Burning bus, blazing sun

The week before was one of anticipation - of the return of the annual ski trip, and the forthcoming life-changing arrival. The latter necessitated another antenatal session and a rendezvous with an anaesthetist. All seems to be proceeding fine, with the wriggling, kicking and hiccupping little bump full of life. A larger bump proved rather more problematic, with a search for a helmet to fit my abnormally-sized and shaped head ending empty-headed.

From Friday onwards, skiing dominated events. The annual trip to Meribel was reinstated after last year's short hiatus. With minor personnel changes it followed a time-honoured course established over previous years, and went something like this:

Saturday
Le grand frère arrives on an early flight, I pick him up from the airport and then force march him to Les Halles to purchase cheese provisions for the week. Boeuf Bourguignon prepared and put in the oven before sacrificing my internet-stream-side seat at the sacred ground to set off to the airport once more to collect the DenEboy. The men in red and white manage a comfortable win in my absence. Back home we all await the arrival of J&C. And wait, and wait. Lost in Lyon. Again. They eventually get here with the help of some real-time telephone guidance, and a predictably convivial evening follows. Main topic of conversation: girls' names. Strange but true.

Sunday
We're up by nine am, le père potentiel suffering the mild after-effects of champagne, Côtes du Rhône and dodgy whisky. Organiser and head chef are away by ten, leaving the rest of us to install roof box, load up and follow about an hour later. Hopes of getting in a half-day skiing are dashed by a malfunctioning entry keypad and a coach on fire. The former causes the vanguard to await the arrival of an electrician, who is held up along with the rest of us in a 10km traffic queue behind the burning bus between Albertville and Moutiers. After 90 minutes spent going nowhere, we eventually arrive in Meribel village sometime after 3pm. A relaxing afternoon follows, and in the evening the gastronomic festival kicks off with a special from le grand chef - salmon and horseradish hors d'oeuvres, courgette and parmesan soup, with baked salmon and creamed parsnip to follow. All washed down with champagne and an eminently palatable vin blanc de pays de Provence. Le grand chef introduces l'architecte to the Tourterelle digestif tradition - a few generous snifters of Cognac.
Monday
The newcomers are scared into rising early by alcohol-fuelled talk of hitting the slopes at nine - a ploy by the old hands, which ensures croissants on the breakfast table by the time the majority make an eventual appearance. We're all finally sitting on the first lift by ten. A gentle morning skiing en masse follows - Jerusalem, Choucas and Le Grand Duc (scene of the first wipeout of the week - honours to le grand frère). Expensive pizzas for lunch in the Chaudanne, after which les skieuses head off for their first Super Suzie session of the week, leaving les garçons to sample the snow and the Combe de Saulire in Courchevel. Meanwhile la femme enceinte has been neglecting the strict observation of restful confinement by baking the traditional gâteaux choco-banane for our return and cooking lovely lamb tajine for dinner, complemented by un bon Côtes du Rhône and a sampling of the generous cheese board.

Tuesday
Early rising for those keen to improve their skiing, somewhat later start for the more lackadaisical. The latter find good snow on the red fox, but that one final run turns to near disaster, with a tumble and a dislocated shoulder for the le grand gooner. Fortunately he manages to pop it quickly back in, and soldiers manfully on through the pain for the rest of the week. We head over to Courchevel and meet up with les filles post lesson at 1650. Lunch taken and it's back onto the gentle 1650 pistes before those pesky Marmottes do their best to disrupt the journey home. Meanwhile la bienheureuse has been taking some exercise of her own at the swimming pool. For dinner la petite chefeuse rustles up tasty sausage casserole, champagne and Coteaux de Tricastin are quickly knocked back and then les gooners head to the pub to catch the second half of a famous semi-final comeback. Return to Wembley at last.
Wednesday
No pedagogic delights for les filles today, so it's a mass outing to the slopes below Dents de Burgin, where everybody practises their squidgy chocolate toes and squat-loo turns. Then all back to the chalet to give la future maman some company at lunch. And that's it for the day for some, the lure of sunshine on the front terrace proving stronger than artificial snow. Ma bien-aimée accompanies la grosse tête into Meribel in search once more of an oversized helmet, while the rest of the boys hit the slopes once more. Protection for an abnormal brain found at last. While le grand chef cooks up an old favourite for dinner, the remaining old rockers head to the packed pub to enjoy a brief Bring Your Sisters session. Back at the dinner table, venison stew is savoured with another old favourite, a veille vignes Vacqueyras from Le Couroulu.

