And so ten days of eating, drinking and chasing baby began. In three short weeks, hesitant crawling had became high speed scampering, on either hands and knees or hands and feet depending on floor surface. Favourite game: sticking something forbidden in the mouth, waiting for maman or papa to say no before gleefully turning round and scampering off, not without a brief pause to see if anyone was giving chase. And in a few days granny's stairs had been clambered up and conquered. First serious tumble probably not too far away…
Meanwhile, the festive break took its normal course, give or take a baby consideration or two. Porridge breakfast and then an internationally flavoured Christmas lunch chez le beau-frère in Wales, with visitors from England, France and the USA and a bit of Lebanese home cooking mixed in with the usual turkey lunch. I wasn't so lucky with strikes on Boxing Day, the London Underground version putting paid to my hopes of a visit to the home of good football. The postponed match was played the following day, clashing with the clan visit, which naturally took precedence. A full house bar two dogs and a sister-in-law was treated to tartiflette and apple crumble before a teenage night out took precedence in turn and cut short the visit of the east Cheshire hordes. The anticipated cascade of presents for granddaughter, niece and little cousin respectively was of moderate proportions, even if la grand-mère kept her promise of not going overboard by presenting a whole box of toys before Christmas day. For use when petite-fille is visiting, therefore not Christmas presents, you understand…
The following day dawned bright but chilly. La soeur, le petit frère, la cuñada & I left three generations of S-ladies behind and ventured to Bickerton Hill for a not-so-brisk walk in the brisk wind. Momentary confusion about the way back to the car was eventually resolved by a GPS-equipped mobile. Technology sometimes has its uses, even if following our noses would probably have got us home too…
Two days before the final one of the year, the last of the visitors left, and la petite famille and la grand-mère made another afternoon visit to a former pub, current Welsh residence of uncle, aunt and two large canine cousins. Today, la bienheureuse et la belle-mère dragged themselves out in the rain for a sales shopping trip to Chester, leaving papa et fille to resume old habits…
31 décembre 2011
24 décembre 2011
Striking lucky
The weekend before Christmas, four days before we were due to fly to Blighty for a two week holiday, security personnel at some French airports decided to go on strike. For some reason Lyon airport was the worst hit (because or in spite of all the security staff being supplied by Brinks) and two days before our departure, the Stansted flight was cancelled. Big sigh of relief therefore, when the next day all flights were assured, thanks to the airport bringing in staff from "elsewhere" (unspecified). Bigger sigh of relief on Wednesday when the same thing happened, only change being that we were advised to arrive early and that our flight was leaving from the Air France terminal rather than the (newly rebuilt) low-cost terminal. So, we duly turned up at the airport (via tram, a surprisingly smooth journey with baby, pram and assorted luggage) three hours before departure, and joined the long queue to check in - long but fast moving queue, followed by another long but equally fast moving queue at security.
In the end we were through to the departure lounge a full two hours before the flight was due to leave. First time I've ever been through security at an airport and never seen anyone stopped for a hand luggage search. Airport authorities and the government claimed that security of passengers was fully assured. Hmm, not convinced, but not complaining either as it all led to a rather more pleasant journey than normal - Air France personnel at the gate meant the usual strict Easyjet hand baggage policy was ignored; and there was an air bridge to the plane rather than walk in the rain across the tarmac; and no ten minute slog from security to the departure gates as is the case at the new low-cost terminal.
We thus arrived in Cambridge in good spirits early in the evening, reintroduced the new all-crawling, all-climbing bundle of energy to Prof Margarita and Ms Beaucoup, put her to bed and then enjoyed a tasty salmon dinner and wine chez the convivial builder.
The next morning it was onwards and northwards as we left Cambridgeshire and head to Cheshire once more. Four hours later, unscheduled stop to calm screaming baby included, we arrived chez la grand-mère and the build-up to Christmas commenced in fine style with mince pies and roast ham welcoming us.
In the end we were through to the departure lounge a full two hours before the flight was due to leave. First time I've ever been through security at an airport and never seen anyone stopped for a hand luggage search. Airport authorities and the government claimed that security of passengers was fully assured. Hmm, not convinced, but not complaining either as it all led to a rather more pleasant journey than normal - Air France personnel at the gate meant the usual strict Easyjet hand baggage policy was ignored; and there was an air bridge to the plane rather than walk in the rain across the tarmac; and no ten minute slog from security to the departure gates as is the case at the new low-cost terminal.
We thus arrived in Cambridge in good spirits early in the evening, reintroduced the new all-crawling, all-climbing bundle of energy to Prof Margarita and Ms Beaucoup, put her to bed and then enjoyed a tasty salmon dinner and wine chez the convivial builder.
The next morning it was onwards and northwards as we left Cambridgeshire and head to Cheshire once more. Four hours later, unscheduled stop to calm screaming baby included, we arrived chez la grand-mère and the build-up to Christmas commenced in fine style with mince pies and roast ham welcoming us.
17 décembre 2011
Light visits
The 2011 version of la Fête des Lumières came and went with the usual crowded streets and a couple of visitors making it a crowd chez nous. A bit of a mixed bag this year - some good, some a little underwhelming. Perhaps the moderate impression comes from the fact that we didn't get out to see a great deal of the displays, partly due to the logistical difficulties that come attached to evening sorties with a 9 month old baby, partly because I rather thoughtlessly booked a flying trip to London last weekend. Which only caused me to miss one night, spent with only a cat for company as my usual hotel owners were all out partying. Nonetheless it was worth the trip because the 1-0 victory over the Toffees coincided with the 125th anniversary of the best football club in the world.Earlier in the week, visitor number two, la soeur, arrived to see the lights and her niece, not necessarily in that order of priority, on the night of the 8th. Her chauffeur was late arriving at the airport because he lingered to watch the opening night fireworks and trusted the Lyon airport website when it said the flight was twenty minutes late instead of early. Never mind, she got here in the end and the next night her brother treated her to a marathon grand tour of the main light sites in the town centre while the three generations of the other side of the family restricted themselves to a shorter look.
While I was away feeding a habit, the four ladies enjoyed a weekend of not doing any Christmas shopping or any lights viewing. A visit to the Marché de Noël was abandoned due to the crowds. Still, the visitors found their main entertainment without leaving home. On Sunday the traveller returned and did his duty by staying at home to look after baby while the three older ladies visited the park to view la Mythe de la Tête d'Or, one of the highlights of the Lumières.
By Tuesday the visitors had returned from whence they'd come, la bienheureuse was back at work and reluctantly out for dinner in the evening, which meant la petite had only papa for company. A return to her own bedroom met with mixed results. Decent daytime naps were somewhat counterbalanced by a half hour complaining session before she finally went to sleep in the evening. Similar story the next night, with la travailleuse out being quiz master at another work do, followed by a day when she wasn't keen on going to sleep at all. At lunch the situation was complicated by the fact that I was waiting for Monsieur le chauffagiste to turn up to service the boiler. By the time he phoned ninety minutes late to say he was on his way la petite coquinette had won the nap battle, and later in the evening it took an hour for her mother to finally get her to sleep. Two days later things seem to have returned to normal. Famous last words...
08 décembre 2011
Against the odds
While the rest of England laughs at Manchester, most of France is revelling in the unlikely victories of Lyon and Marseille in the Champions League. Needing to win in Dortmund, OM trailed 2-0 before pulling one back at the end of the first half and scoring twice in the last five minutes to win 3-2. OL's exploit the following night was even more spectacular, clawing back a 7 goal overall deficit to Ajax. The Dutch team duly lost 3-0 to Real Madrid, meaning OL had to win by at least 4 clear goals in Zagreb. And set about it by going 1-0 down before an astonishing second half saw them score six goals in 30 minutes to run out 7-1 winners. Predictably the feat in Croatia is being questioned (it seems mainly by the Dutch and English). Is scoring seven against ten men of a team that failed to gain a single point and conceded an average of three goals in their previous five games really that surprising…?
Meanwhile our own minor miracle is growing up fast. Full crawling, full investigative mode means she can cross the room in 10 seconds flat when something catches her eye. A favourite trick at the moment is to stand up in her cot looking mighty pleased with herself while a bedtime story is being read. We suspect the wide grin has little to do with her enjoyment of the story. She has acquired the knack of pulling herself upright on other items of furniture too, but not yet fully learned that if she grabs something off the sofa or table with both hands she might topple over backwards. Full time vigilance required. Fortunately, at the moment there is a spare pair of eyes, keeping a fond watch. La belle-mère is over and spending more time with her favourite grandchild, when her favourite beau-fils gives her time off from baking mince pies and other tasty nibbles, that is...
Meanwhile our own minor miracle is growing up fast. Full crawling, full investigative mode means she can cross the room in 10 seconds flat when something catches her eye. A favourite trick at the moment is to stand up in her cot looking mighty pleased with herself while a bedtime story is being read. We suspect the wide grin has little to do with her enjoyment of the story. She has acquired the knack of pulling herself upright on other items of furniture too, but not yet fully learned that if she grabs something off the sofa or table with both hands she might topple over backwards. Full time vigilance required. Fortunately, at the moment there is a spare pair of eyes, keeping a fond watch. La belle-mère is over and spending more time with her favourite grandchild, when her favourite beau-fils gives her time off from baking mince pies and other tasty nibbles, that is...
01 décembre 2011
Crawling time
December the first and it's 16C in Lyon today. The autumn just gone has gone down as one of the warmest on record, and winter is starting the same way. Not good news for the ski stations, which have all been forced to delay opening. Lovely sunshine to welcome la belle-mère though, over for her annual lights trip and her monthly granddaughter fix.
It's been a quiet week on the home front since our return from Blighty. Things aren't so slow at work for la travailleuse despite no trips abroad. Meeting after meeting while work waits to be done back at the desk. That's 'reorganisation' for you. She did get in some quality one-to-one time with son petit ange over the weekend though, as papa left the girls at home for another overnight flying visit to London and Cambridge. A local derby with the Cottagers in the big smoke could have gone better but could have been worse too, while the welcome at my habitual hotel was as warm as usual.
In my absence, la petite was practising her crawling, getting back into a sitting position and showing reluctance to sleep during the day. The latter behaviour continued on Monday when mama was back at work. Half an hour to get to sleep in the morning, followed by a two hour nap/no-nap battle with papa at lunchtime. No prizes for guessing who won. However, the next day she was back to her sweet cooperative self. We put it down to that 8-9 month phase when baby realises she's an independent person and not merely an extension of her parents. Or maybe just another tooth coming through.
It's been a quiet week on the home front since our return from Blighty. Things aren't so slow at work for la travailleuse despite no trips abroad. Meeting after meeting while work waits to be done back at the desk. That's 'reorganisation' for you. She did get in some quality one-to-one time with son petit ange over the weekend though, as papa left the girls at home for another overnight flying visit to London and Cambridge. A local derby with the Cottagers in the big smoke could have gone better but could have been worse too, while the welcome at my habitual hotel was as warm as usual.
In my absence, la petite was practising her crawling, getting back into a sitting position and showing reluctance to sleep during the day. The latter behaviour continued on Monday when mama was back at work. Half an hour to get to sleep in the morning, followed by a two hour nap/no-nap battle with papa at lunchtime. No prizes for guessing who won. However, the next day she was back to her sweet cooperative self. We put it down to that 8-9 month phase when baby realises she's an independent person and not merely an extension of her parents. Or maybe just another tooth coming through.
24 novembre 2011
Late departure
A hastily arranged trip last week gave us three pleasant days across the Channel, even if one of those days was taken up by the funeral of the family doyenne, the reason for the long weekend. And it was a long weekend. Woken in the small hours of Thursday morning by an SMS from Air France to say our 9am flight had been cancelled wasn't the best start, even if it also said we'd been put on another flight later in the day. No-one told la petite though, so no luxury of a lie-in…
We eventually reached Birmingham airport in the early evening and set off for the three hour drive north; three hours in theory - rush hour traffic on the good old British motorway system pushed it closer to four, and inattention to road signs added another half hour as we got lost somewhere in the wilds of Teeside. La petite suffered being cooped up in a car seat for over four hours remarkably well until the physical discomfort (and an emergency stop occasioned by the driver's lapse in concentration and clumsy use of walking boots on the pedals) got the better of her and brought forth most of her dinner. It was thus a somewhat bedraggled trio who eventually made it to great-aunt's house late in the evening, where we had a quick snack before joining la belle-mère et le beau-frère for the short drive to a nearby hotel.
There was no lie-in the following morning either. Despite the lack of sleep the previous evening, the little alarm clock woke us close to her normal hour (French time). She was however persuaded to join her parents in having a good hour's nap after breakfast before we checked out. From the hotel it was back to join the assembling family at the senior S-sister's house prior to the lunchtime service, and then la petite enjoyed a 45 minute siesta as papa perambulated round an estate of mansions while everyone else said goodbye to the last of the great generation at the crematorium.
There were snacks and much catching up after the service before those not staying overnight made their way homewards. Which for us meant our Cheshire home chez la grand-mère. Despite more rush hour traffic on the M62 and a short screaming fit solved by a stop to feed la petite and interrupt uncle's fast food dinner, we were there by 8pm and in bed by ten.
Saturday we finally managed a lie-in of sorts as la petite coquinette woke at her normal time but then caught up on some sleep by dropping off for another hour. First bowl of porridge of the winter was on the late breakfast menu before we headed off to brave the hounds in north Wales for a deluxe meals-on-wheels lunch. Everyone should have a Lebanese father-in-law who likes cooking. Thence it was back to Tattenhall to give baby a much-needed early night.
A late afternoon flight back to Lyon made for a relaxed Sunday morning and drive back to Brum, and a grumpy baby was kept more or less quiet during the latter part of the flight by drip-feeding her biscuits and dilute apple juice. We finally got home in the early evening, put la petite straight to bed, and ate defrosted red cabbage before getting a welcome early night ourselves.
No rest for the wicked, or the saintly for that matter. Work for la bienheureuse on Monday was followed by a late afternoon visit to the baby doctor - routine 9th month checkup after an hour spent in a waiting room unusually full of other babies and parents. While notre petite was pronounced to be in bouncing good health, elsewhere there were sniffles aplenty and one baby suffering from bronchitis - winter fast approaches.
