themselves, after all - and retaliated by comparing Sarko and his management of the public deficit with the methods of Bernard Madoff. Naturally, great umbrage ensued from the presidential acolytes at hearing the great man likened to a crook. All good, dirty fun…
For us it's been a quiet few days. La bienheureuse spent two days in Germany and then took Friday off, using up her last day of the holiday year ending this month. The weekend then followed a familiar routine. Lunch by the river in the sunshine on Saturday, a walk round the park for ma bien-aimée while I occupied myself with preparations for the forthcoming diving, which I should have done several weeks ago. Then when the sun disappeared yesterday, we consoled ourselves with a trip to the cinema to watch Green Zone. Entertaining enough, and reasonably thought provoking stuff...
31 mai 2010
25 mai 2010
Assembly of ruins and murals
The sun shone, the thermometer climbed, and we took advantage of the first real summer weekend to do a bit of exploring. The three day agenda (including Pentecost Monday, a 'semi' bank holiday in France), included lunch at a riverside café and stroll in the park on Saturday, painted wall hunting on Sunday and Roman aqueduct viewing on Monday.
Earlier in the week, on Thursday we were treated to an extraordinary (in more ways than one) meeting of our apartment building neighbours. The main reason the meeting was called was to approve the request to delay the AGM in order to decide on a new management company. Our current syndic is notable only for its incompetence and lack of reactivity, as illustrated by the fact that the AGM should have taken place six months ago, and one of the agenda items is to approve accounts for 2008. Anyway, the meeting once again took a familiar course. Lots of high speed talking, usually two or three people at one time, which meant I followed only about half of what was said. It seems to me that the French, especially the female variety, have brains wired in a different way to my own. They appear to have no problem talking and listening at the same time, and eventually a course of action was decided. The syndic won't be happy…
Les murs peints are a feature of Lyonnais culture, and on Sunday we decided to set out in search of one or two examples off the beaten, central Lyon tourist track. Venturing into the seventh arrondissement, we eventually found le Fresque Lumière and le Mur de Cinéma. Very impressive too, even if the former is better viewed at night when the lighting system brings it to life, but after the latter the six km walk took its toll on two bodies suffering from a mysterious malaise. Not hangovers, I hasten to add, but something else, perhaps the shock of seeing warm, sunny weather again.
Following sketchy directions in a pamphlet and a map illegible without reading glasses, we took a somewhat more roundabout route than intended but eventually stopped for a pleasant picnic lunch by a pond just outside Chaponost. La bienheureuse took over navigational duties thereafter, and we thus retraced the route we should have traced earlier with somewhat greater success, arriving back at the car, hot, sweaty but satisfied. We then drove into the village for a brief look around, finding another painted wall to complete the theme of the weekend.
Earlier in the week, on Thursday we were treated to an extraordinary (in more ways than one) meeting of our apartment building neighbours. The main reason the meeting was called was to approve the request to delay the AGM in order to decide on a new management company. Our current syndic is notable only for its incompetence and lack of reactivity, as illustrated by the fact that the AGM should have taken place six months ago, and one of the agenda items is to approve accounts for 2008. Anyway, the meeting once again took a familiar course. Lots of high speed talking, usually two or three people at one time, which meant I followed only about half of what was said. It seems to me that the French, especially the female variety, have brains wired in a different way to my own. They appear to have no problem talking and listening at the same time, and eventually a course of action was decided. The syndic won't be happy…
We had recovered enough the next day to mount a more ambitious expedition, driving out into the hills to the west of Lyon. Principal attraction of the area is some remains of the Roman aqueduct that carried water from the Monts du Lyonnais to downtown Lugdunum. After admiring the impressive selection near Chaponost, we set off on a 8km walk on the hottest day of the year so far and at the hottest time of day.
Following sketchy directions in a pamphlet and a map illegible without reading glasses, we took a somewhat more roundabout route than intended but eventually stopped for a pleasant picnic lunch by a pond just outside Chaponost. La bienheureuse took over navigational duties thereafter, and we thus retraced the route we should have traced earlier with somewhat greater success, arriving back at the car, hot, sweaty but satisfied. We then drove into the village for a brief look around, finding another painted wall to complete the theme of the weekend.
20 mai 2010
Anticipating celebrations
Seven days in dear old Blighty (and getting dearer still as the Euro plummets): four different beds slept in, five different places visited, ten friends encountered and thirteen assorted relatives gathered. It was a busy, tiring and highly enjoyable week.
