Still, things are looking up. Two weeks of rest and relaxation in damp Blighty over the Christmas break coming up. Though to get there we've got a 1200km drive with two sick parents and a child who hates car seats to get through first…
20 décembre 2012
Lights in the dark
La Fête des Lumières, edition 2012 turned out to be one of the better vintages of recent years. Impressive displays in at la Cathédrale St Jean, la Place des Terreaux, la colline de Fourvière and le Théâtre des Celestins were the highlights. The only drawback of it all was that the festival seemed more popular than ever, with streets more crowded than ever. For example, an average of almost 200000 people watched "les Chrysalides de St Jean" each night, which is a lot of bodies to pass through the small square in front of the cathedral. La bienheureuse et la belle-mère were forced to queue for almost an hour to see that particular display. La petite famille's viewing was rather more restricted than usual, due to the demands and sleep needs of a small toddler, exhaustion, illness, and cold, damp weather.
Winter malady first reared its ugly head at the end of last month when la bienheureuse was struck down by a particularly nasty virus. Three weeks later she still hasn't shaken it, which isn't helpful given her condition, and now I've picked it up too. Worst cold in history. The streaming nose was relatively short-lived, but the more viscous snot is still clogging sore sinuses, leading to disturbed nights' sleep and the whole-body aches for a couple of days. La petite has also suffered her worst cold yet, but she at least seems more robust than her parents and it only lasted two weeks. The snotty period was followed by a chesty cough, loss of appetite, mild fever and a completely uncharacteristic listlessness that lasted several days. It was rather distressing to watch a little girl who normally never stops charging about just lying quietly on the floor feeling sorry for herself, and meekly going to bed with barely a whimper.
Still, things are looking up. Two weeks of rest and relaxation in damp Blighty over the Christmas break coming up. Though to get there we've got a 1200km drive with two sick parents and a child who hates car seats to get through first…
Still, things are looking up. Two weeks of rest and relaxation in damp Blighty over the Christmas break coming up. Though to get there we've got a 1200km drive with two sick parents and a child who hates car seats to get through first…
04 décembre 2012
Frozen out
The first snow of the winter fell in Lyon on the first day of the first winter month. A mere centimetre or so, but a sign that winter has arrived. That other harbinger of winter in Lyon, la Fête des Lumières takes place this weekend, an event that has lured la belle-mère across the channel for her habitual visit. Light energy and a small bundle of human energy - enough to keep her entertained almost full time. Any spare time is taken up with acting as temporary kitchen maid and seamstress.
Meanwhile, the predicted traffic armageddon in Lyon due to the closure of the Croix Rousse tunnel never happened, but almost arrived yesterday. The Franco-Italian summit was held in Lyon, leading to an all-day exclusion zone round the Prefecture du Rhône, cancellation of any buses going anywhere nearby, large traffic jams and much complaining by commuters. All with the aim of keeping protests about the proposed Lyon-Turin high-speed rail link at bay. In the end there were fewer than 1000 protestors, and most of the those arrived late in the day having been deliberately held up by police checks on the buses bringing them from Italy. Democracy and freedom of speech, who needs it…
President Hollande might have been spared the anti rail-link demonstrations, but he is still under fire from almost everywhere else. Rising unemployment, French credit-rating downgraded, low growth, etc, etc. Still, the main opposition have managed to bring him temporary respite by going into self-destruct mode. The recent UMP leadership election led to the victory of Jean-François Copé over François Fillon by a mere 98 votes in several hundred thousand. Despite a later recount somehow increasing the lead to nearly a thousand, the UMP seems almost irreconcilably split in two, Copé's hard right faction against the Fillon moderates. Seems likely to be a while before the right organises itself into an effective opposition to the government. Don't be surprised to see Sarko making a comeback in a couple of years, in time for the next presidential elections…
Meanwhile, the predicted traffic armageddon in Lyon due to the closure of the Croix Rousse tunnel never happened, but almost arrived yesterday. The Franco-Italian summit was held in Lyon, leading to an all-day exclusion zone round the Prefecture du Rhône, cancellation of any buses going anywhere nearby, large traffic jams and much complaining by commuters. All with the aim of keeping protests about the proposed Lyon-Turin high-speed rail link at bay. In the end there were fewer than 1000 protestors, and most of the those arrived late in the day having been deliberately held up by police checks on the buses bringing them from Italy. Democracy and freedom of speech, who needs it…
President Hollande might have been spared the anti rail-link demonstrations, but he is still under fire from almost everywhere else. Rising unemployment, French credit-rating downgraded, low growth, etc, etc. Still, the main opposition have managed to bring him temporary respite by going into self-destruct mode. The recent UMP leadership election led to the victory of Jean-François Copé over François Fillon by a mere 98 votes in several hundred thousand. Despite a later recount somehow increasing the lead to nearly a thousand, the UMP seems almost irreconcilably split in two, Copé's hard right faction against the Fillon moderates. Seems likely to be a while before the right organises itself into an effective opposition to the government. Don't be surprised to see Sarko making a comeback in a couple of years, in time for the next presidential elections…
29 novembre 2012
Northumbrian sands
The days shorten, the thermometer falls, winter approaches. Last week we exchanged the fading light of the Lyonnais autumn for the British version during a long weekend break. The occasion was a birthday celebration for the soggydiver (1st class, national instructor). Given the remoteness of the chosen location and associated lack of convenient flights, in the end we chose to extend the weekend with an initial stop over in Bexleyheath, which we reached via a half-empty British flag carrier flight to Heathrow and a hire car journey round the M25 in the pouring rain. The latter with a tea break in the middle to pick up keys from the mistress of the house at her workplace deep in Kent/Sussex border country.
In the event the keys went unused as our arrival at destination coincided with the return of the male half of the good Doctors C. No sooner had Madam returned with the two Jezlings in tow an hour or so later, than I sneaked away for an evening of guilty worship at the sacred ground. A lift to and from the train station, a 2-0 victory over the French champions and a 13th successive qualification for the knockout phases of the Champions League made missing out on beef stew for dinner and suffering the habitual British railway delays bearable. Tiredness was counterbalanced by loud snoring from both sides. La petite otherwise seemed to sleep well until the usual time, French time at least. She did allow us a fifteen minute lie-in though, before making the delighted discovery that her cot was right next to where her parents lay feigning sleep.
The part-time working mother had the next day off, so in the morning she took us to a garden centre where la petite had much fun in a small soft play area, pushed around a mini shopping trolley and said hello to three real-life Santa's reindeers. After the habitual post-lunch nap, we took her to the shopping centre for new shoes and new clothes - no VAT exemption on children's clothing in France. The mini-Jezoids returned soon afterwards and the house was filled with the sound of battling robots and more or less tuneful clarinet and tenor horn playing. Good old bangers and mash was on the menu for dinner before bed for the kids and champagne for the adults. Thence began a second night of sharing a bedroom with a toddler. This time the snoring wasn't as loud and the wakeup chorus from the cot was half an hour later at just before seven.
Faced by a six hour road trip, we said our goodbyes and took our leave of the former UKC postgraduates by ten on Friday morning. First two hour stint - smooth and quiet, with more gentle snoring from the child seat in the back. Following a Happy Eater lunch somewhere north of Peterborough, the second stretch was almost as smooth, though the chirping from the back grew gradually more plaintiff as the journey wore on. Coffee, apple juice and mince pie at Scotch Corner services brought temporary respite, but by the time we hit Tyneside car-seat stir craziness had well and truly set in, not helped by the total absence of direction signs for Alnmouth as soon as we got off the A1. A phone call to Dr Organiser soon set us on the right road though, and we arrived slightly the worse for wear at our impressive lodgings on the Northumberland coast less than 8 hours after setting off from Kent.
After our hosts we were the first to arrive, soon followed by the DenEboy who had undertaken the 6 hour drive on his own. Spaghetti Bolognese was on the dinner table for six before, later in the evening, numbers were completed by Crystal Tipps and the Caipirinha Kid, who more sensibly let the train take the strain of bearing not limes and cachaça but home-made Marmite sausages and bacon.