Tuesday morning la travailleuse endured a 6am alarm call and an all day trip to Germany while la petite and I slowly got used to having only each other for company during the day. Apart from when the locksmith visited to replace the broken front door lock, and the survey lady visited to complete our official entry into French work statistics.
We eventually reached Birmingham airport in the early evening and set off for the three hour drive north; three hours in theory - rush hour traffic on the good old British motorway system pushed it closer to four, and inattention to road signs added another half hour as we got lost somewhere in the wilds of Teeside. La petite suffered being cooped up in a car seat for over four hours remarkably well until the physical discomfort (and an emergency stop occasioned by the driver's lapse in concentration and clumsy use of walking boots on the pedals) got the better of her and brought forth most of her dinner. It was thus a somewhat bedraggled trio who eventually made it to great-aunt's house late in the evening, where we had a quick snack before joining la belle-mère et le beau-frère for the short drive to a nearby hotel.
There was no lie-in the following morning either. Despite the lack of sleep the previous evening, the little alarm clock woke us close to her normal hour (French time). She was however persuaded to join her parents in having a good hour's nap after breakfast before we checked out. From the hotel it was back to join the assembling family at the senior S-sister's house prior to the lunchtime service, and then la petite enjoyed a 45 minute siesta as papa perambulated round an estate of mansions while everyone else said goodbye to the last of the great generation at the crematorium.
There were snacks and much catching up after the service before those not staying overnight made their way homewards. Which for us meant our Cheshire home chez la grand-mère. Despite more rush hour traffic on the M62 and a short screaming fit solved by a stop to feed la petite and interrupt uncle's fast food dinner, we were there by 8pm and in bed by ten.
Saturday we finally managed a lie-in of sorts as la petite coquinette woke at her normal time but then caught up on some sleep by dropping off for another hour. First bowl of porridge of the winter was on the late breakfast menu before we headed off to brave the hounds in north Wales for a deluxe meals-on-wheels lunch. Everyone should have a Lebanese father-in-law who likes cooking. Thence it was back to Tattenhall to give baby a much-needed early night.
A late afternoon flight back to Lyon made for a relaxed Sunday morning and drive back to Brum, and a grumpy baby was kept more or less quiet during the latter part of the flight by drip-feeding her biscuits and dilute apple juice. We finally got home in the early evening, put la petite straight to bed, and ate defrosted red cabbage before getting a welcome early night ourselves.
No rest for the wicked, or the saintly for that matter. Work for la bienheureuse on Monday was followed by a late afternoon visit to the baby doctor - routine 9th month checkup after an hour spent in a waiting room unusually full of other babies and parents. While notre petite was pronounced to be in bouncing good health, elsewhere there were sniffles aplenty and one baby suffering from bronchitis - winter fast approaches.
Tuesday morning la travailleuse endured a 6am alarm call and an all day trip to Germany while la petite and I slowly got used to having only each other for company during the day. Apart from when the locksmith visited to replace the broken front door lock, and the survey lady visited to complete our official entry into French work statistics.
15 novembre 2011
Sunny lockout
The long bank holiday weekend was blessed with sunshine and mild temperatures. We duly took advantage with a long afternoon promenade each day. On Friday we followed the crowds along the river to the park, where la petite was treated to her first open air autumn goûter - yoghurt and biscuit on the menu. A pleasant afternoon ended in consternation when we returned home to find the key wouldn't turn in the lock. Not the ideal situation, being locked out of the apartment with an 8 month old baby, but fortunately the upstairs neighbours were there (unusually for a bank holiday weekend) and came to the rescue, providing the phone number of a reliable locksmith, drinks and shelter while he turned up and drilled his way in. New locks on the agenda this week…
Saturday we joined the shopping crowds on the Presqu'île and then had the bright idea of climbing the hill to Fourvière. Baby carrier rather than pushchair might have been the right choice but it was still rather a hard slog with an extra 12kg on papa's back. At the top the crowd queued three deep to look at the view with Mont Blanc just visible in the distance. Second open air afternoon snack on the way down with la petite gourmande demonstrating her raspberry blowing technique to all and sundry. Sunday saw another jaunt to the park - a more genteel amble this time - to mingle with the crowds and the falling leaves. The fine weather continues this week, with night time temperatures inexorably dropping. The first frost isn't far away…
Saturday we joined the shopping crowds on the Presqu'île and then had the bright idea of climbing the hill to Fourvière. Baby carrier rather than pushchair might have been the right choice but it was still rather a hard slog with an extra 12kg on papa's back. At the top the crowd queued three deep to look at the view with Mont Blanc just visible in the distance. Second open air afternoon snack on the way down with la petite gourmande demonstrating her raspberry blowing technique to all and sundry. Sunday saw another jaunt to the park - a more genteel amble this time - to mingle with the crowds and the falling leaves. The fine weather continues this week, with night time temperatures inexorably dropping. The first frost isn't far away…
11 novembre 2011
Adjusting
La petite coquinette seems to have adjusted to winter time. Seven am alarm call this morning, but the previous two it was closer to 7:30. As the season changes so it seems do her habits. Perhaps understandably, as the days shorten, she seems to think she has to take advantage of every available daylight hour. And sleeping during the day earlier this week was not part of that agenda. Actually she did eventually, but usually only after lengthy and vociferous protest. Maybe it was just a phase, with tooth number two on the way. Hopefully the reversion to a former favourite pastime - raspberry blowing during mealtime - is also a passing phase. If not we'll soon have rather fetching spatter-effect wallpaper and furniture...
The weather in Lyon remains mild, though not quite as mild as a week ago, when the minimum nighttime temperature was a couple of degrees higher than the average maximum daytime temperature for this time of year. It was looking a lot more like autumn though, with the sunshine of the previous week making way for overcast skies. Which tended to make our habitual afternoon riverside promenades rather gloomy affairs before the sunshine returned yesterday.
La petite famille was reunited again yesterday, after several days apart. Last Saturday I caught an early flight to Blighty for another pilgrimage to the blessed ground. For a change the game was comfortable, as was the habitual overnight welcome chez le grand chef et la petite beaucoup. La bienheureuse and I then briefly crossed in Lyon on Sunday night before she flew to the teutonic north for a couple of days of meetings.
Economic belt tightening is the adjustment apparently required in France to reduce the deficit and retain the sacred triple A rating handed out by the same American based agencies who gave AAA+ rating to Freddie & Fannie Lehman right up to their respective financial deaths. And yesterday one of them 'erroneously' downrated France. Hmm, reliable these ratings then. Anyway, a second austerity plan in two months (still judged insufficient by the EC) resulted in a two per cent rise in lower rate VAT, a bringing forward by a year of the increase in retirement age and linking some social security payments to growth rather than inflation. Economic 'experts' in France and Europe are full of doom and gloom, but then not so long ago most of the same experts were forecasting full recovery by next year…
Elsewhere, belt-loosening is more in the news. A top hotel in Lille has been exposed as the centre of a prostitution ring, with the hotel manager and a high-up policeman among the chief suspects for running it. And another name heavily linked to the affair is none other than Dominic Strauss-Kahn, the man with seemingly the biggest libido in France. Texts from him have been found on the phone of a local businessman also involved in the whole business talking about parties and 'young ladies' in Lille, Barcelona and New York.
Another policeman in trouble is the former number two in the Lyon Police Judiciare (rough equivalent of the CID), who is in prison while under investigation for corruption and links to organised crime. The man once fêted as Lyon's top crime-busting cop allegedly used drugs seized by the police to keep a supposed informer sweet, supplied copies of police files to, and accepted expensive holidays from, individuals known to be part of Lyon's criminal underworld…
The weather in Lyon remains mild, though not quite as mild as a week ago, when the minimum nighttime temperature was a couple of degrees higher than the average maximum daytime temperature for this time of year. It was looking a lot more like autumn though, with the sunshine of the previous week making way for overcast skies. Which tended to make our habitual afternoon riverside promenades rather gloomy affairs before the sunshine returned yesterday.
Economic belt tightening is the adjustment apparently required in France to reduce the deficit and retain the sacred triple A rating handed out by the same American based agencies who gave AAA+ rating to Freddie & Fannie Lehman right up to their respective financial deaths. And yesterday one of them 'erroneously' downrated France. Hmm, reliable these ratings then. Anyway, a second austerity plan in two months (still judged insufficient by the EC) resulted in a two per cent rise in lower rate VAT, a bringing forward by a year of the increase in retirement age and linking some social security payments to growth rather than inflation. Economic 'experts' in France and Europe are full of doom and gloom, but then not so long ago most of the same experts were forecasting full recovery by next year…
Elsewhere, belt-loosening is more in the news. A top hotel in Lille has been exposed as the centre of a prostitution ring, with the hotel manager and a high-up policeman among the chief suspects for running it. And another name heavily linked to the affair is none other than Dominic Strauss-Kahn, the man with seemingly the biggest libido in France. Texts from him have been found on the phone of a local businessman also involved in the whole business talking about parties and 'young ladies' in Lille, Barcelona and New York.
Another policeman in trouble is the former number two in the Lyon Police Judiciare (rough equivalent of the CID), who is in prison while under investigation for corruption and links to organised crime. The man once fêted as Lyon's top crime-busting cop allegedly used drugs seized by the police to keep a supposed informer sweet, supplied copies of police files to, and accepted expensive holidays from, individuals known to be part of Lyon's criminal underworld…
01 novembre 2011
Winning wine, warm wind
A warm southerly blew in a mild autumn weekend during which we welcomed more visitors. TwoJay arrived on Friday afternoon for baby viewing and wine tasting purposes. They both quickly made friends with la petite before la bienheureuse got home from work and the epicurean weekend got off to a good start with roast lamb, tarte aux framboises and Chateauneuf-du-Pape. And a little whisky supping for the seasoned and foolhardy later in the evening.
Next morning, once hangovers were sufficiently suppressed with croissants and copious cups of tea, the advance party set off for the main event of the weekend, the Salon des Vins. While JonEboy, Crystal Tipps and stay-at-home papa set about the wine tasting with gusto, la bienheureuse et la petite followed in their own time and had lunch accompanied by clear liquid before any of the red, white or sparkling varieties were tested. In a perfectly conceived and executed operation, papa then handed over the wine tasting and purchasing duties to sa femme and took le bébé home again for her lunchtime nap. Ulterior motive was of course a certain football match on TV. And what a match it was - the Russian mafia funded blue mercenaries blasted into submission by the superior firepower of the red and white Dutch cannon.
Smoked salmon & prawn cream bake followed by filet mignon cooked in milk was on the menu in the evening, followed by la bienheureuse's signature dish. The pork main dish was suitably complemented by La Truffière, and the entrée and dessert by Gewurztraminer. No digestifs and earlier bedtime meant clearer heads the next morning. J+J finished off their trip with a visit to Les Halles, with chocolate and cheese on the shopping list. With luggage allowance filled by wine, there was no room for the latter in the suitcase, but it made a very nice lunch before they headed off to the airport at the end of a very convivial weekend.
The mild weather continues into November, and Toussaint means a four day weekend for la travailleuse, lengthened to five so that she take can advantage of a welcome-baby gift tomorrow with a much-needed massage. Not much extra rest though, as the clock change means a little voice chirps a welcome to the new day an hour earlier each morning…
27 octobre 2011
Firsts
A quiet week back in the bosom of the family home, following our return from Blighty. Quiet, at least, for the two of us lucky enough not to have to go out to work. The past few days have, however, been notable for a couple of 'firsts' in the life story of the youngest member of the family:
First tooth finally broke through a few days ago - age 7 and a half months.
First aquatic stool evacuation - in the bath a few nights ago. Hope that one isn't repeated too often…
This week also saw the second occasion I almost killed our daughter. Leaving the apartment building for our habitual afternoon promenade, I carelessly knocked the lens cap off the camera slung over my back. Ducking back inside to pick it up, and finding it just out of reach, I momentarily let go of the pushchair. Oops. The steep pavement camber sent it careering towards the road. Normally it wouldn't have come to much harm as cars are normally parked bumper to bumper along the side of the road. However, this was one occasion when there was a gap just outside the building. Fortunately a passer-by happened along at the right time and stopped the pram's precious bundle being pitched headfirst into the road. I console myself by thinking I might have caught it myself. Perhaps. Must remember to use the brakes in future...
You'd have thought I'd learned my lesson from the the previous heart stopping moment, which occurred a couple of months earlier on the nappy-changing table. The little dear had recently acquired the knack of scooting backwards by vigorously pumping her feet. A moment's inattention taught me just how fast she could propel herself - one moment she was safely in the middle of the table, the next her head was hanging over the edge as she teetered above a sheer head-first drop into the bath. Can't take my eyes off you… On the other hand, she seems to have inherited her father's thick skull, so perhaps no damage would have been done.
A few other milestones in the development of notre petite puce adorée (purely for future reference, not for my-baby-is-more-advanced-than-yours purposes you understand):
5 weeks: first genuine smile
7 weeks: first sleep through the night (8 hours, 11pm - 7am)
4 months: first roll, front to back
5 months: first full night sleep (12 hours, 7pm - 7am give or take)
5 and a bit months: first back to front roll, mastered sufficiently in a week to be able to roll across the room at remarkable speed until an immovable obstacle is encountered. Only in one direction though, over her left side. She's only just figured out rolling in the other direction. Also recently mastered - the tummy swivel, which gives her complete movement in 2 dimensions. Crawling is only a matter of time, once she realises she needs to get up on hands and knees at the same time. And the apartment is far from baby-proof at the moment...
6 and a bit months: able to maintain sitting position unaided for several minutes. Until she gazes up at the ceiling and falls backwards. Fortunately she has that thick skull…
7 months: able to demonstrate that she wants something by grunting repeatedly and gazing expectantly at her parents. We assume she'll find some way of telling us exactly what she wants soon…
There was another first in France over the weekend. The first time the French rugby team deserved to win a match in this year's World Cup. Rather ironic that it was the final. They've just returned and are being fêted as heroes, which is a bit odd considering the team was universally slated for its performances up to the final, apart perhaps from when they disposed of the English. Egg-chasers this side of La Manche even have the gall to be complaining about an allegedly biased referee…
First tooth finally broke through a few days ago - age 7 and a half months.