After a Tuesday afternoon pilgrimage to the Home of Good Football to watch the mighty, all-conquering young Gunners win their second successive championship in an eight goal thriller, Wednesday morning was spent anxiously watching ash cloud reports. The wind stayed beneficent and the flight of la bienheureuse arrived on time and she duly arrived chez the hospitable J&C in good time and a large hire car without a handbrake. A convivial, if over-lubricated evening ensued. Le grand chef cooked courgette soup and venison for nine, Mlle Beaucoup entertained, ma bien-aimée provided champagne and cheese, and the sundry guests (Professor Margarita and accompanying tax lady, the JEboy & his Jlady, and last but not least Mlle H) brought wine, flowers and drunken conversation.
The following morning we walked into Cambridge to clear heads and do some window shopping in John Lewis. The evening was a distinctly quieter and drier affair between four, but leftover venison tasted just as good. In the morning we bade farewell to our generous hosts and set off for Cheshire in our swish limousine, avoiding hill starts at all costs. Via a stop for provisions in Whitchurch, we reached Tattenhall, settled in and supped on takeaway curry with frère numéro un who was the first guest to arrive for part one of the great fiftieth celebrations (family edition). Baby bro and la colombiana número dos arrived later in the evening, and Saturday morning dawned bright and dry. A squirrel survived a close encounter with a cat and le frère ainé was dispatched to Gawsworth to collect les nièces et neveux while la bienheureuse and I fretted, fiddled and improvised in the kitchen, carrying out preparatory cuisine for the evening banquet.
The afternoon was taken up with a visit to Chester zoo. We met la soeur et les enfants there, and spent a pleasant four hours watching animals, braving bat caves and licking ice cream. Thence back to la maison de la belle mère for dinner. Tartiflette and tarte tatin went down very well, holiday photos from Patagonia were admired, and by eleven pm young eyelids were drooping. Four children and six adults found floor or bed space and slept on full tummies and memories of a happy day.
Sunday morning we all set off for east Cheshire, to meet frère number 3 and la belle-soeur at the Leathers Smithy for a grand lunch en famille. A table for twelve had been booked, la nièce numéro trois took orders, and we feasted on steak, duck, thai green curry and salmon, followed by chocolate fudge cake, sticky toffee pudding and ice cream. After a family photo session and recovery period in Gawsworth, we said our goodbyes and went on our separate ways. La bienheureuse and I drove straight to north Wales for a second family meet-up and yet more food and beer. Digestion continued unabated through the night and into the next morning.
Ma bien-aimée spent the morning restoring her mother's house to order while I helped, hindered, and organised accommodation for the next two nights. Le grand dude and lady K offered us shelter and delicious fruit cake on Monday night, baby T provided entertainment, and the evening was completed by a curry dinner with the Margarita Man and the Caipirinha Kid at Cocum.
On Tuesday we shifted base yet again, in my case completing the circle to return to the house built by the gardiner. Another chicken and salad dinner followed with the former Jogwig, Ken the customs lady and our host. A week of wining, dining and socialising takes its toll, so we felt exhausted as we rose early the following morning. After getting fleeced by the low cost orange airline for 3 kg of excess baggage, we arrived home to sunshine and a chilly northerly gale. It seemed strange to find Lyon cooler than Cambridge, but today the weather is warmer. Summer is at last promised for the weekend…
After a Tuesday afternoon pilgrimage to the Home of Good Football to watch the mighty, all-conquering young Gunners win their second successive championship in an eight goal thriller, Wednesday morning was spent anxiously watching ash cloud reports. The wind stayed beneficent and the flight of la bienheureuse arrived on time and she duly arrived chez the hospitable J&C in good time and a large hire car without a handbrake. A convivial, if over-lubricated evening ensued. Le grand chef cooked courgette soup and venison for nine, Mlle Beaucoup entertained, ma bien-aimée provided champagne and cheese, and the sundry guests (Professor Margarita and accompanying tax lady, the JEboy & his Jlady, and last but not least Mlle H) brought wine, flowers and drunken conversation.
The following morning we walked into Cambridge to clear heads and do some window shopping in John Lewis. The evening was a distinctly quieter and drier affair between four, but leftover venison tasted just as good. In the morning we bade farewell to our generous hosts and set off for Cheshire in our swish limousine, avoiding hill starts at all costs. Via a stop for provisions in Whitchurch, we reached Tattenhall, settled in and supped on takeaway curry with frère numéro un who was the first guest to arrive for part one of the great fiftieth celebrations (family edition). Baby bro and la colombiana número dos arrived later in the evening, and Saturday morning dawned bright and dry. A squirrel survived a close encounter with a cat and le frère ainé was dispatched to Gawsworth to collect les nièces et neveux while la bienheureuse and I fretted, fiddled and improvised in the kitchen, carrying out preparatory cuisine for the evening banquet.