It was thus a late night for all, relatively speaking anyway, and therefore a late morning for most. Not surprisingly it was the couples without young children who had the longest lie-ins. La petite got us up closer to normal time, UK time, but only after a night of somewhat disturbed sleep. We managed to keep her amused for a couple of hours until brunch, a slap-up fry-up which was worth the wait. Replete with sausages, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, beans, English muffins and Scottish tattie scones, we then all trooped out for a walk along the beach. It was a lovely stroll - the hazy sunshine and calm sea on a windless morning almost made it feel warm. La petite took a 15 minute power nap on papa's back and then enjoyed digging in the sand and flying between two adults.
Back at the ranch, the morning activity led to another 15 minute power nap, this time for the birthday girl, the smallest tummy in the party had a lunch-time snack and then we all piled into two cars for a trip into Alnwick. A meandering stroll round the town centre was followed by an obligatory visit to Barter Books. La petite famille restricted themselves to a browse in the children's section before heading back to base to try and fit in an afternoon nap. Meanwhile the rest kept calm and carried on browsing for another hour or so.
Chicken Fajitas were on the dinner menu that night, delicious they were too, prepared again by our generous birthday-celebrating host. The rigours of the weekend then gradually took their toll and, one by one, we drifted off to bed. The Cambsac boys were the last up, viewing Rolling Stones retrospectives and then football, though in the case of the DenEboy, up was a relative term. Somehow he woke up when the Canaries came on, then fell asleep straight afterwards when the last, read least eventful, match of the day was shown. Funnily enough the latter was what forced me to be the last man standing.
As the rain poured down outside, a rather restless night of toddler and parent sleep followed, but at least we were allowed a lie-in until almost eight. Brunch was as good as the previous morning, and then it was time for an hour or two of concerted tidying and cleaning before we all packed up and made our separate ways home. The end of a lovely two-day Northumberland break.
Not quite the end of the travelling for us though. Wary of subjecting la petite to another six hours in the car, we chose to break our journey back to Heathrow with an overnight stop in a hotel in Robin Hood country. How right we were - la petite by this time had definitely decided she didn't much appreciate being strapped into a car seat. More rain and habitually heavy M1 traffic didn't make the journey easier, but we got there in one piece, had a quick dinner and then all settled down to sleep.
Tried to settle down to sleep anyway. Quality of sleep over five nights of sharing a bedroom with a toddler gradually deteriorated. Nonetheless we survived until first light, had breakfast and set off on the road south once more. The complaints from the back seat gradually quietened and were superseded by snoring during the final hour. We dropped off the hire car, checked in and were through departures a full 3 hours before our flight was due to depart. Which left plenty of time for a leisurely lunch and browse in the shops, but also left plenty of room for time to drag, particularly as the flight was delayed by half an hour. Back in Lyon, it was pouring with rain and the fridge and cupboards were bare. Welcome home.
In the event the keys went unused as our arrival at destination coincided with the return of the male half of the good Doctors C. No sooner had Madam returned with the two Jezlings in tow an hour or so later, than I sneaked away for an evening of guilty worship at the sacred ground. A lift to and from the train station, a 2-0 victory over the French champions and a 13th successive qualification for the knockout phases of the Champions League made missing out on beef stew for dinner and suffering the habitual British railway delays bearable. Tiredness was counterbalanced by loud snoring from both sides. La petite otherwise seemed to sleep well until the usual time, French time at least. She did allow us a fifteen minute lie-in though, before making the delighted discovery that her cot was right next to where her parents lay feigning sleep.
The part-time working mother had the next day off, so in the morning she took us to a garden centre where la petite had much fun in a small soft play area, pushed around a mini shopping trolley and said hello to three real-life Santa's reindeers. After the habitual post-lunch nap, we took her to the shopping centre for new shoes and new clothes - no VAT exemption on children's clothing in France. The mini-Jezoids returned soon afterwards and the house was filled with the sound of battling robots and more or less tuneful clarinet and tenor horn playing. Good old bangers and mash was on the menu for dinner before bed for the kids and champagne for the adults. Thence began a second night of sharing a bedroom with a toddler. This time the snoring wasn't as loud and the wakeup chorus from the cot was half an hour later at just before seven.
Faced by a six hour road trip, we said our goodbyes and took our leave of the former UKC postgraduates by ten on Friday morning. First two hour stint - smooth and quiet, with more gentle snoring from the child seat in the back. Following a Happy Eater lunch somewhere north of Peterborough, the second stretch was almost as smooth, though the chirping from the back grew gradually more plaintiff as the journey wore on. Coffee, apple juice and mince pie at Scotch Corner services brought temporary respite, but by the time we hit Tyneside car-seat stir craziness had well and truly set in, not helped by the total absence of direction signs for Alnmouth as soon as we got off the A1. A phone call to Dr Organiser soon set us on the right road though, and we arrived slightly the worse for wear at our impressive lodgings on the Northumberland coast less than 8 hours after setting off from Kent.
After our hosts we were the first to arrive, soon followed by the DenEboy who had undertaken the 6 hour drive on his own. Spaghetti Bolognese was on the dinner table for six before, later in the evening, numbers were completed by Crystal Tipps and the Caipirinha Kid, who more sensibly let the train take the strain of bearing not limes and cachaça but home-made Marmite sausages and bacon.
It was thus a late night for all, relatively speaking anyway, and therefore a late morning for most. Not surprisingly it was the couples without young children who had the longest lie-ins. La petite got us up closer to normal time, UK time, but only after a night of somewhat disturbed sleep. We managed to keep her amused for a couple of hours until brunch, a slap-up fry-up which was worth the wait. Replete with sausages, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, beans, English muffins and Scottish tattie scones, we then all trooped out for a walk along the beach. It was a lovely stroll - the hazy sunshine and calm sea on a windless morning almost made it feel warm. La petite took a 15 minute power nap on papa's back and then enjoyed digging in the sand and flying between two adults.
Back at the ranch, the morning activity led to another 15 minute power nap, this time for the birthday girl, the smallest tummy in the party had a lunch-time snack and then we all piled into two cars for a trip into Alnwick. A meandering stroll round the town centre was followed by an obligatory visit to Barter Books. La petite famille restricted themselves to a browse in the children's section before heading back to base to try and fit in an afternoon nap. Meanwhile the rest kept calm and carried on browsing for another hour or so.
Chicken Fajitas were on the dinner menu that night, delicious they were too, prepared again by our generous birthday-celebrating host. The rigours of the weekend then gradually took their toll and, one by one, we drifted off to bed. The Cambsac boys were the last up, viewing Rolling Stones retrospectives and then football, though in the case of the DenEboy, up was a relative term. Somehow he woke up when the Canaries came on, then fell asleep straight afterwards when the last, read least eventful, match of the day was shown. Funnily enough the latter was what forced me to be the last man standing.
As the rain poured down outside, a rather restless night of toddler and parent sleep followed, but at least we were allowed a lie-in until almost eight. Brunch was as good as the previous morning, and then it was time for an hour or two of concerted tidying and cleaning before we all packed up and made our separate ways home. The end of a lovely two-day Northumberland break.
Not quite the end of the travelling for us though. Wary of subjecting la petite to another six hours in the car, we chose to break our journey back to Heathrow with an overnight stop in a hotel in Robin Hood country. How right we were - la petite by this time had definitely decided she didn't much appreciate being strapped into a car seat. More rain and habitually heavy M1 traffic didn't make the journey easier, but we got there in one piece, had a quick dinner and then all settled down to sleep.
Tried to settle down to sleep anyway. Quality of sleep over five nights of sharing a bedroom with a toddler gradually deteriorated. Nonetheless we survived until first light, had breakfast and set off on the road south once more. The complaints from the back seat gradually quietened and were superseded by snoring during the final hour. We dropped off the hire car, checked in and were through departures a full 3 hours before our flight was due to depart. Which left plenty of time for a leisurely lunch and browse in the shops, but also left plenty of room for time to drag, particularly as the flight was delayed by half an hour. Back in Lyon, it was pouring with rain and the fridge and cupboards were bare. Welcome home.