Thursday
Morning lessons once more, the eager beavers are up and out early for their rendezvous with Super Suzie. The laggards follow some time later and head to Les Menuires and La Masse to find the best snow of the week and lunch in the company of sundry like-minded personnes agées. The Tourterelle tyros are on cuisine duty in the evening and after la belle Debutante whips up a rich fruitcake while the stone man rustles up a corking Coq au Vin, complemented by un jolie Petit Chablis. They then introduce the rest of us to a frustrating after dinner game: Newmarket. Just like betting on horse racing: all luck and no skill. At least, smartyboots claims that as the reason for ending up bankrupt while smartyskis and la petite beaucoup walk away with the biggest pots of pasta.
Friday
Gruelling all-dayer for the Suzie pupils. The boys are bemused to discover that the sun has disappeared but, undeterred, head for the crowded heights of Val Thorens and la Cime de Caron. Nice, breezy run down, but once is deemed enough for the day, and we all do our bit by accompanying a troupe of mini-skiers on a lift on the way home. At Mont de la Chambre we go our separate ways; le grand chef goes off towards Les Menuires to practise his counter-rotation; the tired architect heads for home; the DenE and BJ boys attack lunch and then Mont Vallon before one quick run down Combe Saulire to say they'd skied 3 valleys in a day. Meanwhile la bienheureuse treats herself to a facial before purchasing provisions and preparing fantastic fruit salad. The newly helmeted chef allows his brother to perform the potato peeling donkey work, leaving only the easy job of putting together the traditional tartiflette. Côtes du Rhône, Vacqueyras and Cognac finish the evening off nicely for most, though les debutants and the DenEboy still have enough energy for a quick pub sortie, quick being the operative word. Seems Bring Your Sisters' late evening set caters more for the younger crowd: stripteases and ankle-deep broken glass de rigueur.
Saturday
Last day, let's all ski together. All apart from l'expert, who tires of waiting for the rest of us to get moving and heads for his own favourite black runs. The less ambitious go up Col de la Loze, down into La Tania, back up and down into 1850. Then lunch at the Courchneige, well worth the hour spent searching for it. In the afternoon a final foray into 1650 before heading home without the DenEboy ever catching us up. Leftover venison, sausages and tartiflette for dinner. Tasty as ever, and the final bottles of champagne and Coteaux de Tricastin polished off too. Wine quantity perfectly judged, wine quality judged perfect.

Sunday
The Cambridge flyers are up and away by six am, so quietly that no-one hears them go. Le grand chef et la petite organisateuse are next to head home, leaving le grand frère and the mogul-lover to hit the slopes for a farewell morning's skiing, while the bump and old bighead enjoy a pleasant walk up through the ice, snow and trees to the altiport. We take the lift back down, a novel experience for both of us, and then eat lunch at the Lodge while watching the Gunners struggle to shake off the tenacious Terriers. All's well that ends well, the 5th round beckons, the boys return, and the four of us pile into la veille voiture for the trip home. Tired but satisfied, we reach Lyon at 5.30 and collapse into bed not long afterwards. Another terrific Tourterelle trip comes to an end…

Three and easy

Splendid weekend, more like April than mid-January. Dawn to dusk sunshine and temperatures in the mid-teens dragged us out on Saturday afternoon for a walk in the park, where giraffes gambolled in the belief that spring had arrived. The weekend also marked the official start of le congé maternité de la bienheureuse. Not quite the end of work though, because the infernal computer came home with her to allow peace of mind and a few bits and pieces to be finished off.

Saturday was also first day back for French football after the winter break. Feeding both English and French habits proved a logistical problem, with the Gooners in the early evening slot and les Gones playing at 9pm. La bienheureuse has ceded her seat at Gerland to a work colleague for the rest of the season but accompanied me to the pub in the hope of eating dinner while we watched part one of the evening's drama. Vain hope, with the pub full of first Saturday sales shoppers and the crucial match only on the upstairs screen where food is banned. An attempt to persuade the manager to put it on downstairs failed, so she went home and put her feet up while I watched the Irons easily hammered and then hotfooted it to Gerland. End result, two comfortable 3-0 wins, with the transformation of a former whipping boy from the local enemy into a top Gone hero complete.