The afternoon was taken up with a visit to Chester zoo. We met la soeur et les enfants there, and spent a pleasant four hours watching animals, braving bat caves and licking ice cream. Thence back to la maison de la belle mère for dinner. Tartiflette and tarte tatin went down very well, holiday photos from Patagonia were admired, and by eleven pm young eyelids were drooping. Four children and six adults found floor or bed space and slept on full tummies and memories of a happy day.
Sunday morning we all set off for east Cheshire, to meet frère number 3 and la belle-soeur at the Leathers Smithy for a grand lunch en famille. A table for twelve had been booked, la nièce numéro trois took orders, and we feasted on steak, duck, thai green curry and salmon, followed by chocolate fudge cake, sticky toffee pudding and ice cream. After a family photo session and recovery period in Gawsworth, we said our goodbyes and went on our separate ways. La bienheureuse and I drove straight to north Wales for a second family meet-up and yet more food and beer. Digestion continued unabated through the night and into the next morning.
Ma bien-aimée spent the morning restoring her mother's house to order while I helped, hindered, and organised accommodation for the next two nights. Le grand dude and lady K offered us shelter and delicious fruit cake on Monday night, baby T provided entertainment, and the evening was completed by a curry dinner with the Margarita Man and the Caipirinha Kid at Cocum.
On Tuesday we shifted base yet again, in my case completing the circle to return to the house built by the gardiner. Another chicken and salad dinner followed with the former Jogwig, Ken the customs lady and our host. A week of wining, dining and socialising takes its toll, so we felt exhausted as we rose early the following morning. After getting fleeced by the low cost orange airline for 3 kg of excess baggage, we arrived home to sunshine and a chilly northerly gale. It seemed strange to find Lyon cooler than Cambridge, but today the weather is warmer. Summer is at last promised for the weekend…
10 mai 2010
Season ending
Two pleasant surprises last Friday - the sun was glimpsed in Lyon after a whole week's absence without leave, and we had a late notice visit from the Punjab Princess and the Gujarat Gooner. A convivial evening ensued: much catching up was done, much chicken and cheese consumed, much champagne and red wine imbibed, and an inquest into the death of a football season was held.
Saturday morning it seemed Spring was contemplating a welcome return. Alas, I was forced to leave la bienheureuse and the Lyon sunshine behind to make a final pilgrimage of the season. I was greeted in Stansted by chilly winds, clounds and drizzle. Welcome to Blighty. It was raining even harder on my arrival in Cambridge, but the welcome from the Margarita Man and Customs Officer Ken was warm. English ale, Indian lager and curry followed in traditional fashion.
The rain had stopped but the clouds remained the following day as we took the train to the holy ground. Football was preceded by a tasty Sunday lunch at the Marquess and a foolhardy attempt by Professor Margarita to prove his virility by racing the escalator up the H&I tube station stairs, which succeeded only in putting his back out. The match was a stress free event thanks to opponents whose minds were elsewhere but did little to ease the pain of the preceding few weeks even if further small comfort was gained from the distancing of the old enemy down the road.
This morning the sun was glimpsed in Fen Ditton before disappearing once more, but I indulged in a bit of shopping and work-aversion therapy while the gardiner-builder struggled back and forward from his own work site. Tomorrow I look forward to watching yet another cup appear in the much mocked Highbury trophy cabinet and then the arrival of ma bien-aimée on Wednesday prior to stage one of the great half century celebrations. Icelandic volcano permitting...
Saturday morning it seemed Spring was contemplating a welcome return. Alas, I was forced to leave la bienheureuse and the Lyon sunshine behind to make a final pilgrimage of the season. I was greeted in Stansted by chilly winds, clounds and drizzle. Welcome to Blighty. It was raining even harder on my arrival in Cambridge, but the welcome from the Margarita Man and Customs Officer Ken was warm. English ale, Indian lager and curry followed in traditional fashion.
The rain had stopped but the clouds remained the following day as we took the train to the holy ground. Football was preceded by a tasty Sunday lunch at the Marquess and a foolhardy attempt by Professor Margarita to prove his virility by racing the escalator up the H&I tube station stairs, which succeeded only in putting his back out. The match was a stress free event thanks to opponents whose minds were elsewhere but did little to ease the pain of the preceding few weeks even if further small comfort was gained from the distancing of the old enemy down the road.
This morning the sun was glimpsed in Fen Ditton before disappearing once more, but I indulged in a bit of shopping and work-aversion therapy while the gardiner-builder struggled back and forward from his own work site. Tomorrow I look forward to watching yet another cup appear in the much mocked Highbury trophy cabinet and then the arrival of ma bien-aimée on Wednesday prior to stage one of the great half century celebrations. Icelandic volcano permitting...