15 novembre 2012
Sniffy, snotty, snooty
The third Thursday in November is a notable day in the Lyonnais calendar - le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé. The first barrels duly floated down the Saône to be opened at midnight in Place Bellecour last night, despite what has been termed a difficult summer for les viticulteurs. Poor weather has apparently halved the grape harvest in the Beaujolais with a subsequent knock-on effect for wine production and could result in around 300 of the 2300 producers going out of business. On top of that they had to put up with Marine Le Pen paying them a publicity-seeking visit. Adding insult to injury, a view shared by the president of the traditional Beaujolais Nouveau fête in Beaujeu, capital of the region - "I hope I don't bump into her…"
Fortunately the bad weather and the presence of the National Front leader haven't soured the quality of this year's vintage, which apparently tastes of banana, strawberry and sweets.
Domestic wine consumption over the weekend was more restrained than normal because I was across the Channel for another overnight pilgrimage to the home of football. Normally the reverse would be true due to my hosts' generous hospitality, but on this occasion the morning flight and two pints of beer to accompany a very tasty pre-game lunch in the Snooty Fox resulted in a mild hangover before the evening was out. The upside was that it was gone by the morning. Overall, a splendid weekend, bar the topsy-turvy result against the Cottagers.
Meanwhile, back in Lyon les deux filles were having a good weekend without me, despite la petite suffering the beginnings of yet another cold. Fortunately it seems to be a less virulent variant, having almost run its course already. Even at its worst on Sunday I was treated to a beaming smile when I was picked up at the airport. Ahh...
Fortunately the bad weather and the presence of the National Front leader haven't soured the quality of this year's vintage, which apparently tastes of banana, strawberry and sweets.
Domestic wine consumption over the weekend was more restrained than normal because I was across the Channel for another overnight pilgrimage to the home of football. Normally the reverse would be true due to my hosts' generous hospitality, but on this occasion the morning flight and two pints of beer to accompany a very tasty pre-game lunch in the Snooty Fox resulted in a mild hangover before the evening was out. The upside was that it was gone by the morning. Overall, a splendid weekend, bar the topsy-turvy result against the Cottagers.
Meanwhile, back in Lyon les deux filles were having a good weekend without me, despite la petite suffering the beginnings of yet another cold. Fortunately it seems to be a less virulent variant, having almost run its course already. Even at its worst on Sunday I was treated to a beaming smile when I was picked up at the airport. Ahh...
08 novembre 2012
All saints action
The first of November happily fell on a Thursday this year, which meant a four day weekend. And, after a bit of dithering we eventually dropped la petite off at the crèche as normal on the bank holiday All Saints day, which meant a rare day together sans enfant. A shortened day that is, because despite arriving later than normal, our little darling was the first one there. And with the regulars doing a training course, unfamiliar replacement staff meant we had to stay an hour before shyness was eventually overcome and other kids began turning up to aid distraction.
Another bonus of the autumn school break was the temporary installation of an indoor kids' play area with bouncy castles, climbing wall, trampolines and the like in a large hall out at the university. Alerted to it by our neighbour, we undertook a trip there via tram on Saturday morning. La petite cascadeuse had great fun in the under-3s soft-play area, but her favourite was the trampolines. After such an energetic morning, the hitherto inexhaustible toddler fell asleep in her parents' arms on the way home.
Such fun was had that papa et la petite made a return trip yesterday while mama was away in Vienna. Somewhat busier than at the weekend, but no less enjoyable, particularly as we managed to get onto the trampolines at the right time, before the queues built up later in the morning. In between, the sporting weekend continued on Sunday with another trip to the swimming pool. The advantage of activity mornings is an almost guaranteed two-hour plus siesta, which on Sunday was useful as la petite didn't have to witness papa getting all upset in front of the TV while 22 men ran around chasing a ball.
The end of les vacances scolaires next Monday could see Lyon gridlocked. The Croix Rousse tunnel, which is one of the main east-west routes through the city closed this week for nine months of upgrade and safety work. Almost fifty thousand vehicles use it each day, a lot of traffic for other, already saturated roads in the city to absorb. Predictions of doom and chaos all round, but so far so good, apparently, with extra metros, park & ride sites, car-sharing schemes and so on all helping take the strain. The real test however comes with the return of the school run next week...
Another bonus of the autumn school break was the temporary installation of an indoor kids' play area with bouncy castles, climbing wall, trampolines and the like in a large hall out at the university. Alerted to it by our neighbour, we undertook a trip there via tram on Saturday morning. La petite cascadeuse had great fun in the under-3s soft-play area, but her favourite was the trampolines. After such an energetic morning, the hitherto inexhaustible toddler fell asleep in her parents' arms on the way home.
Such fun was had that papa et la petite made a return trip yesterday while mama was away in Vienna. Somewhat busier than at the weekend, but no less enjoyable, particularly as we managed to get onto the trampolines at the right time, before the queues built up later in the morning. In between, the sporting weekend continued on Sunday with another trip to the swimming pool. The advantage of activity mornings is an almost guaranteed two-hour plus siesta, which on Sunday was useful as la petite didn't have to witness papa getting all upset in front of the TV while 22 men ran around chasing a ball.
The end of les vacances scolaires next Monday could see Lyon gridlocked. The Croix Rousse tunnel, which is one of the main east-west routes through the city closed this week for nine months of upgrade and safety work. Almost fifty thousand vehicles use it each day, a lot of traffic for other, already saturated roads in the city to absorb. Predictions of doom and chaos all round, but so far so good, apparently, with extra metros, park & ride sites, car-sharing schemes and so on all helping take the strain. The real test however comes with the return of the school run next week...
31 octobre 2012
Correspondent reports
Nappy changing report: further progress, la petite now more or less happily lies down to don new diaper, but still prefers upright bum-cleaning. Latest quirks include excitedly burrowing under the duvet on parents' bed, and jumping off every kerb and low-level window ledge between home and playground or crèche. How to turn two minute walks into half hour marathons.
Health report: youngest member of the family in bouncing good form, older couple suffering from various bugs, latest of the gastric variety. Mine was a mere 6 hour variant, albeit virulent enough to bring back bad pre-colonoscopy laxative memories. La bienheureuse then either caught it off me, reacted to my cooking or caught an entirely different virus, and suffered for rather longer, encompassing an overnight work trip to Basle. All rear ends squeaky clean now though…
Weather report: a brief cold snap two weeks ago was followed by ten days of unseasonably mild weather, though with only rare glimpses of sunshine. Last weekend it all changed - maximum of 7 degrees, a full 17 lower than 7 days previously. Winter's icy tentacles are reaching Lyon...
State of the nation report: not good. Approval ratings for president and prime minister at all time low, economy stagnant, taxes on the rise, discontent rumbling. Not that any other new government could have done any better, but the Socialists don't seem to make things easy for themselves. Latest example of some government spokesman or other shooting themselves in the foot was PM Ayrault apparently saying going back to a 39 hour working week wouldn't be ruled out, going against a Socialist policy set in stone. Cue criticism and clarification from fellow PS members, and immediate "we told you so" shouts from opposition UMP politicians.
There was an interesting article on the BBC news site a couple of weeks ago, comparing the mood in France with that in Britain. Unabated Gallic pessimism vs cautious British optimism, was the gist of the article, despite the two economies being in roughly the same leaking boats. Partly down to the Olympic effect, partly down the national psyche…?
Sporting report: could do better, much better. After an optimistic start to the season, nasty November appeared to arrive in October for the glorious Gunners. Two abject defeats were followed by a hard-won, slightly fortuitous victory against the new-boy Hoops. I'd like to think my presence made the difference, as I made my first solo cross-Channel flight of the season. Habitual convivial hospitality provided by my usual hosts, victory witnessed first hand, splendid couple of days all in all. Meanwhile la bienheureuse et la petite survived without me.
And then there was last night's extraordinary events at what they apparently call the Mad Stad. For good reason too it would seem. Able as I was to witness it live on TV (having spent - wasted as I thought at the time - 11 euros to subscribe to a new sports channel in order to watch the Champions League match against Schalke, defeat no 2 noted above), I ended the evening unsure whether to laugh or cry. Entertainment it was, top class football it certainly wasn't. Perhaps I should rationalise it by saying it was the reserves after all, though I did wonder for while whether they'd gone to Hackney Marshes last Sunday and found 11 lookalikes...