First aquatic stool evacuation - in the bath a few nights ago. Hope that one isn't repeated too often…
This week also saw the second occasion I almost killed our daughter. Leaving the apartment building for our habitual afternoon promenade, I carelessly knocked the lens cap off the camera slung over my back. Ducking back inside to pick it up, and finding it just out of reach, I momentarily let go of the pushchair. Oops. The steep pavement camber sent it careering towards the road. Normally it wouldn't have come to much harm as cars are normally parked bumper to bumper along the side of the road. However, this was one occasion when there was a gap just outside the building. Fortunately a passer-by happened along at the right time and stopped the pram's precious bundle being pitched headfirst into the road. I console myself by thinking I might have caught it myself. Perhaps. Must remember to use the brakes in future...
You'd have thought I'd learned my lesson from the the previous heart stopping moment, which occurred a couple of months earlier on the nappy-changing table. The little dear had recently acquired the knack of scooting backwards by vigorously pumping her feet. A moment's inattention taught me just how fast she could propel herself - one moment she was safely in the middle of the table, the next her head was hanging over the edge as she teetered above a sheer head-first drop into the bath. Can't take my eyes off you… On the other hand, she seems to have inherited her father's thick skull, so perhaps no damage would have been done.
A few other milestones in the development of notre petite puce adorée (purely for future reference, not for my-baby-is-more-advanced-than-yours purposes you understand):
5 weeks: first genuine smile
7 weeks: first sleep through the night (8 hours, 11pm - 7am)
4 months: first roll, front to back
5 months: first full night sleep (12 hours, 7pm - 7am give or take)
5 and a bit months: first back to front roll, mastered sufficiently in a week to be able to roll across the room at remarkable speed until an immovable obstacle is encountered. Only in one direction though, over her left side. She's only just figured out rolling in the other direction. Also recently mastered - the tummy swivel, which gives her complete movement in 2 dimensions. Crawling is only a matter of time, once she realises she needs to get up on hands and knees at the same time. And the apartment is far from baby-proof at the moment...
6 and a bit months: able to maintain sitting position unaided for several minutes. Until she gazes up at the ceiling and falls backwards. Fortunately she has that thick skull…
7 months: able to demonstrate that she wants something by grunting repeatedly and gazing expectantly at her parents. We assume she'll find some way of telling us exactly what she wants soon…
There was another first in France over the weekend. The first time the French rugby team deserved to win a match in this year's World Cup. Rather ironic that it was the final. They've just returned and are being fêted as heroes, which is a bit odd considering the team was universally slated for its performances up to the final, apart perhaps from when they disposed of the English. Egg-chasers this side of La Manche even have the gall to be complaining about an allegedly biased referee…
20 octobre 2011
Flying high
And so, la petite voyageuese experienced her first trip on an aeroplane. We made it as easy as possible for ourselves by taking a taxi to the airport and a flight in the middle of the afternoon, a plan which worked to perfection. Short sleep in the pram while waiting for our flight to be called, mid-afternoon snack (yoghurt & milk) on the plane, smooth car hire pick-up and another short nap during the drive to Cambridge resulted in a baby in perfect good humour the whole day.
Chez J&C la petite was introduced to four more new faces and another baby (canine variety) before finally being put exhausted to bed. For us a sumptuous and highly convivial dinner awaited. Venison was consumed, wine quaffed, and an aluminium foil shapes competition judged before the dog finally alerted the parents to the sound of crying coming from upstairs. And so the evening ended for la bienheureuse as she spent the next two hours trying to calm a distressed baby. We put the unaccustomed late night disturbance down to the excitement of international travel and a rare late night bowel movement.
The next morning, oblivious to her parents' somewhat worse-for-wear condition, the little dear was awake and excitedly exercising limbs and vocal chords in her new travel cot at six in the morning. A slap-up late breakfast eventually followed before le grand gooner and I left the ladies behind to attend an important engagement at the sacred ground. The Wearsiders eventually became cannon fodder for the new Dutch hero as the green shoots of recovery continued their tentative growth.
A quieter (albeit enlivened by a hysterical eleven year old) but equally marvellous meal back at the Cherry Hinton nest was followed by an early night. No late night waking this time, but another early morning wakening, which this time was welcomed by la travailleuse as it gave her a few minutes with her daughter before heading off to the airport once more for a flight across the Irish Sea.
While maman was attending to business in Dublin, papa et fille enjoyed a quiet couple of days entertaining and being entertained by la petite beaucoup and her anglo-allemande niece-in-law. When the latter could be dragged away from the blaring TV or computer games upstairs she did an excellent pram-pushing job on Monday afternoon round the grounds of Cherry Hinton Hall, which helped la petite sleep through a display of hearts by a pair of courting swans. On Tuesday afternoon, my kind hostess and her helper bravely babysat for an hour while I cycled on an undersized steed into Cambridge on a secret errand. The three girls just about survived my absence and a couple of hours later we were saying fond goodbyes as la petite and I moved base to the other side of Cambridge to allow the vivacious young lady's Mutter somewhere to sleep that night.
Professor Margarita kindly picked us up and offered us lodging for the night, put up la petite's bed and while she slept cooked another delicious dinner. La grande voyageuse returned from her Irish travels later in the evening, and the next morning la petite famille headed back to the airport once more. With a flight timed for just after lunch we hoped la petite coquinette would take her traditional lunchtime nap on the plane. Too much going on, too many interesting people to charm and a session of outrageous flirting with one of the stewards soon put paid to that idea. And predictably the descent into Lyon had a yelling baby soundtrack, though fortunately a man making funny faces across the aisle and the nouveauté of a rice cake to chew on soon quietened the little darling.
We landed in a damp Lyon, which was about 10 degrees cooler than we left it. The heating went on in the evening. Autumn has finally made an appearance.
Chez J&C la petite was introduced to four more new faces and another baby (canine variety) before finally being put exhausted to bed. For us a sumptuous and highly convivial dinner awaited. Venison was consumed, wine quaffed, and an aluminium foil shapes competition judged before the dog finally alerted the parents to the sound of crying coming from upstairs. And so the evening ended for la bienheureuse as she spent the next two hours trying to calm a distressed baby. We put the unaccustomed late night disturbance down to the excitement of international travel and a rare late night bowel movement.
The next morning, oblivious to her parents' somewhat worse-for-wear condition, the little dear was awake and excitedly exercising limbs and vocal chords in her new travel cot at six in the morning. A slap-up late breakfast eventually followed before le grand gooner and I left the ladies behind to attend an important engagement at the sacred ground. The Wearsiders eventually became cannon fodder for the new Dutch hero as the green shoots of recovery continued their tentative growth.
A quieter (albeit enlivened by a hysterical eleven year old) but equally marvellous meal back at the Cherry Hinton nest was followed by an early night. No late night waking this time, but another early morning wakening, which this time was welcomed by la travailleuse as it gave her a few minutes with her daughter before heading off to the airport once more for a flight across the Irish Sea.
While maman was attending to business in Dublin, papa et fille enjoyed a quiet couple of days entertaining and being entertained by la petite beaucoup and her anglo-allemande niece-in-law. When the latter could be dragged away from the blaring TV or computer games upstairs she did an excellent pram-pushing job on Monday afternoon round the grounds of Cherry Hinton Hall, which helped la petite sleep through a display of hearts by a pair of courting swans. On Tuesday afternoon, my kind hostess and her helper bravely babysat for an hour while I cycled on an undersized steed into Cambridge on a secret errand. The three girls just about survived my absence and a couple of hours later we were saying fond goodbyes as la petite and I moved base to the other side of Cambridge to allow the vivacious young lady's Mutter somewhere to sleep that night.
Professor Margarita kindly picked us up and offered us lodging for the night, put up la petite's bed and while she slept cooked another delicious dinner. La grande voyageuse returned from her Irish travels later in the evening, and the next morning la petite famille headed back to the airport once more. With a flight timed for just after lunch we hoped la petite coquinette would take her traditional lunchtime nap on the plane. Too much going on, too many interesting people to charm and a session of outrageous flirting with one of the stewards soon put paid to that idea. And predictably the descent into Lyon had a yelling baby soundtrack, though fortunately a man making funny faces across the aisle and the nouveauté of a rice cake to chew on soon quietened the little darling.
We landed in a damp Lyon, which was about 10 degrees cooler than we left it. The heating went on in the evening. Autumn has finally made an appearance.
15 octobre 2011
Autumn warmth
No sooner home from the warm sunny south than back out again on a balmy late September Lyon evening. Having once again indulged in an OL season ticket, the 4th home game of the season was my first chance to use it. Les gones this season are a different team to last. Gone are the sterile Puel tactics of last year; the new watchword under new coach Remi Garde (who learnt from the maître manager in England) is entertainment. So far so good - OL went into the game 2nd in the table and continued in more or less the same vein with a 3-1 win over Bordeaux.
The Indian summer continued into October apart from a couple of damp days which coincided with the arrival of la belle-mère. Not to worry though, the sunshine and record temperatures soon returned, and Mamy enjoyed a week of her granddaughter's company, sundry sewing chores, copious cup-cake cooking and afternoon perambulator ambles along the sunny banks of the Rhône.
Too soon she reluctantly went home and, just as reluctantly, la bienheureuse followed her to the airport at the start of a hectic week of travelling. Milan on Tuesday and Wednesday, home in the evening just in time for a cuddle before bedtime with la petite, then off to Germany the following morning before baby was awake. Finally home again on Friday evening, with barely time to pause for breath before we all set off for a weekend across the Channel later today, followed by more business travel, for la travaillleuse, across the Irish sea. First flight for la petite coquinette…
The Indian summer continued into October apart from a couple of damp days which coincided with the arrival of la belle-mère. Not to worry though, the sunshine and record temperatures soon returned, and Mamy enjoyed a week of her granddaughter's company, sundry sewing chores, copious cup-cake cooking and afternoon perambulator ambles along the sunny banks of the Rhône.
25 septembre 2011
September summer holiday
A relatively painless (apart from a tough poo pellet episode) journey towards the Côte d'Azur ended in warm, late afternoon sunshine. Keys to the apartment were exchanged for a sum of money and a few cheques vacances, along with emergency bedclothes provided by the lady from the agency following an overlooked request to hire them. La petite famille settled in, watched the sun set over the beach, baby was put to bed and parents ate takeaway pizza from the restaurant across the road while waiting for the soggy diver and her new beau to turn up. A text informing us of lengthy queues for car hire however persuaded us to secrete the keys outside and do our waiting in the dormant state.
On a morning with no diving planned, la petite gave us an undesired wake-up call at 5.30am, performing some cot gymnastics in anticipation of the arrival of an almighty thunderstorm. As the lightning flashed and thunder crashed outside, she went back to sleep. A couple of hours later we met the new arrivals. Late breakfast and a lazy morning ensued before they went for an introductory dive (La Formigue) after lunch, the youngest in the party went off for a nap, and the oldest went off to the airport to collect the new member of the 50 club.
Five reunited, the evening was the occasion for an experiment: taking la petite coquinette to a restaurant. Ensconced in her pram, the hope was that she would fall asleep. Fat chance: noisy restaurant, interesting things going on, lots of new faces. Nonetheless a good time was had by all, though la bienheureuse skipped dessert to take the tired-but-determined-not-to-be-sleepy little angel back to bed.
My turn to do the first dive of the week the following morning, while ma bien-aimée senior forewent the water to look after ma bien-aimée junior. With the Mistral blowing up an easterly gale in a cloudless sky, I joined the beach lady and the crooked nail for a dip on a rock in the sheltered bay. Very pleasant it was too, if a little chilly and a floppy sausage and detached fin demonstrated my rusty diving technique. Fortunately the latter was rescued by the brave La Favière tyro. Prof Margarita preferred to nurse blocked sinuses and indulge in a morning lie-in, but in the afternoon joined us in braving the whistling wind and for a squeaky sinus dive at Cap Benat. Red sausage fully inflated this time, but a buoy line wrapped round a reel handle almost resulted in a rapid early ascent. The 51 year-old resolved to try and dive more than once a year while the 50 year-old decided one dive was quite enough for this year.
A more successful sortie for a meal out took place in the evening. A strategically chosen quiet restaurant, with a longer walk timed to coincide with la petite's bedtime worked perfectly and she slept through a lovely meal. We walked back to the apartrment and were lulled to sleep by the howling wind, clinking riggings and crashing waves.
The next morning, la petite coquinette was awake early once more, but the wind had miraculously dropped. It was almost dead calm was the diving trio headed off for a day's diving at Port Cros, leaving two beauties and a beast to enjoy a quiet day and test the swimming pool. Water at 20C was not at all to la petite's taste. A bit cool for me too, but a wet suit helped enjoy a great dive on le Grec with AI N after NI S decided three was a crowd and gave up her perennial battle with the surface current. Lunch in the summer sunshine at Port Cros was followed by a pleasant plunge at Pointe du Vaisseau, where groupers lazed, a lonely moray lurked and a school of barracuda circled menacingly close to the bottom.
The divers took the middle day of the week off to spend time with the Margarita man and the two lovely ladies. A stroll along the coast path in the warm sunshine towards Le Lavandou was broken by a picnic lunch for baby and late morning drinks for the grown-ups. A lazy afternoon ensued apart from a sortie to the beach for la famille where la fille confirmed that she's none too fond of water that's well below body temperature. An evening in followed, with the shark lady cooking her renowned beer can chicken. Delicious it was too, even if the chickens had a little too much of the hard stuff and kept falling over.
The glorious weather continued on Thursday. The three divers set off on the boat for a day of wreck diving and lunch at Cavalaire. First dive on the agenda was L'Espingole. Dr S made it down the shotline this time, but contented herself with observing the broken up wreck from afar while her buddies explored as far as they dared. Le Rubis was the afternoon dive. After initial false reports about the current all three of us eventually got down and enjoyed a lovely dive on the lone star French sub of the 2nd world war. Dinner in again in the evening, tasty leftovers followed by a few testy games of cards. Too much glee from certain quarters about the champion peanuthead in my opinion.
Friday was Professor Margarita's last day. Skipping the morning dive, I drove him to the airport and then joined the Scottish pair for the last dive of the week on the jewel in the Port Cros crown - the east wall of La Gabinière. Excellent as usual. Our last night was taken up with packing, cleaning, takeaway pizza and more card games. The married couple came out top in the competition to be last.
