Familiar Monday morning routine: visit to l'Hôpital de la Croix Rousse; blood tests, blood pressure checks for la mère; heart monitoring for le bébé. All A-okay, blood pressure even slightly lower than normal. And one contraction detected. Ooerr, not long now…
Back at home, frustration. La Poste has managed to lose a parcel containing a vital means of support. They tried to deliver last week when we were at the hospital, so left a note telling us to collect it from the nearest branch. Next day, try to pick it up: "not here yet." Following day, try again: "can't find it, we'll try and find out where it is and call you." Three days later, still no phone call, so go back and ask. "Sorry, can't find it, won't find it, nothing we can do without a tracking number." Grr…
Yesterday evening I was spoilt by a second live match in a week. The richest team in the world were the visitors to Lyon and, for a seventh match in a row, they failed to beat little OL. They did manage to avoid defeat at Gerland this time, thanks to les gones' inability to turn a first half superiority into goals. Still, I enjoyed myself roundly booing some old favourite pantomime villains. Seems Greedybayor has been taking diving and whinging lessons from the Step-over nancy boy and the Special Bore. The latter replaced two attacking midfielders with a defender and defensive midfielder in an attempt to shut up shop when the royal madrilènes scored midway through the second half (relying on an ex-lyonnais to give them the lead), handing the initiative back to OL. Tactical genius.