On the Lyon playing field, OL have also had a slightly mixed start to the season, this time entirely unwitnessed by your local correspondent. For the first time in 9 years, I don't have an abonnement. Story of renewal deadline coinciding with UK holiday, less motivation, less time due to toddler demands, etc, etc.. At least I can still follow them on TV now and then.
Health report: youngest member of the family in bouncing good form, older couple suffering from various bugs, latest of the gastric variety. Mine was a mere 6 hour variant, albeit virulent enough to bring back bad pre-colonoscopy laxative memories. La bienheureuse then either caught it off me, reacted to my cooking or caught an entirely different virus, and suffered for rather longer, encompassing an overnight work trip to Basle. All rear ends squeaky clean now though…
Weather report: a brief cold snap two weeks ago was followed by ten days of unseasonably mild weather, though with only rare glimpses of sunshine. Last weekend it all changed - maximum of 7 degrees, a full 17 lower than 7 days previously. Winter's icy tentacles are reaching Lyon...
State of the nation report: not good. Approval ratings for president and prime minister at all time low, economy stagnant, taxes on the rise, discontent rumbling. Not that any other new government could have done any better, but the Socialists don't seem to make things easy for themselves. Latest example of some government spokesman or other shooting themselves in the foot was PM Ayrault apparently saying going back to a 39 hour working week wouldn't be ruled out, going against a Socialist policy set in stone. Cue criticism and clarification from fellow PS members, and immediate "we told you so" shouts from opposition UMP politicians.
There was an interesting article on the BBC news site a couple of weeks ago, comparing the mood in France with that in Britain. Unabated Gallic pessimism vs cautious British optimism, was the gist of the article, despite the two economies being in roughly the same leaking boats. Partly down to the Olympic effect, partly down the national psyche…?
Sporting report: could do better, much better. After an optimistic start to the season, nasty November appeared to arrive in October for the glorious Gunners. Two abject defeats were followed by a hard-won, slightly fortuitous victory against the new-boy Hoops. I'd like to think my presence made the difference, as I made my first solo cross-Channel flight of the season. Habitual convivial hospitality provided by my usual hosts, victory witnessed first hand, splendid couple of days all in all. Meanwhile la bienheureuse et la petite survived without me.
And then there was last night's extraordinary events at what they apparently call the Mad Stad. For good reason too it would seem. Able as I was to witness it live on TV (having spent - wasted as I thought at the time - 11 euros to subscribe to a new sports channel in order to watch the Champions League match against Schalke, defeat no 2 noted above), I ended the evening unsure whether to laugh or cry. Entertainment it was, top class football it certainly wasn't. Perhaps I should rationalise it by saying it was the reserves after all, though I did wonder for while whether they'd gone to Hackney Marshes last Sunday and found 11 lookalikes...
On the Lyon playing field, OL have also had a slightly mixed start to the season, this time entirely unwitnessed by your local correspondent. For the first time in 9 years, I don't have an abonnement. Story of renewal deadline coinciding with UK holiday, less motivation, less time due to toddler demands, etc, etc.. At least I can still follow them on TV now and then.
16 octobre 2012
Hearing things
Ups and downs. La petite still refuses to submit to prone nappy changes but, after minor protest, will at least sit down for part of the process. Minor progress, and as the cold and catarrh recedes, and teeth break through the gums, so her mood improves. Meanwhile, the heating finally goes on as temperatures drop, and her parents suffer their own form of seasonal-affective disorder. Tiredness and a ringing in one ear and throbbing in the other finally drove me to the doctor last week. Result: a blood test and a referral to an ENT specialist.
The blood test shows slightly high cholesterol, no surprise there, high iron and low salt and vitamin D levels. Hmm... After initially telling me to cut down on salt to reduce somewhat high blood pressure, the doctor reverses the advice, tells me to cut down on fatty foods, eat less red meat and prescribes more sunshine and a vitamin D supplement. The weather follows orders to a limited extent, turning milder and slightly sunnier.
Meanwhile the ear consultant checks my ears and hearing, and pronounces them both okay. He tells me the causes of tinnitus aren't well known and that there is probably little he can do about it. Doesn't stop him prescribing three different medicaments. No wonder the French national health insurance scheme is several billion Euros in the red. Though when I go to the pharmacy to get the prescription filled I discover one of the drugs is not reimbursed, which leads me to do a bit of research.
It turns out that the drug in question (a vasodilator) is on the 'close watch' list of the French medical safety agency after the equivalent European body pronounced it to have debatable benefits and undesirable side-effects, and recommended its withdrawal from prescriptions for ear problems. Oh, and that also happens to be made by the same pharmaceutical company that produced Mediator, the drug developed to treat overweight diabetics that may have caused the deaths of up to 2000 people before it was banned. Didn't stop the consultant prescribing it or the pharmacist selling it to me. Makes you ponder the nature of the links between consultants, pharmacies and drug companies…
The blood test shows slightly high cholesterol, no surprise there, high iron and low salt and vitamin D levels. Hmm... After initially telling me to cut down on salt to reduce somewhat high blood pressure, the doctor reverses the advice, tells me to cut down on fatty foods, eat less red meat and prescribes more sunshine and a vitamin D supplement. The weather follows orders to a limited extent, turning milder and slightly sunnier.
Meanwhile the ear consultant checks my ears and hearing, and pronounces them both okay. He tells me the causes of tinnitus aren't well known and that there is probably little he can do about it. Doesn't stop him prescribing three different medicaments. No wonder the French national health insurance scheme is several billion Euros in the red. Though when I go to the pharmacy to get the prescription filled I discover one of the drugs is not reimbursed, which leads me to do a bit of research.
It turns out that the drug in question (a vasodilator) is on the 'close watch' list of the French medical safety agency after the equivalent European body pronounced it to have debatable benefits and undesirable side-effects, and recommended its withdrawal from prescriptions for ear problems. Oh, and that also happens to be made by the same pharmaceutical company that produced Mediator, the drug developed to treat overweight diabetics that may have caused the deaths of up to 2000 people before it was banned. Didn't stop the consultant prescribing it or the pharmacist selling it to me. Makes you ponder the nature of the links between consultants, pharmacies and drug companies…
09 octobre 2012
Stand-up change
Week two of hum-drum autumn life, and things start getting a little less routine. La petite coquinette apparently enjoys herself while at the crèche, but home alone with papa it's an entirely different story. Grumpiness, tantrums, crying for no apparent reason. We put it down to a combination of teething (canines starting to push through), displeasure at being abandoned by papa every other morning, missing mama (away on another taxing, tiring 2 day trip to Brussels), and feeling not very well because of a lingering cold.
All very trying, particularly when she starts making a fuss during nappy changes. First hint is when one of the maternal assistants at the crèche asks me if she is scared of heights because of the problems they've been having changing her couche. Two days later the situation evolves to point blank refusals to lie down. She is quite happy to stand up to be cleaned and have a fresh nappy put on, which is all very well when the old one is just wet, but far from ideal when it's full of foul-smelling stuff and her bum is covered in it. And when there's only one nappy changer there's no way to make her lie down - the shit wouldn't just hit the fan, it would be covering the walls, ceiling, baby and changer too. Lovely, the things parents do for their beloved offspring…
I then discover that they've been doing standing changes at the crèche, for wet nappies at least, almost since she started there, which perhaps explains why she now refuses to lie down at home but not why she's suddenly decided it's an absolute no-no. Hmm, maybe she's ready to start potty training… So, over the weekend, first sign of straining, mama gets out the potty and puts her on it. "Uhuh, not sure about this", thinks la petite, but deigns to sit on it for about 30 seconds before getting up, sphincter firmly closed, and thereafter refusing to go anywhere near it. Toddler psychology, no fathoming it…
All very trying, particularly when she starts making a fuss during nappy changes. First hint is when one of the maternal assistants at the crèche asks me if she is scared of heights because of the problems they've been having changing her couche. Two days later the situation evolves to point blank refusals to lie down. She is quite happy to stand up to be cleaned and have a fresh nappy put on, which is all very well when the old one is just wet, but far from ideal when it's full of foul-smelling stuff and her bum is covered in it. And when there's only one nappy changer there's no way to make her lie down - the shit wouldn't just hit the fan, it would be covering the walls, ceiling, baby and changer too. Lovely, the things parents do for their beloved offspring…
I then discover that they've been doing standing changes at the crèche, for wet nappies at least, almost since she started there, which perhaps explains why she now refuses to lie down at home but not why she's suddenly decided it's an absolute no-no. Hmm, maybe she's ready to start potty training… So, over the weekend, first sign of straining, mama gets out the potty and puts her on it. "Uhuh, not sure about this", thinks la petite, but deigns to sit on it for about 30 seconds before getting up, sphincter firmly closed, and thereafter refusing to go anywhere near it. Toddler psychology, no fathoming it…
02 octobre 2012
Exhausting routine
And thus the holidays are over and summer ends. La travailleuse returns to work, la petite returns to la crèche two days a week, and l'homme au foyer tries to get used to a part-time job. Or two.