And so another week of great weather and great diving at La Favière came to an end. On Saturday morning we headed north through perplexing autoroute queues while the soggy diver and her buddy headed east towards Nice airport via St Tropez and other coastal hotspots. No doubt we will be back again next year...
On a morning with no diving planned, la petite gave us an undesired wake-up call at 5.30am, performing some cot gymnastics in anticipation of the arrival of an almighty thunderstorm. As the lightning flashed and thunder crashed outside, she went back to sleep. A couple of hours later we met the new arrivals. Late breakfast and a lazy morning ensued before they went for an introductory dive (La Formigue) after lunch, the youngest in the party went off for a nap, and the oldest went off to the airport to collect the new member of the 50 club.
Five reunited, the evening was the occasion for an experiment: taking la petite coquinette to a restaurant. Ensconced in her pram, the hope was that she would fall asleep. Fat chance: noisy restaurant, interesting things going on, lots of new faces. Nonetheless a good time was had by all, though la bienheureuse skipped dessert to take the tired-but-determined-not-to-be-sleepy little angel back to bed.
My turn to do the first dive of the week the following morning, while ma bien-aimée senior forewent the water to look after ma bien-aimée junior. With the Mistral blowing up an easterly gale in a cloudless sky, I joined the beach lady and the crooked nail for a dip on a rock in the sheltered bay. Very pleasant it was too, if a little chilly and a floppy sausage and detached fin demonstrated my rusty diving technique. Fortunately the latter was rescued by the brave La Favière tyro. Prof Margarita preferred to nurse blocked sinuses and indulge in a morning lie-in, but in the afternoon joined us in braving the whistling wind and for a squeaky sinus dive at Cap Benat. Red sausage fully inflated this time, but a buoy line wrapped round a reel handle almost resulted in a rapid early ascent. The 51 year-old resolved to try and dive more than once a year while the 50 year-old decided one dive was quite enough for this year.
A more successful sortie for a meal out took place in the evening. A strategically chosen quiet restaurant, with a longer walk timed to coincide with la petite's bedtime worked perfectly and she slept through a lovely meal. We walked back to the apartrment and were lulled to sleep by the howling wind, clinking riggings and crashing waves.
The next morning, la petite coquinette was awake early once more, but the wind had miraculously dropped. It was almost dead calm was the diving trio headed off for a day's diving at Port Cros, leaving two beauties and a beast to enjoy a quiet day and test the swimming pool. Water at 20C was not at all to la petite's taste. A bit cool for me too, but a wet suit helped enjoy a great dive on le Grec with AI N after NI S decided three was a crowd and gave up her perennial battle with the surface current. Lunch in the summer sunshine at Port Cros was followed by a pleasant plunge at Pointe du Vaisseau, where groupers lazed, a lonely moray lurked and a school of barracuda circled menacingly close to the bottom.
The glorious weather continued on Thursday. The three divers set off on the boat for a day of wreck diving and lunch at Cavalaire. First dive on the agenda was L'Espingole. Dr S made it down the shotline this time, but contented herself with observing the broken up wreck from afar while her buddies explored as far as they dared. Le Rubis was the afternoon dive. After initial false reports about the current all three of us eventually got down and enjoyed a lovely dive on the lone star French sub of the 2nd world war. Dinner in again in the evening, tasty leftovers followed by a few testy games of cards. Too much glee from certain quarters about the champion peanuthead in my opinion.
Friday was Professor Margarita's last day. Skipping the morning dive, I drove him to the airport and then joined the Scottish pair for the last dive of the week on the jewel in the Port Cros crown - the east wall of La Gabinière. Excellent as usual. Our last night was taken up with packing, cleaning, takeaway pizza and more card games. The married couple came out top in the competition to be last.
And so another week of great weather and great diving at La Favière came to an end. On Saturday morning we headed north through perplexing autoroute queues while the soggy diver and her buddy headed east towards Nice airport via St Tropez and other coastal hotspots. No doubt we will be back again next year...
18 septembre 2011
Flag day
A day before her half-year birthday, la petite met her old friend Monsieur le pédiatre for a six-month checkup. Result: nearly 5kg heavier, 15cm taller than her first day at home. Diagnosis: "elle est magnifique!"; high time she started eating some real food.
And so, the next day papa got to give his litle angel her first spoonful or two (mama reluctantly at work). Reaction: puzzlement ('why is the old man trying to stick something other than a teat in my mouth, when he normally stops me from doing it?'), followed by uncertain testing of the strange substance (pureed carrot). I think a little of it went down her gullet. Over the next few days, two spoonfuls became several, several became many, and many more ended up all over her bib, her face, her hair, her hands, her clothes, the high chair, and of course mum & dad. Messy business, especially when the raspberry blowing receives full treatment.
She soon got to show off her new skills to visitors. The UKC connection, Ealing branch, were in town for a long weekend - work and baby viewing purposes, respectively and combined. They arrived late Thursday evening, and the next morning Dr N and la bienheureuse went off to their respective work, leaving Dr C to enjoy some time with old dad and baby. Which she did after doing a bit of work remote from Whitehall. No real rest for these high-powered civil servants. By afternoon however, both visitors had finished working, and la bienheureuse met us all at the end of our habitual late afternoon stroll along the river for a slow drink on a boat café.
The rest of the weekend followed a similar pattern: morning lie-ins for those that could, morning naps for those that wished or didn't wish, and lazy strolls out in the afternoon, which provided a surprise source of great entertainment for la petite - flapping flags on the bridge. Highly exciting stuff to a six month old, apparently. In the evening, NB gestured towards an upcoming half-marathon by punishing himself with early evening jogging up and down the river while dinner was cooking and baby was being put to bed. Saturday blurred into Sunday, and all too soon it was Monday morning and our visitors were on their way home.
They were followed to the airport two days later by a reluctant business traveller heading towards the company mother country. Dad and baby were thus left to cope on their own for a day, which they managed in their usual fashion. I even had time to sort out dive kit for the forthcoming holiday before notre bien-aimée was home on Thursday evening. More late packing late the following evening and by Saturday morning we were more or less ready for the drive south towards sea and sunshine...
And so, the next day papa got to give his litle angel her first spoonful or two (mama reluctantly at work). Reaction: puzzlement ('why is the old man trying to stick something other than a teat in my mouth, when he normally stops me from doing it?'), followed by uncertain testing of the strange substance (pureed carrot). I think a little of it went down her gullet. Over the next few days, two spoonfuls became several, several became many, and many more ended up all over her bib, her face, her hair, her hands, her clothes, the high chair, and of course mum & dad. Messy business, especially when the raspberry blowing receives full treatment.
She soon got to show off her new skills to visitors. The UKC connection, Ealing branch, were in town for a long weekend - work and baby viewing purposes, respectively and combined. They arrived late Thursday evening, and the next morning Dr N and la bienheureuse went off to their respective work, leaving Dr C to enjoy some time with old dad and baby. Which she did after doing a bit of work remote from Whitehall. No real rest for these high-powered civil servants. By afternoon however, both visitors had finished working, and la bienheureuse met us all at the end of our habitual late afternoon stroll along the river for a slow drink on a boat café.
The rest of the weekend followed a similar pattern: morning lie-ins for those that could, morning naps for those that wished or didn't wish, and lazy strolls out in the afternoon, which provided a surprise source of great entertainment for la petite - flapping flags on the bridge. Highly exciting stuff to a six month old, apparently. In the evening, NB gestured towards an upcoming half-marathon by punishing himself with early evening jogging up and down the river while dinner was cooking and baby was being put to bed. Saturday blurred into Sunday, and all too soon it was Monday morning and our visitors were on their way home.
They were followed to the airport two days later by a reluctant business traveller heading towards the company mother country. Dad and baby were thus left to cope on their own for a day, which they managed in their usual fashion. I even had time to sort out dive kit for the forthcoming holiday before notre bien-aimée was home on Thursday evening. More late packing late the following evening and by Saturday morning we were more or less ready for the drive south towards sea and sunshine...
05 septembre 2011
Ritzy nights
Four became three on Thursday as we bade a fond farewell to la grand-mère and hit the road south. Six hours later, including two spent going nowhere on the M1 and M25, we finally arrived in Bromley. Petit frère was there to show us round the building site and, an hour or two later, tia numero dos made her long awaited-acquaintance with la sobrinita.
The next morning la petite greeted yet another new bedroom with some early morning cot gymnastics, but her parents were granted a lie-in when la tia kidnapped her for an hour before breakfast. The builders turned up, took one look at baby and decided to work elsewhere for the day, leaving la petite coquinette and her parents free run of the half-rebuilt house while tia & tio were at work. A walk in the late summer sunshine, a bit of shopping and, before we knew it, baby was back in bed and the taxi was there to take her parents for their first night out alone in nearly a year.
The Ritz was the destination, courtesy of a birthday present from Professor Margarita. Very nice it was too: lovely four-course meal, live swing band, bit of dancing, bit of uncertain celebrity-spotting, personal service in the gents, and all too soon it was time for the taxi home. Tia two sounded almost disappointed to report that the babysitters had heard not a peep from the sleeping baby when we got back.
Saturday was spent recovering, observing a fascinating discussion on choice of paints by the home builders, and then it was time to head for the bright lights of London once more. Second night out in a row, once again thanks to the Margarita Man, this time celebrating his own half-century. Having received strict instructions to be at Festival Pier by 7pm otherwise the boat would leave without us, we left the babysitters to feed, bathe and put their niece to bed. First time la petite has been put to bed by someone other than one of her parents. Crossing fingers, we caught a train into Charing Cross leaving them to cope as best they could.
Arriving on the South Bank early, we gradually met a few others who had made their own way there and waited for the main party and birthday boy to arrive by coach from Cambridge. The boat arrived, the clock ticked past seven, and still no sign of the majority of the partygoers. Modern technology informed us they were becalmed in heavy traffic somewhere in the City. The captain fidgeted, the clock ticked on and finally the bus deposited its load at about half past. The description containing the words piss-up and brewery springs to mind, but as it was his fiftieth birthday I'll be kind and not apply it here.
We all eventually boarded, drank Pimms and the boat slipped its moorings for an evening cruise up and down the Thames. Riverside sights by night, magician, caricature artist, buffet dinner, drinking and dancing: a good time was had by all. When the cruise came to end we all piled into a noisy club and shouted at each other for half an hour before the taxi turned up to take us home to our baby.
And we got there to find her sound asleep. Apparently all had gone well apart from a brief wake-up and need for a cuddle and slurp mid-way through the evening. Phew.
No rest for the wicked though. Six hours after going to bed we were up and, an hour later, on the road to Dover. A seven and a half hour drive awaited the other side of the Channel, survived with intermittent short screaming sessions from a very tired baby until 7pm (usual bedtime) when she finally fell asleep and stayed asleep until we reached Lyon. The end of an exhausting but very enjoyable holiday. And only two weeks till the next one...
The next morning la petite greeted yet another new bedroom with some early morning cot gymnastics, but her parents were granted a lie-in when la tia kidnapped her for an hour before breakfast. The builders turned up, took one look at baby and decided to work elsewhere for the day, leaving la petite coquinette and her parents free run of the half-rebuilt house while tia & tio were at work. A walk in the late summer sunshine, a bit of shopping and, before we knew it, baby was back in bed and the taxi was there to take her parents for their first night out alone in nearly a year.
The Ritz was the destination, courtesy of a birthday present from Professor Margarita. Very nice it was too: lovely four-course meal, live swing band, bit of dancing, bit of uncertain celebrity-spotting, personal service in the gents, and all too soon it was time for the taxi home. Tia two sounded almost disappointed to report that the babysitters had heard not a peep from the sleeping baby when we got back.
Saturday was spent recovering, observing a fascinating discussion on choice of paints by the home builders, and then it was time to head for the bright lights of London once more. Second night out in a row, once again thanks to the Margarita Man, this time celebrating his own half-century. Having received strict instructions to be at Festival Pier by 7pm otherwise the boat would leave without us, we left the babysitters to feed, bathe and put their niece to bed. First time la petite has been put to bed by someone other than one of her parents. Crossing fingers, we caught a train into Charing Cross leaving them to cope as best they could.
Arriving on the South Bank early, we gradually met a few others who had made their own way there and waited for the main party and birthday boy to arrive by coach from Cambridge. The boat arrived, the clock ticked past seven, and still no sign of the majority of the partygoers. Modern technology informed us they were becalmed in heavy traffic somewhere in the City. The captain fidgeted, the clock ticked on and finally the bus deposited its load at about half past. The description containing the words piss-up and brewery springs to mind, but as it was his fiftieth birthday I'll be kind and not apply it here.
And we got there to find her sound asleep. Apparently all had gone well apart from a brief wake-up and need for a cuddle and slurp mid-way through the evening. Phew.
No rest for the wicked though. Six hours after going to bed we were up and, an hour later, on the road to Dover. A seven and a half hour drive awaited the other side of the Channel, survived with intermittent short screaming sessions from a very tired baby until 7pm (usual bedtime) when she finally fell asleep and stayed asleep until we reached Lyon. The end of an exhausting but very enjoyable holiday. And only two weeks till the next one...
31 août 2011
Relatively old and new
Having left twenty odd new relatives in the Lakes, back in Cheshire it was time to start renewing acquaintance with some old faces and two new ones. Old in the sense of familiar, of course. On Sunday la petite was strapped into that hated car seat once more for the short trip across the border to visit ewthr and modryb. A new experience awaited - the encounter with two large, boisterous labradors was viewed from the safety of her parents' arms with a sort of supercilious curiosity. Shortly afterwards the parents of la tante arrived bearing lunch and a long time after that old uncle arrived having spent some time wandering the Welsh countryside with a less than helpful satnav.
The evening saw an experiment which was not entirely successful. La petite was put to bed in Wales and then, when her parents decided it was time to leave, she was rudely awakened, put back into that car seat, rudely awakened once more on arrival in England and put to bed again. Four different bedrooms in two days was perhaps one change of scenery too much: an hour of protest later she finally went to sleep. Don't think we'll try that one again in a hurry.
Next in the queue to see baby was auntie, who arrived late on Monday afternoon in time to say hello and goodbye to her eldest brother and take over the guest room. On Tuesday four of us temporarily left la grand-mère tending the birds and the garden in west Cheshire, got into la petite voiture and head across the county to meet some more relatively new faces. Another uncle and aunt and all four first cousins were greeted with a mixture of bemusement and coy smiles. A short walk, dinner and five hours later it was time to say reluctant goodbyes to all but one cousin and see if we could squeeze four adults and a baby in a car seat into the little car.