06 mai 2010
Winter games
Fifty centimetres of snow in the Pyrenées, four metre waves on the Côte d'Azur that destroyed several beach restaurants and all the installations for the Cannes film festival: midwinter weather in May...
And it was perishing cold at Gerland stadium last night. Only the fact that it was still light at the 7pm kickoff told you it was really early spring. Just as well that the action on the pitch, for a change, was rather warming. Against Auxerre, second in the league and a rival for Champions League places, OL started disastrously by giving away a goal with a dreadful back pass. Fortunately, les gones equalised from a penalty on the stroke of half time and spent the entire second half on the offensive. The woodwork was struck three times before the winner finally arrived five minutes from the end, which left plenty of time to survive a couple of scares at the other end. The win handed the title to Marseille, but Lyon will finish second if they win their last 3 games. On verra…
A much more dispiriting evening occurred in the pub on Monday, as I watched the latest capitulation of the decimated red and white army in Lancashire, battered and bombed into submission by the Fat Walrus and his football for neanderthals while the referee allowed open season on fouling the keeper. The Gooner heroes remain so, albeit much tarnished in recent days…
And it was perishing cold at Gerland stadium last night. Only the fact that it was still light at the 7pm kickoff told you it was really early spring. Just as well that the action on the pitch, for a change, was rather warming. Against Auxerre, second in the league and a rival for Champions League places, OL started disastrously by giving away a goal with a dreadful back pass. Fortunately, les gones equalised from a penalty on the stroke of half time and spent the entire second half on the offensive. The woodwork was struck three times before the winner finally arrived five minutes from the end, which left plenty of time to survive a couple of scares at the other end. The win handed the title to Marseille, but Lyon will finish second if they win their last 3 games. On verra…
A much more dispiriting evening occurred in the pub on Monday, as I watched the latest capitulation of the decimated red and white army in Lancashire, battered and bombed into submission by the Fat Walrus and his football for neanderthals while the referee allowed open season on fouling the keeper. The Gooner heroes remain so, albeit much tarnished in recent days…
03 mai 2010
Wet whetter weekend
The visit of the Aviatoor and co-pilot to Lyon missed being perfectly timed by three days. Wednesday and Thursday last week: 26-28C sunshine; Saturday and Sunday: cool, damp and overcast. From midsummer to early spring in one fell swoop. Tant pis, we made the best of it all the same.
Our guests arrived late on Friday evening, and the wet theme of the weekend started immediately. G&Ts and a bottle of wine, beds crawled into at 2am. We woke late the following morning to rain drops spattering against the window panes. Undeterred, we ventured out and tramped the damp streets of Lyon, trabouled and climbed our way to the top of Fourvière hill, then braved a scary patronne to wine and dine on cheese, saucisson and cakes for a lunch which finished at teatime.
Thence back home where our visitors snoozed while I hindered la bienheureuse in the kitchen, but redeemed myself by eventually producing acceptable caipirinhas all round. Lovely lamb was followed by cheese and tastier than ever tarte tatin, all washed down with a bottle of vintage Vacqueyras, or three. And champagne. Slightly earlier but somewhat drunker, we fell into bed and dreamed of fat cats and folk singers feasting on three course banquets.
Another late breakfast, another damp morning (just), and another wander through the streets of old Lugdunum. And another ascent of Fourvière hill, but this time heed was paid to my hangover and we took the funicular. We visited the Roman amphitheatre instead of the 19th century basilica and, on a winding route down, we were accompanied by a stray homeless shepherd who had apparently lost his flock of sheep and goats. We took restful repose in the cathedral while we waited for the astronomical clock to strike four, then an even later lunch followed. All too soon it was time to head off to the airport. The Fly Booy and his patient Chérie came but for two enjoyable days, barely enough to whet the Lyonnais appetite…
Our guests arrived late on Friday evening, and the wet theme of the weekend started immediately. G&Ts and a bottle of wine, beds crawled into at 2am. We woke late the following morning to rain drops spattering against the window panes. Undeterred, we ventured out and tramped the damp streets of Lyon, trabouled and climbed our way to the top of Fourvière hill, then braved a scary patronne to wine and dine on cheese, saucisson and cakes for a lunch which finished at teatime.
Thence back home where our visitors snoozed while I hindered la bienheureuse in the kitchen, but redeemed myself by eventually producing acceptable caipirinhas all round. Lovely lamb was followed by cheese and tastier than ever tarte tatin, all washed down with a bottle of vintage Vacqueyras, or three. And champagne. Slightly earlier but somewhat drunker, we fell into bed and dreamed of fat cats and folk singers feasting on three course banquets.
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