First day back at home babysitting is a breeze. Confounding expectations, la petite coquinette is sweetness and light all day. First day back at the crèche she clings to papa's arms and legs longer than normal but eventually allows him to slip away and apparently thoroughly enjoys the rest of the day. Meanwhile her parents both struggle with post-holiday exhaustion.
Second day of papa-toddler time is marginally more trying but still ranks as low-maintenance on the babysitting scale. Next day back at the crèche, more somewhat uncharacteristic clinging and shyness to start off with, but thereafter apparently all systems go.
Last working day of the week - TFI Friday for la bienheureuse, la petite starts climbing the crankiness scale, and papa looks forward to the weekend. If only he'd known. It soon becomes apparent that yet another cold is brewing in those little nasal passages, which pushes the grumpiness over the red line on Saturday and exhausts the supply of tissues on Sunday. The downside of sharing one's day with other virus-vulnerable little friends. Meanwhile mama and papa show signs of having picked up little bugs of their own. The weather also deteriorates and gives us the first real hint of autumn.
Welcome back to the mundane, grey days of those dreary three months either side of the winter solstice…
First day back at home babysitting is a breeze. Confounding expectations, la petite coquinette is sweetness and light all day. First day back at the crèche she clings to papa's arms and legs longer than normal but eventually allows him to slip away and apparently thoroughly enjoys the rest of the day. Meanwhile her parents both struggle with post-holiday exhaustion.
Second day of papa-toddler time is marginally more trying but still ranks as low-maintenance on the babysitting scale. Next day back at the crèche, more somewhat uncharacteristic clinging and shyness to start off with, but thereafter apparently all systems go.
Last working day of the week - TFI Friday for la bienheureuse, la petite starts climbing the crankiness scale, and papa looks forward to the weekend. If only he'd known. It soon becomes apparent that yet another cold is brewing in those little nasal passages, which pushes the grumpiness over the red line on Saturday and exhausts the supply of tissues on Sunday. The downside of sharing one's day with other virus-vulnerable little friends. Meanwhile mama and papa show signs of having picked up little bugs of their own. The weather also deteriorates and gives us the first real hint of autumn.
Welcome back to the mundane, grey days of those dreary three months either side of the winter solstice…
25 septembre 2012
Sun, sea and sand 2012
So it was, in our brand new voiture, that we set off on the annual week's holiday on the Côte d'Azur. Loaded almost to the gunnels, the new car swept silently down the autoroute like a dream, la petite more or less behaved herself and enjoyed the view from her new, higher perch, and we arrived in La Favière late on Sunday afternoon. After a quick drink at the corner café in the 28C sunshine, we successfully retrieved the keys to the apartment from the safe box outside the immobilier, and settled into our old/new home for the week. Three hours later, NI Soggydiver and new Scottish consort arrived and we all enjoyed beer and takeaway pizza for dinner as we watched the sun go down from the terrace.
Lazy Monday morning, though a somewhat earlier start than hoped for due to a toddler waking up and excitedly finding her parents in the same room, and slightly marred by the downstairs neighbour complaining about the noise. Shut that young child up…
And so to the first dive of the week and the discovery of the Bormes boys new headquarters. La bienheureuse generously volunteered for baby-sitting and beach life-guard duty leaving me to enjoy a trip in the afternoon sunshine to Pointe de la Galère with our two buddies. Pleasant enough pootle, though current and depth restrictions limited us to the less interesting west side of the point. In the evening, a return to a favourite haunt, la Brasserie du Port. Soupe de Poisson and Mousse au Chocolat naturally on the menu and, despite her parents' apprehensions, la petite coquinette displayed almost perfect table manners, albeit aided and abetted by a portable DVD player. Once again la bienheureuse chose the short straw and took baby home to bed, though the rest of us weren't too far behind. Wine, beer and a few traditional games of peanut-head followed. A girls off-night at the card table.
An early start the next morning because it was decided to do the morning dive. La mère plongeuse eventually overcame the apprehension at her first dive in over two years and accompanied the Soggy diver on the trip to Pointe de Montremian. The ski slope delivered its usual lovely dive though a National Instructor's current phobia put paid to the plan to swim out to the pinnacle. Meanwhile, la petite napped, papa lazed, and the RNLI cox explored Le Lavandou. Late afternoon was spent at the seaside, where la petite travailleuse busied herself in an ultimately fruitless attempt to transfer all the sand from the beach to the sea.
Dinner in that night, and we settled for two reliable old favourites - poulet au lait & tarte tatin. Or not-so-reliable old favourites. Though both dishes turned out to be tasty enough, a lack of suitable utensils and ingredients meant the chicken wasn't quite up to usual standards (bad chefs always blame their equipment), and an exploding masquerading-as-Pyrex dish put paid to the caramelisation process for the dessert.
We chose Wednesday for a day off diving. The East Lothian contingent decided on a day checking out the plastic surgery on display at St Tropez while les lyonnais spent the morning wine shopping. Or rather spent the morning on a scenic but hairy drive up and over the Col du Canadel in the hope that la petite would nap on the way to the vineyard. She eventually did, but not before her mother had spent an anxious half hour piloting a new car along a road barely wide enough for one old car, let alone two, with a precipitous drop on one side and a ditch and rock wall on the other. We eventually reached the Domaine de l'Angueiroun with nerves jangling but intact, and enjoyed a wine tasting session which ended with this so-called connoisseur choking (accidentally, I hasten to add) and the purchase of two cases.
After a much needed nap for all of us, ice creams in the village were followed by fun and frolics for the smallest member of the family in the fountains that are set into the floor of the village square. Once the NB lifeboat crew returned from glitz of St Tropez, we all went out for dinner again to the Tropicana Beach. Living the high life.
A lazy Thursday morning for la petite famille ensued, while the chefs for the day got busy at the supermarket and in the kitchen. The sun shone and the wind howled outside but the afternoon dive still went ahead. Papa and Auntie Sogs learned with a groan that the site was Pointe de la Galère, chosen for its protection from the easterly gale. However, it turned out to be the best dive of the week for me, as I managed to drag my buddies (a random stranger had joined us) over to the east side of the point, which rewarded us with a ring-side view of a large school of patrolling barracuda. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, la petite coquinette was amusing herself and her mother with a game of hide and seek in the living room dresser, and a gin palace amused everyone by coming adrift from its mooring and being battered by the waves on the beach. Rich boys should learn to tie knots.
The results of the morning's labour in the kitchen was seen in the evening - delicious spicy lamb tajine followed by sweet Eton Mess. Lovely. And more beer, wine and games of peanut-head to follow.
On Friday, mama once again generously put toddler time ahead of time and depth, and allowed the other three divers to enjoy a full day out at Port Cros. Which was indeed enjoyable, though still-stiff easterlies restricted diving to the lee-side of la Gabinière and Pointe de la Croix, neither of which are noted as particular gems of the region. Lunch in a Port Cros café in the warm sunshine was very pleasant though.
Meanwhile, back on the mainland, la bienheureuse et la petite set off after lunch to collect the Margarita Man, delayed by bereavement but nonetheless keen to pay a flying visit. The half hour trip each way to the airport didn't allow la petite coquinette an afternoon nap, but the additional entertainment provided by her favourite builder kept her amused and mostly even-tempered until the evening. The core La Fav gang thus reunited, we had dinner at La Rade in the port. Tasty food but slow service meant papa only had one course before it was his turn to take the tired toddler home to bed. The compensation, with no diving the next day, was more beer, wine and peanut-head once the rest of the card school returned.