The seven of us squeezed into chez grand-mère for one night, achieved by aunt sharing with niece number three and baby sharing with a computer and lots of books. Bath time for baby was a crowded all-female affair - mama assisted by her belle-soeur and niece. The following day was taken up with entertaining la petite and a stroll round the village through nettle patches and churchyards. La soeur headed back to Yorkshire in the early evening, dropping off la nièce en route, and then we were four once more.
The evening saw an experiment which was not entirely successful. La petite was put to bed in Wales and then, when her parents decided it was time to leave, she was rudely awakened, put back into that car seat, rudely awakened once more on arrival in England and put to bed again. Four different bedrooms in two days was perhaps one change of scenery too much: an hour of protest later she finally went to sleep. Don't think we'll try that one again in a hurry.
Next in the queue to see baby was auntie, who arrived late on Monday afternoon in time to say hello and goodbye to her eldest brother and take over the guest room. On Tuesday four of us temporarily left la grand-mère tending the birds and the garden in west Cheshire, got into la petite voiture and head across the county to meet some more relatively new faces. Another uncle and aunt and all four first cousins were greeted with a mixture of bemusement and coy smiles. A short walk, dinner and five hours later it was time to say reluctant goodbyes to all but one cousin and see if we could squeeze four adults and a baby in a car seat into the little car.
The seven of us squeezed into chez grand-mère for one night, achieved by aunt sharing with niece number three and baby sharing with a computer and lots of books. Bath time for baby was a crowded all-female affair - mama assisted by her belle-soeur and niece. The following day was taken up with entertaining la petite and a stroll round the village through nettle patches and churchyards. La soeur headed back to Yorkshire in the early evening, dropping off la nièce en route, and then we were four once more.
28 août 2011
Sixty new faces
Twenty four new people in eight days, only another thirty six to go, all of them relatives, albeit most in only the loosest of senses. The week in the Lake District assembled la grand-mère, two great aunts, a great uncle, several cousins once removed, and assorted other less easily defined relatives and relatives' hangers-on - something like 29 in total. That's a lot of new faces to take in, but apparently la petite coped admirably despite arriving not long before bed time. An hour after bedtime la bienheureuse collected me from Windermere station following the trip to London notable only for the chance to exchange brief gossip with the McBhoy and the Dove and a slap-up breakfast in the local café. Least said about the main footballing event the better.
Petite famille reunited, Sunday was spent recovering from our respective traumas. Saturday's rain was eventually superseded by some lovely late afternoon sunshine, which encouraged a group outdoor dinner (delicious Mexican cooked by the fiancée-in-waiting of cousin number five) on a table for 30 just beneath baby's window. She slept blissfully on.
The routine for the week soon became established. Quick swim in the petite piscine for la petite after morning nap, excursion after lunch (and progressively shortening lunchtime naps), then dinner and bedtime before grown-ups dinner time. Monday afternoon was taken up by a stroll in the sunshine into Ambleside and the hire-with-purchase-option of a back baby-carrier. Said baby-carrier was duly tested the following day with a minor hike along a groomed path in Grizedale Forest. Carrier received full approval from la petite and load-bearing parents and subsequently purchased.
Wednesday was grand-oncle's birthday, celebrated in fine Lake District style with a mass outing via road, ferry, canoe and sailing dinghy respectively to the visitor centre at Brockhole. As the small boats sailed in, the clouds rolled in and a picnic lunch for thirty was consumed in traditional British style in raincoats and under umbrellas. Refuge was eventually sought in the café, and then everybody drove, paddled or sailed back to Waterhead in the rain. It was however, then only persistent rain of the week.
The next day dawned sunny and bright, perfect weather for a cycle ride along the west bank of Windermere. While the three ladies, one from each generation had a stroll and coffee in Ambleside, le nouveau père hired a bike to join the old-hand fathers and older children for a pleasant jaunt up and down the bridle path that runs alongside the lake. Cocky ginger second cousin distinguished himself by losing control of his mount going down a steep incline and sailing over the handlebars. Pride and one shin sustained the only bruises.
Last full day in the Lakes included another trip into Ambleside and a visit to the youth hostel to watch the various cousins (first, second, once removed, vaguely related), aunts and uncles messing about on the water or wrestling on the wet grass. Three against one didn't really seem fair, but the eldest second cousin just about held his own.
Saturday morning passed in a blur of cleaning and packing, and by eleven we were on the road south once more, arriving in Cheshire via a foolhardy detour through Warrington to avoid a jam on the M6. No matter, we made it back to chez grand-mère without too much screaming from driver, navigator or passengers.
Petite famille reunited, Sunday was spent recovering from our respective traumas. Saturday's rain was eventually superseded by some lovely late afternoon sunshine, which encouraged a group outdoor dinner (delicious Mexican cooked by the fiancée-in-waiting of cousin number five) on a table for 30 just beneath baby's window. She slept blissfully on.
The routine for the week soon became established. Quick swim in the petite piscine for la petite after morning nap, excursion after lunch (and progressively shortening lunchtime naps), then dinner and bedtime before grown-ups dinner time. Monday afternoon was taken up by a stroll in the sunshine into Ambleside and the hire-with-purchase-option of a back baby-carrier. Said baby-carrier was duly tested the following day with a minor hike along a groomed path in Grizedale Forest. Carrier received full approval from la petite and load-bearing parents and subsequently purchased.
Wednesday was grand-oncle's birthday, celebrated in fine Lake District style with a mass outing via road, ferry, canoe and sailing dinghy respectively to the visitor centre at Brockhole. As the small boats sailed in, the clouds rolled in and a picnic lunch for thirty was consumed in traditional British style in raincoats and under umbrellas. Refuge was eventually sought in the café, and then everybody drove, paddled or sailed back to Waterhead in the rain. It was however, then only persistent rain of the week.
The next day dawned sunny and bright, perfect weather for a cycle ride along the west bank of Windermere. While the three ladies, one from each generation had a stroll and coffee in Ambleside, le nouveau père hired a bike to join the old-hand fathers and older children for a pleasant jaunt up and down the bridle path that runs alongside the lake. Cocky ginger second cousin distinguished himself by losing control of his mount going down a steep incline and sailing over the handlebars. Pride and one shin sustained the only bruises.
Last full day in the Lakes included another trip into Ambleside and a visit to the youth hostel to watch the various cousins (first, second, once removed, vaguely related), aunts and uncles messing about on the water or wrestling on the wet grass. Three against one didn't really seem fair, but the eldest second cousin just about held his own.
Saturday morning passed in a blur of cleaning and packing, and by eleven we were on the road south once more, arriving in Cheshire via a foolhardy detour through Warrington to avoid a jam on the M6. No matter, we made it back to chez grand-mère without too much screaming from driver, navigator or passengers.
20 août 2011
1300 kilometres
The two penultimate days before the marathon journey to blighted Blighty were taken up with transitory visitors. Friday evening, the three Goldilocks and their parents dropped in on their way to the Mediterranean sunshine. La petite reacted to the sudden appearance of five new faces by bursting into tears. Well, it was the end of the day. The following evening, the two doctors and the mini-jezoids arrived after she was in bed, thus delaying the gradual introduction of four more new faces until Sunday morning. Refreshed by 12 hours of sleep and the knowledge that she wasn't alone in not being in full control of bodily functions, she was all smiles and good humour. By midday our visitors had continued their journey south, and we were almost ready for the long trek north.
The twelve hour car journey, split over two days, was more dream than nightmare. La petite slept, from time to time, in her car seat, though never for longer than 45 minutes. And the rest of the time was kept amused with songs, toys and games, or kept quiet with a bottle in her mouth. Only one inconsolable bout of screaming occurred, 20 minutes before arrival at our mid-journey hotel in Laon. And so, via autoroute, hotel, ferry, and motorway, we eventually reached Cambridge 30 hours after leaving Lyon.
Two more new faces were greeted with more smiling and flirting, even though it was grouchy time of day. Honorary auntie C and onkel J were suitably charmed. The following evening, chez Professor Margarita, the Cambridge buddies descended en masse to meet the new addition. And once more, la petite coquinette turned on the charm. Another seven new faces were greeted with smiles and flirts aplenty before it was time for bed.
After a day spent recovering (brief shopping trip for la bienheureuse apart), it was time to be cooped up in that dreaded car-seat for another 300km journey north to Cheshire. Four hours later (those good old British go-slow motorways) we arrived chez la grand-mère. End of the road for our trusty overloaded petite voiture (with functioning air-conditioning), but two days later la petite was hitting the road again. While son papa was on a thankless mission to the asset-stripped home of football in London, sa mere et grand-mère headed further north to the Great Three Sisters Family Reunion in the Lakes, via a brief smaller family reunion in Blackpool. Another two hours in the car, another five new faces.
The twelve hour car journey, split over two days, was more dream than nightmare. La petite slept, from time to time, in her car seat, though never for longer than 45 minutes. And the rest of the time was kept amused with songs, toys and games, or kept quiet with a bottle in her mouth. Only one inconsolable bout of screaming occurred, 20 minutes before arrival at our mid-journey hotel in Laon. And so, via autoroute, hotel, ferry, and motorway, we eventually reached Cambridge 30 hours after leaving Lyon.
Two more new faces were greeted with more smiling and flirting, even though it was grouchy time of day. Honorary auntie C and onkel J were suitably charmed. The following evening, chez Professor Margarita, the Cambridge buddies descended en masse to meet the new addition. And once more, la petite coquinette turned on the charm. Another seven new faces were greeted with smiles and flirts aplenty before it was time for bed.
After a day spent recovering (brief shopping trip for la bienheureuse apart), it was time to be cooped up in that dreaded car-seat for another 300km journey north to Cheshire. Four hours later (those good old British go-slow motorways) we arrived chez la grand-mère. End of the road for our trusty overloaded petite voiture (with functioning air-conditioning), but two days later la petite was hitting the road again. While son papa was on a thankless mission to the asset-stripped home of football in London, sa mere et grand-mère headed further north to the Great Three Sisters Family Reunion in the Lakes, via a brief smaller family reunion in Blackpool. Another two hours in the car, another five new faces.
07 août 2011
Twelve hours
Seven and five makes twelve. Seven pm yesterday, la petite coquinette is put to bed, with minor complaint. And there she stayed until just after seven am today, the day she is five months old. Twelve hours uninterrupted sleep. Well, almost - a couple of brief awakenings at five and six am before settling back to sleep without need for parental intervention. Bliss for said parents, or would have been if either had managed to sleep soundly in the interim instead of subconsciously listening for sounds of distress...
The first attempt at a full night's sleep was aborted on Friday night when she woke up just after 11pm. Papa went in to offer her a small feed and found the little dear jammed sideways in the cot having somehow escaped from her straitjacket. Success duly followed last night. Wonder how long it will continue…
There was a somewhat rude shock a couple of nights earlier when it took la bienheureuse an hour to get her to bed. Followed by more disruption for papa when she refused to go down easily for daytime naps like the little angel she normally is. Guess she's growing up fast…
Meanwhile, the weather got hotter and heavier but last night suddenly broke again with thunderstorms and much cooler, fresher air. And as if to signal that summer is coming to an end, last night the French football season also resumed. The night turned into a highly satisfactory one for OL, winners at Nice while the two big favourites for the league this season failed: PSG (spenders of more middle eastern oil millions during the transfer window than the citizens of Manchester) crashed at home to little Lorient and Marseille could only draw at home with Sochaux. Lyon's transfer activity has so far been notable by its absence. The only newcomer of note (though not really new as he was previously in charge of the youth team) is the new coach Remi Garde who promises much more attacking football than his much-maligned predecessor. So far so good…
The first attempt at a full night's sleep was aborted on Friday night when she woke up just after 11pm. Papa went in to offer her a small feed and found the little dear jammed sideways in the cot having somehow escaped from her straitjacket. Success duly followed last night. Wonder how long it will continue…
There was a somewhat rude shock a couple of nights earlier when it took la bienheureuse an hour to get her to bed. Followed by more disruption for papa when she refused to go down easily for daytime naps like the little angel she normally is. Guess she's growing up fast…
Meanwhile, the weather got hotter and heavier but last night suddenly broke again with thunderstorms and much cooler, fresher air. And as if to signal that summer is coming to an end, last night the French football season also resumed. The night turned into a highly satisfactory one for OL, winners at Nice while the two big favourites for the league this season failed: PSG (spenders of more middle eastern oil millions during the transfer window than the citizens of Manchester) crashed at home to little Lorient and Marseille could only draw at home with Sochaux. Lyon's transfer activity has so far been notable by its absence. The only newcomer of note (though not really new as he was previously in charge of the youth team) is the new coach Remi Garde who promises much more attacking football than his much-maligned predecessor. So far so good…
02 août 2011
Twenty one
21st blog post documenting, in a cryptic fashion, life since it was changed by a certain event. La petite's quirky little ways continue to keep us on our toes and entertained. In 21 weeks she's developed from a tiny creature who sleeps, feeds, poos, pees, burps, farts and cries into a smiling, giggling, wriggling, shouting, squeaking, squawking little person with her own fast-developing personality. Latest tricks include raspberry blowing with added saliva (or milk), chin-ups on the bar above her cot (well, almost), testing whether her parents' lips, noses and ears are firmly attached, and turning 180 degrees in her cot.
Life continues to revolve round la petite coquinette, though la bienheureuse reluctantly escaped for a 3rd night abroad on business last week. Père et fille survived well enough on their own, but the reunion was joyous on all sides.
21 degrees: maximum temperature in Lyon on the 24th March, and on the 24th July. The last 21 days (give or take) of what is normally the hottest month of the year have been cool, cloudy and rather damp. While the cooler weather has been a relief chez nous (keeping the nursery cool becomes an obsession) les juilletistes (yes, French summer holidaymakers are named according to which month they take their breaks) have been complaining vociferously. Les aoûtiens look like being somewhat more fortunate. The latter include the government, on holiday for the first 21 days of the month. Ministers have all been ordered to take their holidays in France, following the controversy last year when certain high-up members of the government accepted holidays in north Africa hosted by leaders who not long afterwards found themselves on the receiving end of popular revolutions.
