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.

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...

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...

Eclipsed

Perhaps it was the lunar eclipse and the associated full moon. The day after, a little angel turned into a little monster for three hours. Or perhaps it was the fact that her mother was working out of town and thus didn't get home in time for the usual bedtime routine. Earlier in the day she was a perfect little sweetheart - went down for morning and lunchtime naps with nary a whimper, slept well, played, shouted and gurgled happily all day. Until 4pm when I tried to put her to bed for the usual siesta.

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…

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...

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…

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...