Our last full day was spent on a brief dip in the pool in the morning - brrr, water colder than the sea - and, after lunch and naps, on a wander along the coastal path towards Le Lavandou and back in the perennial sunshine, followed by more playing in the water jets.
For the last supper it was back to La Brasserie, where a fine week was celebrated with champagne. A rather more leisurely final morning than usual was possible the following day thanks to the Sunday checkout and consequent lack of time constraints. Thus we were all able to have lunch together one last time in the Provençal sunshine before going our separate ways - Nice airport via one final shower for the Scottish party, Lyon via Hyères airport to drop off uncle Margarita for the Lyon lot. And a fast, smooth, quiet drive (albeit on an autoroute busier than expected) got us home by seven, tired but happy after yet another great week on the Côte d'Azur.
Lazy Monday morning, though a somewhat earlier start than hoped for due to a toddler waking up and excitedly finding her parents in the same room, and slightly marred by the downstairs neighbour complaining about the noise. Shut that young child up…
And so to the first dive of the week and the discovery of the Bormes boys new headquarters. La bienheureuse generously volunteered for baby-sitting and beach life-guard duty leaving me to enjoy a trip in the afternoon sunshine to Pointe de la Galère with our two buddies. Pleasant enough pootle, though current and depth restrictions limited us to the less interesting west side of the point. In the evening, a return to a favourite haunt, la Brasserie du Port. Soupe de Poisson and Mousse au Chocolat naturally on the menu and, despite her parents' apprehensions, la petite coquinette displayed almost perfect table manners, albeit aided and abetted by a portable DVD player. Once again la bienheureuse chose the short straw and took baby home to bed, though the rest of us weren't too far behind. Wine, beer and a few traditional games of peanut-head followed. A girls off-night at the card table.
An early start the next morning because it was decided to do the morning dive. La mère plongeuse eventually overcame the apprehension at her first dive in over two years and accompanied the Soggy diver on the trip to Pointe de Montremian. The ski slope delivered its usual lovely dive though a National Instructor's current phobia put paid to the plan to swim out to the pinnacle. Meanwhile, la petite napped, papa lazed, and the RNLI cox explored Le Lavandou. Late afternoon was spent at the seaside, where la petite travailleuse busied herself in an ultimately fruitless attempt to transfer all the sand from the beach to the sea.
Dinner in that night, and we settled for two reliable old favourites - poulet au lait & tarte tatin. Or not-so-reliable old favourites. Though both dishes turned out to be tasty enough, a lack of suitable utensils and ingredients meant the chicken wasn't quite up to usual standards (bad chefs always blame their equipment), and an exploding masquerading-as-Pyrex dish put paid to the caramelisation process for the dessert.
After a much needed nap for all of us, ice creams in the village were followed by fun and frolics for the smallest member of the family in the fountains that are set into the floor of the village square. Once the NB lifeboat crew returned from glitz of St Tropez, we all went out for dinner again to the Tropicana Beach. Living the high life.
A lazy Thursday morning for la petite famille ensued, while the chefs for the day got busy at the supermarket and in the kitchen. The sun shone and the wind howled outside but the afternoon dive still went ahead. Papa and Auntie Sogs learned with a groan that the site was Pointe de la Galère, chosen for its protection from the easterly gale. However, it turned out to be the best dive of the week for me, as I managed to drag my buddies (a random stranger had joined us) over to the east side of the point, which rewarded us with a ring-side view of a large school of patrolling barracuda. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, la petite coquinette was amusing herself and her mother with a game of hide and seek in the living room dresser, and a gin palace amused everyone by coming adrift from its mooring and being battered by the waves on the beach. Rich boys should learn to tie knots.
On Friday, mama once again generously put toddler time ahead of time and depth, and allowed the other three divers to enjoy a full day out at Port Cros. Which was indeed enjoyable, though still-stiff easterlies restricted diving to the lee-side of la Gabinière and Pointe de la Croix, neither of which are noted as particular gems of the region. Lunch in a Port Cros café in the warm sunshine was very pleasant though.
Meanwhile, back on the mainland, la bienheureuse et la petite set off after lunch to collect the Margarita Man, delayed by bereavement but nonetheless keen to pay a flying visit. The half hour trip each way to the airport didn't allow la petite coquinette an afternoon nap, but the additional entertainment provided by her favourite builder kept her amused and mostly even-tempered until the evening. The core La Fav gang thus reunited, we had dinner at La Rade in the port. Tasty food but slow service meant papa only had one course before it was his turn to take the tired toddler home to bed. The compensation, with no diving the next day, was more beer, wine and peanut-head once the rest of the card school returned.
Our last full day was spent on a brief dip in the pool in the morning - brrr, water colder than the sea - and, after lunch and naps, on a wander along the coastal path towards Le Lavandou and back in the perennial sunshine, followed by more playing in the water jets.
For the last supper it was back to La Brasserie, where a fine week was celebrated with champagne. A rather more leisurely final morning than usual was possible the following day thanks to the Sunday checkout and consequent lack of time constraints. Thus we were all able to have lunch together one last time in the Provençal sunshine before going our separate ways - Nice airport via one final shower for the Scottish party, Lyon via Hyères airport to drop off uncle Margarita for the Lyon lot. And a fast, smooth, quiet drive (albeit on an autoroute busier than expected) got us home by seven, tired but happy after yet another great week on the Côte d'Azur.
15 septembre 2012
New toys, part 2
The mobile phone industry in France was deregulated in the nineties, which means that phone contracts have never been exorbitantly priced. However, for most of the last fifteen years, the same three networks have existed in a cosy arrangement, which ensured that real competition never really drove prices down either. And it's not just me saying that - the official body that oversees pricing and competition in France fined the three phone companies a total of close to half a billion Euros in 2007 for an illegal pricing agreement.
All that changed at the beginning of this year, following the award of a fourth network licence to Free, an aggressive newcomer that made its reputation (good & bad) as an internet service provider. By offering an unlimited contract (phone calls, SMS and internet) for just 20 euros a month, it totally shook up the industry. Never mind that Free's network coverage was a fraction of that of the other three (a problem which they partially solved by reaching a network-sharing agreement with Orange) and that there were plenty of initial problems, the price seduced subscribers away from their competitors in droves. Something like 3 million took up their offer in the first six months. And the other networks were forced to respond and bring their prices more in line.
All of which eventually motivated this particular phone user to get off his arse and shop around for a better deal than the one that I've had more or less unchanged (in price and service) since I first took it out. And for an upgrade to my battered but trusty 10 year-old phone whose battery was beginning to require charging every couple of days despite being hardly used. And so, a week or so before our recent trip to the UK, I duly switched provider and contract for something that gave me more than twice as much for barely half the old price, and went shopping for a new phone. Given that the new contract allowed limited internet access I decided to go the full hog and upgrade from a phone on which I could merely make calls and send texts to a so-called smart-phone. Cheapest one I could find, I hasten to add.
Eager to try out my new toy, I duly snapped out the new micro-SIM and opened the phone to insert it. Should have checked that it indeed took a micro-SIM rather than normal size one. Oops. However, I cobbled together the micro card and the cutout and managed to get the ensemble into the phone and, what's more, it all seemed to work. Phew.
Alas, I soon discovered that the wifi on the phone didn't work, which limited its use somewhat. And by now it was only a couple of days before we were due to leave on the two week holiday. No matter, a hasty phone call or two to the technical hotline of the shop I bought it from eventually produced a promise to replace it. Phew. So I opened the phone to take out the SIM card before taking to back to the shop. Only to find I couldn't get it out due to it being in two pieces. Bugger.
Eventually, after much cursing and with the help of a thin-bladed knife I did manage to get it out. Most of it anyway, and without destroying the phone in the process. Fortunately any bits of plastic that might have been left inside weren't visible, so I took the phone back and got it changed, no questions asked. And the new phone worked, wifi and all. Phew.
However, with our flight the next morning, there was no time to get a new SIM card. ie two weeks away without a phone beckoned. The question of whether that was a good or bad thing never really arose because la bienheureuse always had her phone for emergencies. Anyway, ordering a new SIM card was a painless and not-too-expensive process, and it was waiting when we got home two weeks later. And new phone and new SIM have since worked flawlessly. Long live commercial competition.