Life continues to revolve round la petite coquinette, though la bienheureuse reluctantly escaped for a 3rd night abroad on business last week. Père et fille survived well enough on their own, but the reunion was joyous on all sides.
21 degrees: maximum temperature in Lyon on the 24th March, and on the 24th July. The last 21 days (give or take) of what is normally the hottest month of the year have been cool, cloudy and rather damp. While the cooler weather has been a relief chez nous (keeping the nursery cool becomes an obsession) les juilletistes (yes, French summer holidaymakers are named according to which month they take their breaks) have been complaining vociferously. Les aoûtiens look like being somewhat more fortunate. The latter include the government, on holiday for the first 21 days of the month. Ministers have all been ordered to take their holidays in France, following the controversy last year when certain high-up members of the government accepted holidays in north Africa hosted by leaders who not long afterwards found themselves on the receiving end of popular revolutions.
26 juillet 2011
Growth record
Month five, visit to the paediatrician number five. No jabs this time, but plenty of screaming when the nasty man tried to stick his scope in little ears and nostrils. Another measuring session recorded a near doubling in weight and a height increase of 13cm since birth. At this rate la petite will as tall as her mother by the time she's four, and as heavy as her father by the time she's seven.
Of course child growth rates aren't linear, and obsessive that I am, plotting the little munchkin's numbers on the standard (British) curves has her height roughly following the 50th percentile and her weight steadily climbing from about the 60th to the 80th percentile. Hmm, nonetheless Monsieur le Pèdiatre expresses admiration for our treasure's chubby little legs and arms.
"She's not too plump, then?"
"No, not at all. You don't need to worry about obesity until she's two."
That's all right then, we'll continue feeding her 20% more than he recommends. And of course her excess weight could all be put down to her head, measured to be larger than roughly 90 percent of all other babies of the same age. Certainly takes after papa then. Well, we need large heads to fit in all that grey matter.
Daytime entertainment has been more difficult this week. Somehow, it's always raining when it's time for our afternoon stroll along the river. Naps in the cot aren't as much fun. And no more tennis, no more Tour de France on TV. Le Grand Boucle reached its climax on Sunday after three masochistic weeks for the riders that ended in plaudits all round: for the valiant failure of the local hero to hang on to the yellow jersey for the final two days, for the thrilling win at Alpe d'Huez that earned his teammate the white jersey and the burden of being the next great white hope of French cycling, for the attacking ride up the Galibier that earned the eternal runner-up the yellow jersey for one day, for the green jersey won by the greatest sprinter in the Isle of Man and the rest of the world, and finally for the Australian winner. Last year's winner did, after all, pay the price of trying to win the Giro and the Tour in one year.
The saga of cooling the car reached its end (we hope) yesterday. Not that we've needed air-conditioning in the last 2 weeks. Second hand compressor duly purchased (highly efficient online order and delivery, bargain at 100 euros) and fitted by our friendly mechanic. How much will that be then? Billed at 326 euros, with no repair warranty given that it was carried out with a second hand part. Or 250 for cash. Easy choice. Tradesmen are the same the world over.
Of course child growth rates aren't linear, and obsessive that I am, plotting the little munchkin's numbers on the standard (British) curves has her height roughly following the 50th percentile and her weight steadily climbing from about the 60th to the 80th percentile. Hmm, nonetheless Monsieur le Pèdiatre expresses admiration for our treasure's chubby little legs and arms.
"She's not too plump, then?"
"No, not at all. You don't need to worry about obesity until she's two."
That's all right then, we'll continue feeding her 20% more than he recommends. And of course her excess weight could all be put down to her head, measured to be larger than roughly 90 percent of all other babies of the same age. Certainly takes after papa then. Well, we need large heads to fit in all that grey matter.
Daytime entertainment has been more difficult this week. Somehow, it's always raining when it's time for our afternoon stroll along the river. Naps in the cot aren't as much fun. And no more tennis, no more Tour de France on TV. Le Grand Boucle reached its climax on Sunday after three masochistic weeks for the riders that ended in plaudits all round: for the valiant failure of the local hero to hang on to the yellow jersey for the final two days, for the thrilling win at Alpe d'Huez that earned his teammate the white jersey and the burden of being the next great white hope of French cycling, for the attacking ride up the Galibier that earned the eternal runner-up the yellow jersey for one day, for the green jersey won by the greatest sprinter in the Isle of Man and the rest of the world, and finally for the Australian winner. Last year's winner did, after all, pay the price of trying to win the Giro and the Tour in one year.
The saga of cooling the car reached its end (we hope) yesterday. Not that we've needed air-conditioning in the last 2 weeks. Second hand compressor duly purchased (highly efficient online order and delivery, bargain at 100 euros) and fitted by our friendly mechanic. How much will that be then? Billed at 326 euros, with no repair warranty given that it was carried out with a second hand part. Or 250 for cash. Easy choice. Tradesmen are the same the world over.
20 juillet 2011
Two seuls encore
And then there were two. La grand-mère et la mère left yesterday in the morning rain, heading for the airport at different times in separate taxis, the former heading home after two weeks of grandchild entertainment, sundry sewing jobs and jam-making, the latter reluctantly flying off for a meeting in the company mother country. She will be home this evening but meanwhile la petite et son père have just each other for company once more. Teething troubles seem to be the main preoccupation at the moment. Nothing a bit of drugging won't solve.
On Monday we had a visitor (NB arrived despite making few plans), and la petite coquinette awoke from early evening sleep in her most beguiling mood to meet our dinner guest with sleepy smiles and coy flirts aplenty. He left with a belly full of moussaka, crumble and Coteaux de Tricastin, and a phone full of blurred photos to show to Dr C. His mission of finding the hotel at the top of the tallest building in Lyon was eventually accomplished.
Rumours of the demise of Contador may well have been premature. Yesterday's stage, previously assumed to be anodyne, saw him attack on the only climb of the day in driving rain and autumnal temperatures, leaving the man who was runner-up last year trailing in his spray. Lots of complaints about the weather in France at the moment, particularly from the holiday industry. Temperatures for the middle week in July are forecast to be about five degrees lower than those we had in the middle of April. The next three Alpine stages in le Tour could be interesting, including two climbs up the col du Galibier, which on Sunday was under several inches of snow, occasioning the rescue of a number of cycling nuts who were attempting to emulate the professionals in shorts and t-shirts.
On Monday we had a visitor (NB arrived despite making few plans), and la petite coquinette awoke from early evening sleep in her most beguiling mood to meet our dinner guest with sleepy smiles and coy flirts aplenty. He left with a belly full of moussaka, crumble and Coteaux de Tricastin, and a phone full of blurred photos to show to Dr C. His mission of finding the hotel at the top of the tallest building in Lyon was eventually accomplished.
Rumours of the demise of Contador may well have been premature. Yesterday's stage, previously assumed to be anodyne, saw him attack on the only climb of the day in driving rain and autumnal temperatures, leaving the man who was runner-up last year trailing in his spray. Lots of complaints about the weather in France at the moment, particularly from the holiday industry. Temperatures for the middle week in July are forecast to be about five degrees lower than those we had in the middle of April. The next three Alpine stages in le Tour could be interesting, including two climbs up the col du Galibier, which on Sunday was under several inches of snow, occasioning the rescue of a number of cycling nuts who were attempting to emulate the professionals in shorts and t-shirts.
15 juillet 2011
Cooling and climbing
Baby travel tale number five, Tuesday: in thirty-five degree heat, la grand-mère, la mère et la fille set off in la voiture with broken air-conditioning to visit a friend and her baby. Short ten minute journey fortunately, and la petite behaves perfectly during the trip there, the visit, and falls asleep in the car on the way back! Hallelujah.
Next day le père takes the car to the garage to get the air-conditioning fixed. Diagnosis: leaking compressor. Cost of repair: 900 euros for a new replacement, or 560 for a repaired one. Plus labour costs. Hmm, trusty (air-con apart) old banger is barely worth that much. Internet search reveals second hand compressors are available for about 100 euros. Wonder if the (franchised) garage will put it in? Quatorze juillet yesterday and bridging day today, garage closed. Have to wait till next week to find out…
There was the usual fireworks show above Fourvière yesterday to celebrate la fête nationale, an event dampened by the deaths of five French soldiers in Afghanistan but not by the torrential rain, which came and went the previous day. La belle-mère et le beau-fils toddled to the end of the road late last night to watch, while la bienheureuse looked after last feed of the day for la petite coquinette. The latter has learned a new trick recently - blowing raspberries. Which she does frequently and with great gusto. Significance? No idea. Any baby behaviour experts out there, answers on a postcard please.
Bastille day also produced minor fireworks yesterday, during the start of the real Tour de France, the first mountain stage. As expected, French cyclists made valiant attempts to win the stage, accompanied by a worthy Welsh gooner, but in the end the favourites all finished more or less together. Main talking point though was the fact that the others gained a few more seconds on Contador. Never seen before.
Up until yesterday the Tour was characterised by the number of falls. Contador alone has tumbled four times. Seems it really isn't his year, but the most spectacular day of chutes was on Sunday, when several riders were severely injured in one major crash, and a car belonging to France Televisions knocked two of the leading group into a barbed wire fence. Both bravely got back on their bikes and finished the stage, but the incident made lots of noise in France. The car driver was excluded from the tour, and there is talk about requiring all drivers and motorbike riders to be former professional cyclists. Most already are, though not the culprit on Sunday.
Next day le père takes the car to the garage to get the air-conditioning fixed. Diagnosis: leaking compressor. Cost of repair: 900 euros for a new replacement, or 560 for a repaired one. Plus labour costs. Hmm, trusty (air-con apart) old banger is barely worth that much. Internet search reveals second hand compressors are available for about 100 euros. Wonder if the (franchised) garage will put it in? Quatorze juillet yesterday and bridging day today, garage closed. Have to wait till next week to find out…
Bastille day also produced minor fireworks yesterday, during the start of the real Tour de France, the first mountain stage. As expected, French cyclists made valiant attempts to win the stage, accompanied by a worthy Welsh gooner, but in the end the favourites all finished more or less together. Main talking point though was the fact that the others gained a few more seconds on Contador. Never seen before.
Up until yesterday the Tour was characterised by the number of falls. Contador alone has tumbled four times. Seems it really isn't his year, but the most spectacular day of chutes was on Sunday, when several riders were severely injured in one major crash, and a car belonging to France Televisions knocked two of the leading group into a barbed wire fence. Both bravely got back on their bikes and finished the stage, but the incident made lots of noise in France. The car driver was excluded from the tour, and there is talk about requiring all drivers and motorbike riders to be former professional cyclists. Most already are, though not the culprit on Sunday.
10 juillet 2011
Travel travails
Baby's travel experience so far amounts to afternoon pram promenades along the river and four car journeys. First car trip: short ride home from hospital - five day old baby sleeps all the way. Second excursion: return trip to the airport to pick up grandmère - 3 week old baby sleeps through puncture incident, all the way to the airport, and part of the way back. So far so good, babies always sleep in the car don't they?
Not this one.
Car trip number 3: short ride to the garden centre and back. La petite, aged almost 3 months, starts screaming inconsolably before we're two minutes down the road. Resorting to the dreaded dummy, which we'd rather stupidly left in the boot necessitating an emergency stop, finally calms her.
Travel tale number 4: a couple of days before celebrating 4 months in this world, we treat la petite coquinette to another car ride and another trip to the airport to pick up Mamy. She remains wide awake all the way out, and wide awake and screaming all the way back. Dummies, toys, singing, pulling faces, making funny noises, gagging, none of it works, and the non-functioning climatisation doesn't help either. And in five weeks we look forward to 12 hours in the car on a trip back to Blighty. That'll be fun…
Otherwise it's been a quiet week. La grandmère has got to know her newly alert and demanding grandchild, and her feeding quirks. La bienheureuse left her trois bien-aimés at home on Tuesday night to fly to Germany for a work meeting the next day. First night away from baby, first time papa has had to put la petite coquinette to bed since a not-so-successful attempt three weeks ago. He approached the task with some trepidation, but never fear. The two angels' bedtime routine works like a charm. She may not sleep in cars but she sleeps all night.
It wasn't so quiet earlier yesterday evening. The Punjabi princess was back in Lyon for a visit and graced us with her presence. Looking forward to her own happy event in a few months, she was eager to meet notre petite for the first time. And was treated to a big smile, swiftly followed by a loud wail of distress. And for the next ninety minutes, our visitor was treated to baby behaviour at its worst. Certainly our baby's behaviour at its worst. Not quite sure what brought that on - probably a mixture of over-excitement and over-tiredness. Fortunately, once la petite was put to bed silence and normality returned - silence in a manner of speaking: dinner with three women is never a particularly quiet affair, not these particular women anyway.
Not this one.
Car trip number 3: short ride to the garden centre and back. La petite, aged almost 3 months, starts screaming inconsolably before we're two minutes down the road. Resorting to the dreaded dummy, which we'd rather stupidly left in the boot necessitating an emergency stop, finally calms her.
Travel tale number 4: a couple of days before celebrating 4 months in this world, we treat la petite coquinette to another car ride and another trip to the airport to pick up Mamy. She remains wide awake all the way out, and wide awake and screaming all the way back. Dummies, toys, singing, pulling faces, making funny noises, gagging, none of it works, and the non-functioning climatisation doesn't help either. And in five weeks we look forward to 12 hours in the car on a trip back to Blighty. That'll be fun…
Otherwise it's been a quiet week. La grandmère has got to know her newly alert and demanding grandchild, and her feeding quirks. La bienheureuse left her trois bien-aimés at home on Tuesday night to fly to Germany for a work meeting the next day. First night away from baby, first time papa has had to put la petite coquinette to bed since a not-so-successful attempt three weeks ago. He approached the task with some trepidation, but never fear. The two angels' bedtime routine works like a charm. She may not sleep in cars but she sleeps all night.
It wasn't so quiet earlier yesterday evening. The Punjabi princess was back in Lyon for a visit and graced us with her presence. Looking forward to her own happy event in a few months, she was eager to meet notre petite for the first time. And was treated to a big smile, swiftly followed by a loud wail of distress. And for the next ninety minutes, our visitor was treated to baby behaviour at its worst. Certainly our baby's behaviour at its worst. Not quite sure what brought that on - probably a mixture of over-excitement and over-tiredness. Fortunately, once la petite was put to bed silence and normality returned - silence in a manner of speaking: dinner with three women is never a particularly quiet affair, not these particular women anyway.