In relief

Another early alarm call last Wednesday, a shock to the system after a fortnight of lie-ins. By 11am local time I was in a different country, via a bumpy landing at Gatwick, while la bienheureuse followed me to the airport in Lyon, acting as chauffeur to la belle-mère. An afternoon of bookshop browsing and coffee drinking passed slowly, but at last I was back in the Marquess eating a burger, supping beer, and exchanging new year greetings with gooner confrère et consoeur, J&C. Three hours later we trudged out of the hallowed ground in the rain, having been treated to the sky blue citizens' idea of how to spend more than 100 million quid and bore your opposition and fans to tears.

After a morning reading and TV watching in chilly Cambridge I got home late in the evening via train, plane and fruitless dash across the airport to catch a tram. The following morning la bienheureuse and I were back at the hospital for another scan to check up on excess fluid. Still more than normal, but otherwise tout va bien, so nothing to worry about. Indeed, something to marvel about, with the kindly medicin showing off the scanner's 3D capability and giving us a glimpse of a little face in relief.

A spot of panic on Saturday morning soon passed, and I spent the rest of a very mild weekend slumped in front of the box, while ma bien-aimée attempted to restore order and routine to home life. FA cup weekend has the added advantage of English football on free-to-air French TV, though where the advantage of watching reserve heroes struggle against lower league opposition lies, only I can tell…

Loose ends

Hangovers were pushed to the back on News Year's Day with a visit to Les Halles, where la cuñada and I feasted on oysters, prawns and Chablis while the others watched. The afternoon was spent recovering, with leftover duck on the menu for dinner. Sunday was an even lazier day, apart from our guests rousing themselves early to do the croissant run and purchase tartiflette provisions for dinner. A day of snoozing and DVD watching.

Monday la bienheureuse was technically back at work, though at home, her boss having granted permission for home working for the final two weeks before confinement. While la belle-mère busied herself with some sewing, our other guests decided they ought to do some more sightseeing. I acted as demanding guide on a wide-ranging round tour - Bellecour, Vieux Lyon, Places Celestins & Jacobins, le mur des lyonnais and a gruelling ascent to the Croix Rousse. Then a steep descent to the banks of the Rhône where little legs decided they were too tired for a further detour via the park.

La bienheureuse and I had another antenatal session in the early evening, so once breathing and pushing were mastered we met the others for a farewell dinner at Les Oliviers. Thanks to our generous guests for a lovely meal and visit.

This morning I was up early to go and consult a man about a rear end checkup and home in time to see off our visitors as they headed towards the station via a cheese and meat lunch in Les Halles. Quiet re-descends, leaving us to contemplate a busy few days and a busy year.

In the wider world, a few stories were in the process of winding up towards the end of the old year. Bettencourt mere et fille called a truce in their inheritance war, though the richest woman in France is still facing investigation over tax evasion. Meanwhile, recriminations over the way the country grinds to a halt in bad weather continue (sound familiar?), and the investigation into the Karachi affair rumbles on.

New Year revisited

More guests arrived two days before the nouvel an. I met le petit frère and la new cuñada at Part Dieu early on Wednesday evening and dragged them and suitcases back to the apartment where succulent lamb tajine and a bottle of champagne awaited. Unsurprisingly, it was midday before the fast was broken and we were ready to head out for a tourist stroll through Lyon. Up to Fourvière (senior citizens and pregnant women via the funicular, the more able-bodied via a slog up the 399 steps and hill) for a look at the view and basilica, then back down to the old town via the Roman amphitheatre. A very late lunch in A La Traboule where the entrées were filling enough to serve as an entire meal. Then back home via Places Terreaux and Lyautey. Siestas and a light quiche and salad dinner followed.

Lazy last day of the year, which we'll blame on a headache the sufferer put down to eye problems. Or vice versa. Fortunately the pain was gone by the evening, to allow full participation in celebrating the coming of the new year. Double roast duck with sausage, apple and chestnut stuffing for dinner, followed by a second Christmas as presents were exchanged, mostly in one direction and mostly baby related. Two bottles of champagne and a red wine or two later, we were all enjoying a magnetic game. The new year was seen in with party poppers and roman candles, and the building almost burnt down. The new year was more than 2 hours old by the time we all fell into bed. Even la bienheureuse managed to last until one.