All that changed at the beginning of this year, following the award of a fourth network licence to Free, an aggressive newcomer that made its reputation (good & bad) as an internet service provider. By offering an unlimited contract (phone calls, SMS and internet) for just 20 euros a month, it totally shook up the industry. Never mind that Free's network coverage was a fraction of that of the other three (a problem which they partially solved by reaching a network-sharing agreement with Orange) and that there were plenty of initial problems, the price seduced subscribers away from their competitors in droves. Something like 3 million took up their offer in the first six months. And the other networks were forced to respond and bring their prices more in line.
All of which eventually motivated this particular phone user to get off his arse and shop around for a better deal than the one that I've had more or less unchanged (in price and service) since I first took it out. And for an upgrade to my battered but trusty 10 year-old phone whose battery was beginning to require charging every couple of days despite being hardly used. And so, a week or so before our recent trip to the UK, I duly switched provider and contract for something that gave me more than twice as much for barely half the old price, and went shopping for a new phone. Given that the new contract allowed limited internet access I decided to go the full hog and upgrade from a phone on which I could merely make calls and send texts to a so-called smart-phone. Cheapest one I could find, I hasten to add.
Eager to try out my new toy, I duly snapped out the new micro-SIM and opened the phone to insert it. Should have checked that it indeed took a micro-SIM rather than normal size one. Oops. However, I cobbled together the micro card and the cutout and managed to get the ensemble into the phone and, what's more, it all seemed to work. Phew.
Alas, I soon discovered that the wifi on the phone didn't work, which limited its use somewhat. And by now it was only a couple of days before we were due to leave on the two week holiday. No matter, a hasty phone call or two to the technical hotline of the shop I bought it from eventually produced a promise to replace it. Phew. So I opened the phone to take out the SIM card before taking to back to the shop. Only to find I couldn't get it out due to it being in two pieces. Bugger.
Eventually, after much cursing and with the help of a thin-bladed knife I did manage to get it out. Most of it anyway, and without destroying the phone in the process. Fortunately any bits of plastic that might have been left inside weren't visible, so I took the phone back and got it changed, no questions asked. And the new phone worked, wifi and all. Phew.
However, with our flight the next morning, there was no time to get a new SIM card. ie two weeks away without a phone beckoned. The question of whether that was a good or bad thing never really arose because la bienheureuse always had her phone for emergencies. Anyway, ordering a new SIM card was a painless and not-too-expensive process, and it was waiting when we got home two weeks later. And new phone and new SIM have since worked flawlessly. Long live commercial competition.
New toys, part 1
In France, cars older than four years are subject to the controle technique, the equivalent of the MOT, every two years. Our more-or-less trusty 15 year-old petite voiture passed the last one, albeit with less-than flying colours. Among the rather lengthy list of non-fatal faults were leaking exhaust (hole slowly getting larger and noisier), non-functioning screen wash, unbalanced hand-brake and 'minor' play in one of the rear axle bearings. In others words, the old girl was beginning to look a bit long in the tooth.
And so, after months, years even, of procrastination, using family expansion as a reason for needing a car, we finally took the decision to replace it. There then followed several weeks of dithering about whether to go for cheap new car, more upmarket second-hand, this brand, that brand, how much to spend, etc, etc. Finally, last weekend, motivated by an imminent 900km round trip that might have tested the old jam jar to the limit, we bit the bullet and drove out to a dealer for a well known French make of car, still not having decided on new or second-hand.
However, having compared the second-hand prices with those in the show-room and compared the different models, we soon made a choice. Seduced by the supposed discount of more than six grand, including trade-in for our near worthless banger, we shunned shopping around and plumped for a shiny, brand-new, all-singing all dancing model with lots of marvellous tricks and gadgets. Well, they seemed marvellous to the owners of a car that was new way back in the last century.
Our excuse was that the salesman promised it would be delivered in time for our upcoming holiday. Easiest commission he ever earned. Apart from when he tried to sell us a finance deal we didn't need. Interestingly he claimed that his commission was more dependent on him selling loans than actual vehicles. Eventually we agreed to take a small, short-term loan in return for an extra discount that made it a 0% deal. Drives a hard bargain, la bienheureuse.
So now, a week later, a brand new car sits in our garage, awaiting its first real outing. Took one or two more attempts to park it too, being somewhat larger than our ancienne voiture, which currently waits its fate at the breaker's yard. Indeed, to ensure it fitted into the garage we had to spend a morning and a trip to the déchèterie to clear out the pile of junk that had mysteriously accumulated at the back. About time too…
And so, after months, years even, of procrastination, using family expansion as a reason for needing a car, we finally took the decision to replace it. There then followed several weeks of dithering about whether to go for cheap new car, more upmarket second-hand, this brand, that brand, how much to spend, etc, etc. Finally, last weekend, motivated by an imminent 900km round trip that might have tested the old jam jar to the limit, we bit the bullet and drove out to a dealer for a well known French make of car, still not having decided on new or second-hand.
However, having compared the second-hand prices with those in the show-room and compared the different models, we soon made a choice. Seduced by the supposed discount of more than six grand, including trade-in for our near worthless banger, we shunned shopping around and plumped for a shiny, brand-new, all-singing all dancing model with lots of marvellous tricks and gadgets. Well, they seemed marvellous to the owners of a car that was new way back in the last century.
Our excuse was that the salesman promised it would be delivered in time for our upcoming holiday. Easiest commission he ever earned. Apart from when he tried to sell us a finance deal we didn't need. Interestingly he claimed that his commission was more dependent on him selling loans than actual vehicles. Eventually we agreed to take a small, short-term loan in return for an extra discount that made it a 0% deal. Drives a hard bargain, la bienheureuse.
So now, a week later, a brand new car sits in our garage, awaiting its first real outing. Took one or two more attempts to park it too, being somewhat larger than our ancienne voiture, which currently waits its fate at the breaker's yard. Indeed, to ensure it fitted into the garage we had to spend a morning and a trip to the déchèterie to clear out the pile of junk that had mysteriously accumulated at the back. About time too…
14 septembre 2012
Crèche course
Travel note 14: La petite coquinette does not like being strapped in on parents' knees. Even more screaming and struggling in the flight home than the outward journey.
Travel note 15: don't be tempted to try and evade airport parking charges when car is left in an overflow field with a mere wooden barrier that was open when we parked. Arrive in said field to find said barrier firmly padlocked shut. Fortunately a hasty round trip back to the terminal to validate parking ticket doesn't take too long. We arrive home exhausted with a toddler who has had a mere 40 minutes sleep during the day. She's in bed a full two hours before her habitual holiday bedtime, and parents follow soon afterwards.
The next day it was in at the deep end in the return to normal life. Both parents accompanied la petite to her new crèche on the first morning of a three day adaptation. We all stayed ninety minutes, then la petite and papa went home for lunch while la travailleuse went in to work briefly before jetting off for a meeting in Barcelona. In the afternoon, another short spell at the crèche, but this time papa left his little baby on her own for half an hour.
Thursday we were both back for another two part session at the crèche, only this time I left my little darling fending for herself in the big bad world of collective childcare for a total of more than two hours. Each time I left her screaming - screaming with delight, that is, while throwing herself energetically around exercise mats. Seems she has taken to the crèche like a duck to water. Conversely, once she was home alone with only papa for company she was in a distinctly grumpy mood. I thus looked forward to the return of la bienheureuse that evening with more than the usual anticipation. Alas, her flight took off, turned round, and landed back in Barcelona. Faulty undercarriage. Another night in Catalonia beckoned. Humph.
A short night, that is. Early flight the next morning meant a 4.30am alarm call. Meanwhile, la petite and papa enjoyed a full night's sleep only for the former to get out of bed on the wrong side. Worst morning strop ever - refused milk, didn't want to be picked up, didn't want to play with her toys or cuddle doudou, yelled and cried non-stop for half an hour. Obviously missing mama and staging a protest about all the travelling and change in the last few weeks. Finally I was reduced to the TV drug - putting on her favourite DVD of children's music at last calmed her just in time for the return of la voyageuse.