03 juillet 2011
Summer sport
The first weekend in July marks the real arrival of summer: the schools are on holiday, the city starts emptying, and the Tour de France starts. And that means the first major bouchons on the A7 autoroute between Lyon and Marseille, the first time there might be a small chance of finding a parking space outside the apartment, and the first bit of previous-winner-of-the-TdF baiting by the French public and press. This year, with drug allegations hanging over him, it's Contador's turn again. Booed when the teams were introduced on Thursday, and yesterday caught up in a major pileup, which lost him over a minute on his main rivals. Suggestions in the French press this morning that he may even give up…
Anyway, with Wimbledon almost over, le Tour provides me with afternoon entertainment to supplement that provided by the little sweetheart. Who has been a real dear most of the week, despite apparently starting to teethe. At least, she chews on everything and anything at the moment.
In the wider world, l'affaire DSK is once more dominating the headlines. A poll in one of the newspapers this morning suggests half the French public would like to see him making a political comeback. Assuming of course he is cleared of all charges, as most people here are expecting to happen. The fact that he did have sex with the woman is apparently neither here nor there…
At the other end of the political spectrum, the current president was 'violently attacked' in Agen, which was almost overlooked when the new Strauss-Kahn revelations broke. The attack turned out to be a man grabbing him by the lapels and pulling, which provoked the amusing sight of Sarko ducking a blow which never came. He sportingly let it known he wouldn't file a complaint afterwards, but his aggressor still copped a six-month suspended prison sentence.
Anyway, with Wimbledon almost over, le Tour provides me with afternoon entertainment to supplement that provided by the little sweetheart. Who has been a real dear most of the week, despite apparently starting to teethe. At least, she chews on everything and anything at the moment.
In the wider world, l'affaire DSK is once more dominating the headlines. A poll in one of the newspapers this morning suggests half the French public would like to see him making a political comeback. Assuming of course he is cleared of all charges, as most people here are expecting to happen. The fact that he did have sex with the woman is apparently neither here nor there…
At the other end of the political spectrum, the current president was 'violently attacked' in Agen, which was almost overlooked when the new Strauss-Kahn revelations broke. The attack turned out to be a man grabbing him by the lapels and pulling, which provoked the amusing sight of Sarko ducking a blow which never came. He sportingly let it known he wouldn't file a complaint afterwards, but his aggressor still copped a six-month suspended prison sentence.
28 juin 2011
Heating up
We had another visitor to meet la petite this weekend - son oncle aîné arrived on Thursday evening, after a nearly-missed-flight scare caused by delays on that old dependable, the British rail network. He got to meet his new niece straight away as she was still indulging in the final, autopilot feed of the day. Then the following morning he got to observe how his petit frère coped home alone with baby. That wasn't the plan originally, because la bienheureuse had taken the whole day off. However, she ended up working Friday morning instead of Thursday afternoon, due a lunchtime shopping nightmare involving a closed tunnel, previously mentioned Lyon bouchons (traffic not gastronomic variety), a closed petrol station and a delivery van thoughtlessly parked in front of the entrance to our box garage.
She was back in the afternoon to take the baby in wonderland to the pèdiatre for her fourth month checkup. 800 gram weight gain, more needle torture but all A-okay even if the visit seemed rather rushed due to Monsieur le Docteur running rather late with his appointments. Afterwards we introduced le grand frère to his niece's habitual afternoon stroll along the river, though she didn't nap as usual due to it being somewhat later than usual. Instead she fell asleep on the bottle half an hour later.
On Saturday morning les deux frères left the ladies at home and, after 20 minutes of vigourous tyre pumping, set off for a cycle ride. Up the river to Parc Feyssine, then all the way back down to Parc Gerland, then homeward into a stiff headwind. At least it seemed stiff on a warm, sultry day to one particular 50+ year-old father. Must try and get a bit fitter.
A gentler excursion was thus on the agenda for Sunday morning. A two-wheeled amble round Parc de la Tête d'Or and home again before the heat became too much. We would have sheltered from the sun indoors the whole afternoon had la petite cooperated by having an afternoon nap in her cot, but the familiar motion of the pram was required to get her eyes to close, so off along the river we went once more.
Monday morning, la mère headed to work while l'oncle ventured out for some sightseeing. Commendably, he managed to last nearly five hours out in temperatures that peaked at 34C. Roast chicken, tarte tatin and rosé wine completed his last full day in Lyon, and this morning père et fille are home alone once more. Main preoccupation of the day in temperatures of 36C: keeping cool. Fortunately the forecast is for cooler weather tomorrow.
She was back in the afternoon to take the baby in wonderland to the pèdiatre for her fourth month checkup. 800 gram weight gain, more needle torture but all A-okay even if the visit seemed rather rushed due to Monsieur le Docteur running rather late with his appointments. Afterwards we introduced le grand frère to his niece's habitual afternoon stroll along the river, though she didn't nap as usual due to it being somewhat later than usual. Instead she fell asleep on the bottle half an hour later.
On Saturday morning les deux frères left the ladies at home and, after 20 minutes of vigourous tyre pumping, set off for a cycle ride. Up the river to Parc Feyssine, then all the way back down to Parc Gerland, then homeward into a stiff headwind. At least it seemed stiff on a warm, sultry day to one particular 50+ year-old father. Must try and get a bit fitter.
A gentler excursion was thus on the agenda for Sunday morning. A two-wheeled amble round Parc de la Tête d'Or and home again before the heat became too much. We would have sheltered from the sun indoors the whole afternoon had la petite cooperated by having an afternoon nap in her cot, but the familiar motion of the pram was required to get her eyes to close, so off along the river we went once more.
Monday morning, la mère headed to work while l'oncle ventured out for some sightseeing. Commendably, he managed to last nearly five hours out in temperatures that peaked at 34C. Roast chicken, tarte tatin and rosé wine completed his last full day in Lyon, and this morning père et fille are home alone once more. Main preoccupation of the day in temperatures of 36C: keeping cool. Fortunately the forecast is for cooler weather tomorrow.
23 juin 2011
Leaks
Wet, leaky day in Lyon yesterday. And I was still wet when I emerged from the bathroom in the morning and noticed a strange odour. Obviously it wasn't me because I'd just had a shower, but it reminded me of the stink bugs from an African childhood that produced an awful smell when they got squashed. The insects that is, rather than the childhood. Never stepped on one in France though, so it wasn't that either.
Uhoh, gas!
In a naked panic I immediately ran into the kitchen and turned off the gas supply to the cooker and boiler. The smell had pervaded the apartment but eventually dissipated. Unlike 1000 other people in Lyon and the surrounding area, I wasn't panicked enough to call the pompiers. Turned out it was sulphur dioxide leaking from one of the refineries in Fezyin, about 10km further south. No danger to the population, we were told...
Leak number two occurred the previous evening, when some bright spark published one of the questions in the following day's maths Bac exam on the internet, sowing instant panic in the education ministry. The exam papers for the Bac are normally as closely guarded as secrets of state. The education minister eventually decided to strike that particular question from the exam but maintain the rest of the paper sat by thousands of students yesterday morning. The students were none too happy about it, as the question in, err question, was apparently the easiest in the exam…
A more mundane domestic leak occurred later in the afternoon, when a thunderstorm caused a minor flood in the bedroom because I'd left the window open in my perennial summer quest to keep the apartment cool. And another which involved a particularly messy nappy episode, but perhaps I'd better not elaborate on that one.
A day earlier, the annual fête de la musique on midsummer's day was rather dampened in Lyon by leakage from the skies. Music events in the city were played out to a backing track of percussion from the heavens. The summer storm season has started with a bang...
Uhoh, gas!
In a naked panic I immediately ran into the kitchen and turned off the gas supply to the cooker and boiler. The smell had pervaded the apartment but eventually dissipated. Unlike 1000 other people in Lyon and the surrounding area, I wasn't panicked enough to call the pompiers. Turned out it was sulphur dioxide leaking from one of the refineries in Fezyin, about 10km further south. No danger to the population, we were told...
Leak number two occurred the previous evening, when some bright spark published one of the questions in the following day's maths Bac exam on the internet, sowing instant panic in the education ministry. The exam papers for the Bac are normally as closely guarded as secrets of state. The education minister eventually decided to strike that particular question from the exam but maintain the rest of the paper sat by thousands of students yesterday morning. The students were none too happy about it, as the question in, err question, was apparently the easiest in the exam…
A more mundane domestic leak occurred later in the afternoon, when a thunderstorm caused a minor flood in the bedroom because I'd left the window open in my perennial summer quest to keep the apartment cool. And another which involved a particularly messy nappy episode, but perhaps I'd better not elaborate on that one.
A day earlier, the annual fête de la musique on midsummer's day was rather dampened in Lyon by leakage from the skies. Music events in the city were played out to a backing track of percussion from the heavens. The summer storm season has started with a bang...
21 juin 2011
Jammed
Lyon was named in a recent survey as the sixth most gridlocked city in Europe, behind London but ahead of Paris. Who would have believed it? Most lyonnais for a start. The recent change to limit speeds on roads in the Presqu'île to 30kph and allow bikes to ride the wrong way down such roads didn't meet with universal approval, and Saturday did nothing improve the mood those trying to drive in the city. A go-slow drive by motorcyclists asserting their right to do as they please on the roads held up traffic in the morning, and then in the afternoon the Gay Pride march brought it to a standstill. As for us, we were pleased to see transvestites holding up traffic as it meant one of those pesky scooter riders didn't get the chance to gun his souped up 50cc engine driving under a bridge that we walk under on our afternoon stroll along the river. La petite thus didn't get rudely awoken from her afternoon nap.
On Sunday we strolled the other way along the river to witness the greening of Place Bellecour, turned from the second largest square in Europe into one of the smallest arable farms. Nature Capitale came to Lyon after Paris and the Champs Elysée last year and New York next. Parcels of wheat, barley, vines, oats and wild flowers were all pleasant enough, but we were left slightly underwhelmed by it all, and la petite was distinctly unimpressed. She slept through the whole thing.
Meanwhile, two of the most inevitable changes in French football occurred over the weekend. The FFF elected a new president to supposedly sweep a new broom through the system following the World Cup debacle, and Claude Puel and OL finally parted company. No more "Puel - demission!" chants at games next season. Not sure the fans will know what to do. The man who "turned OL into a pedal car" is likely to be replaced by the director of the football academy, Remi Garde. Who, of course, has impeccable credentials, having played under the best coach in the world...
Meanwhile, two of the most inevitable changes in French football occurred over the weekend. The FFF elected a new president to supposedly sweep a new broom through the system following the World Cup debacle, and Claude Puel and OL finally parted company. No more "Puel - demission!" chants at games next season. Not sure the fans will know what to do. The man who "turned OL into a pedal car" is likely to be replaced by the director of the football academy, Remi Garde. Who, of course, has impeccable credentials, having played under the best coach in the world...
18 juin 2011
Eclipsed
Not playing: "I shall thcweam and thcweam until papa is thick".
Okay, papa gives in, gives his little angel some of her tea early, gets back on track and then tries to put her to bed at around the normal time. And it worked. For five minutes. And so it continued for the next hour. Blissful silence as soon as I pick her up, full volume yelling as soon as I try putting her in the cot. Eventually la bienheureuse gets home and immediately has a baby thrust into her arms.
"Here, she's yours."
And of course, she was asleep ten minutes later. Since then that switch which turns la petite off for a nap has gone slightly faulty. Now she usually needs an extra few minutes of cuddling before she'll accept being put into bed. No great hardship, and perhaps she was too kind to us early in her life…
15 juin 2011
100 days
A century of days has come and gone in an instant. And ten days of maman back at work have passed quickly and fairly painlessly. Tous les trois are slowly getting used to the new routine, which is hardest for la bienheureuse as she only gets to see her petit coeur for an hour at either end of the day. The pain of separation was eased slightly by an afternoon off last week, and a bank holiday Monday this. The three day weekend came and went in the usual blur, even if the major activity was but the usual afternoon perambulation along the river bank.
In the big wide world, a couple of stories recently distracted from the usual diet of tragedy and disaster. Police in north-eastern France stopped a car they spotted driving erratically last week. Inside they found a lorry driver and his ten year-old son. The former was more than two times over the legal limit. Silly man, you might think, driving with a child in the car while drunk. Not so. He knew he would lose his licence if he was caught, so he hit on the brilliant idea of getting his son to drive him home. Yes, the driver of the vehicle was the 10 year-old boy. His father lost his licence anyway.
Meanwhile, former president Chirac caused a stir over the weekend by declaring that in next year's presidential elections he would vote for François Hollande, one of the potential socialist candidates. Chirac's fellow UMP member and current president Sarkozy deigned not to comment, but is assumed to be unamused. Hollande quickly passed it off as a joke, and Chirac eventually did a day or two later. That won't stop people believing it was a joke with a message. Chirac's autobiography was published a few days ago. His descriptions of the two other men are revealing: political rival Hollande is described as statesmanlike, while political 'friend' Sarko gets cast as overambitious, nervous, rash, overconfident and doubting nothing, least of all himself. All is fair in love and war...
In the big wide world, a couple of stories recently distracted from the usual diet of tragedy and disaster. Police in north-eastern France stopped a car they spotted driving erratically last week. Inside they found a lorry driver and his ten year-old son. The former was more than two times over the legal limit. Silly man, you might think, driving with a child in the car while drunk. Not so. He knew he would lose his licence if he was caught, so he hit on the brilliant idea of getting his son to drive him home. Yes, the driver of the vehicle was the 10 year-old boy. His father lost his licence anyway.
Meanwhile, former president Chirac caused a stir over the weekend by declaring that in next year's presidential elections he would vote for François Hollande, one of the potential socialist candidates. Chirac's fellow UMP member and current president Sarkozy deigned not to comment, but is assumed to be unamused. Hollande quickly passed it off as a joke, and Chirac eventually did a day or two later. That won't stop people believing it was a joke with a message. Chirac's autobiography was published a few days ago. His descriptions of the two other men are revealing: political rival Hollande is described as statesmanlike, while political 'friend' Sarko gets cast as overambitious, nervous, rash, overconfident and doubting nothing, least of all himself. All is fair in love and war...
08 juin 2011
New extremes
Monday, day one of the new regime: la bienheureuse back at work after a four month absence, papa and bébé left to amuse each other at home all day. No prizes for guessing who it was toughest for. La petite was a proper little angel on day one: drank all her milk, slept contentedly when she was put to bed, made only minimum demands on dad when she was awake.
Day 2: completely different story. Little terror awake before 6.30am, grouchy and grizzly, demanding attention all day, didn't sleep as long as normal. Only thing she did right was gulp down all her food. Sa bien-aimée was forced to leave work early to effect a rescue. We put it down to something bothering the little mite, probably a bunged up rear end which was eventually uncorked late last night and fully evacuated this morning.
Day 3: day 1 reprised, la petite even more angelic than ever so far. Down for her lunchtime nap as I type. Long may it continue…
Day 2: completely different story. Little terror awake before 6.30am, grouchy and grizzly, demanding attention all day, didn't sleep as long as normal. Only thing she did right was gulp down all her food. Sa bien-aimée was forced to leave work early to effect a rescue. We put it down to something bothering the little mite, probably a bunged up rear end which was eventually uncorked late last night and fully evacuated this morning.
Day 3: day 1 reprised, la petite even more angelic than ever so far. Down for her lunchtime nap as I type. Long may it continue…
04 juin 2011
Extremes
From summer to winter in 24 hours. The hottest spring on record was immediately followed by the coldest June 1st in living memory. The thermometer barely hit 9 degrees here, and some alpine resorts had over 40cm of snow, which was ironically the heaviest single snowfall so far this year. And for the start of the Ascension bank holiday weekend, holidaymakers on the Côte d'Azur shivered beneath umbrellas while those on the Channel coast basked in warm sunshine.
One day of rain did nothing to alleviate the drought that is causing great concern in France. Water levels even lower than in the famous drought of '76; restrictions virtually country-wide; arable farmers not allowed to irrigate crops; cattle farmers forced to use stocks of winter feed to keep their herds alive. And the E-coli outbreak is only making things worse. Vegetable sales in France have dived despite there being no case here that's not associated with travel to Germany. The words extreme and irrational come to mind...
Bringing up baby sometimes produces similarly perplexing behaviour. All the sleep training of the last 3 months seems to have paid off handsomely recently: la petite gets tired, we put her to bed, she immediately starts screaming, we shut the door and it's like flicking a switch - instant silence. Marvellous, even if it may be partly because she's just discovered where her thumb is. Less wonderful are her moods when she's particularly hungry, sometimes getting so wound up and intent on screaming that even even shoving a teat in her mouth doesn't distract her. The only thing that stops the screaming is to get up and walk around with her, and then she'll quickly become calm enough to feed. Other times, when she's fed in time, she'll grin and giggle enough to melt the coldest heart. We're learning slowly, very slowly...
One day of rain did nothing to alleviate the drought that is causing great concern in France. Water levels even lower than in the famous drought of '76; restrictions virtually country-wide; arable farmers not allowed to irrigate crops; cattle farmers forced to use stocks of winter feed to keep their herds alive. And the E-coli outbreak is only making things worse. Vegetable sales in France have dived despite there being no case here that's not associated with travel to Germany. The words extreme and irrational come to mind...
Bringing up baby sometimes produces similarly perplexing behaviour. All the sleep training of the last 3 months seems to have paid off handsomely recently: la petite gets tired, we put her to bed, she immediately starts screaming, we shut the door and it's like flicking a switch - instant silence. Marvellous, even if it may be partly because she's just discovered where her thumb is. Less wonderful are her moods when she's particularly hungry, sometimes getting so wound up and intent on screaming that even even shoving a teat in her mouth doesn't distract her. The only thing that stops the screaming is to get up and walk around with her, and then she'll quickly become calm enough to feed. Other times, when she's fed in time, she'll grin and giggle enough to melt the coldest heart. We're learning slowly, very slowly...
31 mai 2011
On the back foot
Never underestimate the people's belief in their right to break laws that don't suit them, particularly when they're behind the steering wheel. That's the lesson the French government learned after their attempt to tighten up road safety was roundly condemned by the populace and, more importantly, members of their own party. A revolt by UMP deputés last week resulted in a swift bit of back-pedalling. The announced removal of signs warning of speed cameras was 'suspended'. They may or may not be removed later, or may be replaced by 'pedagogical' speed traps - ones which warn the motorist he is exceeding the limit without punishing him. Clear as mud then. And following 'discussion' with manufacturers of speed camera warning systems, the government announced that they would be 'modified' into systems warning of dangerous stretches of road. Hmm, plus ça change...
Meanwhile the shadow of DSK still looms large. Georges Tron resigned yesterday from his post as government minister, though curiously not as mayor of Draveil, the position of power he allegedly abused to sexually abuse two former female employees. Said abuse is alleged to have involved foot fetishism which progressed upwards while one of his female deputy mayors allegedly performed fellatio. You couldn't make it up, though that is exactly what Tron is claiming. One of the victims said she was inspired to bring a complaint by a mere chambermaid being brave enough to do so against the head of the IMF.
Back in our personal mundane sphere, things trundle along much as normal, though there is another break today in what is officially the hottest spring since records began at the turn of the last century. The feeding, playing, sleeping routine for la petite continues with more playing and interest in objects, which in turn leads to being more easily distracted when feeding, and getting more readily bored when there's nothing to entertain her. Growing up fast...
Meanwhile the shadow of DSK still looms large. Georges Tron resigned yesterday from his post as government minister, though curiously not as mayor of Draveil, the position of power he allegedly abused to sexually abuse two former female employees. Said abuse is alleged to have involved foot fetishism which progressed upwards while one of his female deputy mayors allegedly performed fellatio. You couldn't make it up, though that is exactly what Tron is claiming. One of the victims said she was inspired to bring a complaint by a mere chambermaid being brave enough to do so against the head of the IMF.
Back in our personal mundane sphere, things trundle along much as normal, though there is another break today in what is officially the hottest spring since records began at the turn of the last century. The feeding, playing, sleeping routine for la petite continues with more playing and interest in objects, which in turn leads to being more easily distracted when feeding, and getting more readily bored when there's nothing to entertain her. Growing up fast...
27 mai 2011
Walking out
Life in Lyon with added small person continues in a routine of sorts: feed, sleep, play, feed, sleep, feed, play, walk along the river in the sunshine, feed, sleep, sleepy feed, big sleep. Minor disruptions from time to time, particularly in recent times and particularly towards the end of the afternoon when cranky moods are only resolved with food. Major disruption in just over a week when la bienheureuse is forced to return to earning a living for three. Apprehensive we are, all three…
Medical life resulted in another routine visit to le pédiatre yesterday. Another jab in the thigh, though this time la petite screamed before rather than after. Babies, laws unto themselves. Satisfactory growth observed, 1kg heavier, 2.5cm taller, brain circumference 1.5cm larger.
Sporting life in Lyon received a needed boost last night with victory in the Champions League final for Olympique Lyonnais, female version. Their male counterparts have not done so well, and the not-so-sporting public at Gerland have let them know it. On Saturday evening I trudged along to the last home match of the season, a singularly uninspired 0-0 draw with Caen, which leaves 3rd place in the league and a qualifying spot for next season's Champions League in the balance until the last game of the season on Sunday. Regardless of the result, the fans made their displeasure known before, during and after the match. The self-styled Bad Gones, the lower tier hard core in the Virage Nord, unveiled sarcastic and critical banners and chants (mostly targeting coach Claude Puel - example: 'Puel, the man who transforms a formula one car into a pedal car') throughout the match. Or rather until the 69th minute, when they walked out en-masse (the local paper put the number at 500) in protest at the way the team has performed this season. Talk about supporting your club through thick and thin…
Media life in France is still dominated by l'affaire DSK, which continues to rumble along in the background of every news bulletin, now providing context for two other stories: firstly the candidature of Christine Lagarde to replace DSK at the IMF, and now there is now another sex scandal to share the headlines. Government minister Georges Tron has been accused of sexual harassment by two women who worked under him in the mairie at Draveil, where he is mayor. He denies everything and denounces a far-right plot designed to bring him down because of disagreements he has had in the past with the sister of the leader of the Front National, pointing at the fact that the lawyer for the two alleged victims is a close friend of Marine Le Pen. The latter is in turn threatening to sue Tron for defamation. All good dirty political fun.
Medical life resulted in another routine visit to le pédiatre yesterday. Another jab in the thigh, though this time la petite screamed before rather than after. Babies, laws unto themselves. Satisfactory growth observed, 1kg heavier, 2.5cm taller, brain circumference 1.5cm larger.
Sporting life in Lyon received a needed boost last night with victory in the Champions League final for Olympique Lyonnais, female version. Their male counterparts have not done so well, and the not-so-sporting public at Gerland have let them know it. On Saturday evening I trudged along to the last home match of the season, a singularly uninspired 0-0 draw with Caen, which leaves 3rd place in the league and a qualifying spot for next season's Champions League in the balance until the last game of the season on Sunday. Regardless of the result, the fans made their displeasure known before, during and after the match. The self-styled Bad Gones, the lower tier hard core in the Virage Nord, unveiled sarcastic and critical banners and chants (mostly targeting coach Claude Puel - example: 'Puel, the man who transforms a formula one car into a pedal car') throughout the match. Or rather until the 69th minute, when they walked out en-masse (the local paper put the number at 500) in protest at the way the team has performed this season. Talk about supporting your club through thick and thin…
Media life in France is still dominated by l'affaire DSK, which continues to rumble along in the background of every news bulletin, now providing context for two other stories: firstly the candidature of Christine Lagarde to replace DSK at the IMF, and now there is now another sex scandal to share the headlines. Government minister Georges Tron has been accused of sexual harassment by two women who worked under him in the mairie at Draveil, where he is mayor. He denies everything and denounces a far-right plot designed to bring him down because of disagreements he has had in the past with the sister of the leader of the Front National, pointing at the fact that the lawyer for the two alleged victims is a close friend of Marine Le Pen. The latter is in turn threatening to sue Tron for defamation. All good dirty political fun.
18 mai 2011
Thunderclaps
The long hot spring-summer broke briefly at the end of last week. A thunderstorm worthy of mid August lit up the Lyon night sky on Wednesday. Thursday was cool and wet, and the following weekend was a mixture of sunshine and showers. Proper spring weather. The early summer was back on Monday. 27C sunshine today and hotter weather on the way. Reservoir levels are at record lows and there is deep concern about what is looking like the worst drought since 1976.
Meanwhile, a political thunderclap and three letters have dominated headlines in France since Saturday: DSK. The french love an acronym, and the downfall of the head of the IMF has been a gift for headline writers. The main reaction here has been one of shock, not so much by the fact that the frontrunner for the presidential elections next year has been accused of rape, but more so by the way he was treated by the American judicial system. The images of Strauss-Kahn handcuffed and appearing in court, banned in France, have shocked the nation and generated a certain amount of sympathy for the alleged rapist. My own straw poll of opinions in the jewellers I visited yesterday (changing watch batteries, I hasten to add) produced a split result. The jeweller said he'd never sell an American made watch again, his wife thought DSK had it coming, and the client thought it was all a plot. She's not the only one - a newspaper poll this morning suggested over 50% of the French think it's an anti-French conspiracy.
The winners and losers are fairly clear. The Socialists have been left reeling, and the ruling UMP have been rather smugly refraining from any comment that might look like gloating. Polls had DSK a fairly clear winner against Sarko in the elections next year; Sarko against other socialist candidates would be much closer affairs. Meanwhile, Marine le Pen is almost openly rubbing her hands with glee…
Before the news broke on Saturday, French minds were occupied by the road safety changes announced recently. No more road signs warning of speed camera placements; speed camera warning systems made illegal; stiffer penalties for drink driving and excessive speeding. The outrage was almost as widespread as a couple of weeks recently, when parking fines went up from 11 to a whole 19 euros.
On the domestic front, la bienheureuse et la petite survived 30 hours without papa on Sunday/Monday, while he made a final pilgrimage of the season to watch another abject performance. Least said about that the better. The trip was made worthwhile by lunch with le grand chef et la petite beaucoup in the pub before the match, in the company of an old schoolfriend, who is as good as me about keeping in touch - 35 years since we last laid eyes on each other. Funny how little we've changed, and how much we've changed. Grey hair and wrinkles, but still the same old school mate...
Meanwhile, a political thunderclap and three letters have dominated headlines in France since Saturday: DSK. The french love an acronym, and the downfall of the head of the IMF has been a gift for headline writers. The main reaction here has been one of shock, not so much by the fact that the frontrunner for the presidential elections next year has been accused of rape, but more so by the way he was treated by the American judicial system. The images of Strauss-Kahn handcuffed and appearing in court, banned in France, have shocked the nation and generated a certain amount of sympathy for the alleged rapist. My own straw poll of opinions in the jewellers I visited yesterday (changing watch batteries, I hasten to add) produced a split result. The jeweller said he'd never sell an American made watch again, his wife thought DSK had it coming, and the client thought it was all a plot. She's not the only one - a newspaper poll this morning suggested over 50% of the French think it's an anti-French conspiracy.
The winners and losers are fairly clear. The Socialists have been left reeling, and the ruling UMP have been rather smugly refraining from any comment that might look like gloating. Polls had DSK a fairly clear winner against Sarko in the elections next year; Sarko against other socialist candidates would be much closer affairs. Meanwhile, Marine le Pen is almost openly rubbing her hands with glee…
Before the news broke on Saturday, French minds were occupied by the road safety changes announced recently. No more road signs warning of speed camera placements; speed camera warning systems made illegal; stiffer penalties for drink driving and excessive speeding. The outrage was almost as widespread as a couple of weeks recently, when parking fines went up from 11 to a whole 19 euros.
On the domestic front, la bienheureuse et la petite survived 30 hours without papa on Sunday/Monday, while he made a final pilgrimage of the season to watch another abject performance. Least said about that the better. The trip was made worthwhile by lunch with le grand chef et la petite beaucoup in the pub before the match, in the company of an old schoolfriend, who is as good as me about keeping in touch - 35 years since we last laid eyes on each other. Funny how little we've changed, and how much we've changed. Grey hair and wrinkles, but still the same old school mate...
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