Of course the little dear was fine while she was at the crèche that morning in her final adaptation session, this time staying the whole morning and sharing lunch with her new friends. The downside of spending time with other children her own age became apparent over the weekend: yet another cold. Still, it wasn't bad enough on Sunday to discourage us from setting out in the car to go swimming. Only we didn't - arrived to find the pool closed for cleaning. No matter, the warm sunshine encouraged us to stop off in the Grand Parc de Miribel-Jonage where la petite paddled and splashed in the lake. Her parents having neglected to swap clothes for swimming costume, she got so wet she had to travel home in only a nappy. With temperatures approaching 30C, she didn't get too chilled. We hope. The cold was worse the next day mind you…
First full week at the crèche followed. Well, full week of two full days a week. Tuesday it was déjà vu - la petite at the crèche, for the whole day this time, la bienheureuse travelling for work again, Bratislava this time. Home on his own, papa sighed and suppressed the longing by getting on with some chores. Wednesday evening mama returned home on schedule and took the next day off to recover. She took her little girl in to the crèche in the morning and then we both spent the rest of the day clearing junk out of the garage in preparation for another new arrival...
Travel note 15: don't be tempted to try and evade airport parking charges when car is left in an overflow field with a mere wooden barrier that was open when we parked. Arrive in said field to find said barrier firmly padlocked shut. Fortunately a hasty round trip back to the terminal to validate parking ticket doesn't take too long. We arrive home exhausted with a toddler who has had a mere 40 minutes sleep during the day. She's in bed a full two hours before her habitual holiday bedtime, and parents follow soon afterwards.
The next day it was in at the deep end in the return to normal life. Both parents accompanied la petite to her new crèche on the first morning of a three day adaptation. We all stayed ninety minutes, then la petite and papa went home for lunch while la travailleuse went in to work briefly before jetting off for a meeting in Barcelona. In the afternoon, another short spell at the crèche, but this time papa left his little baby on her own for half an hour.
Thursday we were both back for another two part session at the crèche, only this time I left my little darling fending for herself in the big bad world of collective childcare for a total of more than two hours. Each time I left her screaming - screaming with delight, that is, while throwing herself energetically around exercise mats. Seems she has taken to the crèche like a duck to water. Conversely, once she was home alone with only papa for company she was in a distinctly grumpy mood. I thus looked forward to the return of la bienheureuse that evening with more than the usual anticipation. Alas, her flight took off, turned round, and landed back in Barcelona. Faulty undercarriage. Another night in Catalonia beckoned. Humph.
A short night, that is. Early flight the next morning meant a 4.30am alarm call. Meanwhile, la petite and papa enjoyed a full night's sleep only for the former to get out of bed on the wrong side. Worst morning strop ever - refused milk, didn't want to be picked up, didn't want to play with her toys or cuddle doudou, yelled and cried non-stop for half an hour. Obviously missing mama and staging a protest about all the travelling and change in the last few weeks. Finally I was reduced to the TV drug - putting on her favourite DVD of children's music at last calmed her just in time for the return of la voyageuse.
Of course the little dear was fine while she was at the crèche that morning in her final adaptation session, this time staying the whole morning and sharing lunch with her new friends. The downside of spending time with other children her own age became apparent over the weekend: yet another cold. Still, it wasn't bad enough on Sunday to discourage us from setting out in the car to go swimming. Only we didn't - arrived to find the pool closed for cleaning. No matter, the warm sunshine encouraged us to stop off in the Grand Parc de Miribel-Jonage where la petite paddled and splashed in the lake. Her parents having neglected to swap clothes for swimming costume, she got so wet she had to travel home in only a nappy. With temperatures approaching 30C, she didn't get too chilled. We hope. The cold was worse the next day mind you…
First full week at the crèche followed. Well, full week of two full days a week. Tuesday it was déjà vu - la petite at the crèche, for the whole day this time, la bienheureuse travelling for work again, Bratislava this time. Home on his own, papa sighed and suppressed the longing by getting on with some chores. Wednesday evening mama returned home on schedule and took the next day off to recover. She took her little girl in to the crèche in the morning and then we both spent the rest of the day clearing junk out of the garage in preparation for another new arrival...
02 septembre 2012
Water week
Saturday 25th: And so to Cumbria. Heavy rain showers during the two hour journey north, heavy little eyelids only close when we are about 10 miles from our destination. Fortunately the traditional slow traffic crawl between Kendal and Ambleside affords la petite a twenty minute catnap. Another tradition on arrival despite persistent rain during the evening - the opening night BBQ for all 26 odd members of the three sisters clan. Thus begins another week in the Lakes.
Sunday 26th: eight-thirty am wakeup call from the little girl's room. Marvellous, a lie-in. Rest of the day is spent in equally leisurely fashion. Walk down to the lakeside and coffee in the YHA café in the morning, long 3 hour siesta in the afternoon for la petite while papa suffers a stalemate in the Potteries on TV and mama and mamy do some shopping for provisions. Evening establishes a routine for the week - dip in the little superheated pool, bath, dinner, bed.
Monday 27th: another luxurious post-eight am lie-in, followed by another provisions shopping trip to Windermere in the morning rain. Post-lunch siesta only ends when la soeur et la nièce numéro 3 turn up for a short visit in the afternoon rain. They renew acquaintance with their niece/cousin respectively, check into their B&B and then return to take part in the usual evening routine.
Tuesday 28th: the rain finally stops, encouraging us catch the 11am boat to the visitor's centre at Brockhole. A visit to the playground is followed by lunch on the terrace in the sunshine and the return boat ride to Waterhead. The habitual evening is interrupted only by the departure of la soeur et la niece.
Wednesday 29th: another morning outing, this time to a soft play centre near Ambleside. La petite cascadeuse has fun, tiring out parents too old or unfit for obstacle courses. After lunch in the café the heavens open, drenching la bienheureuse who misses the short cut to the car park. Slight diversion from the usual evening routine, with the older female generation out for dinner, the imminently new female member of the middle generation cooks chili con carne for everyone else. The lack of sticky toffee pudding for dessert is in part compensated by la bienheureuse providing DIY Pavlova.
Thursday 30th: quiet morning is followed by the traditional mass rounders game in the park. Damp conditions underfoot render it a somewhat dangerous sport for certain members of the older generations, but much fun is had by all and the ginger ninja's team wins comprehensively. In the evening it is the turn of the middle generation to enjoy their traditional night out. Dinner at a new Thai restaurant in Ambleside is enjoyed in the usual convivial fashion and surprisingly gets less noisy as the evening progresses.
Friday 31st: no sign of the sun, but no sign of rain either means we go ahead with another outing on the lake. This time we accompany the three sisters to Castle Wray across the water. We meet the soon-to-be-newly-weds there, have an outdoor lunch and a walk round the grounds before taking the young girl back on the early afternoon boat, leaving the old girls to enjoy a tour inside the castle. In the evening dinner is the traditional fish'n'chips for twenty-plus, and then it's time to think about packing and going home.
Saturday 1st September: we succeed in packing and checking out by the 10am deadline, say our goodbyes and head south down the M6 once more. Via a stop for coffee at a farm shop we arrive chez la belle-mère half an hour before le frère et les 2 nièces arrive from the other side of the county. Cheese toasties for lunch in warm sunshine outside in another pretty English garden start the afternoon off in splendid fashion while la petite enjoys getting thrown about by her uncle and playing hide and seek in the willow tree with her older cousins. All too soon it is time to say goodbye once more and do the final bit of packing and faffing.
Sunday 2nd: la grand-mère waves sadly goodbye and we hit the road again. Three hours later we arrive back in Cambridge. This time our host is the Margarita Man, who has kindly organised an afternoon BBQ for our benefit, allowing us to meet up with les gooner confrères again, as well as le grand M and family. A very pleasant way to end a very pleasant holiday. Later in the evening, the Caiparinha Kid drops in having been delayed on a Eurostar from the Brussels beer festival for the umpteenth time. Then it's bedtime and the journey home to follow…
Sunday 26th: eight-thirty am wakeup call from the little girl's room. Marvellous, a lie-in. Rest of the day is spent in equally leisurely fashion. Walk down to the lakeside and coffee in the YHA café in the morning, long 3 hour siesta in the afternoon for la petite while papa suffers a stalemate in the Potteries on TV and mama and mamy do some shopping for provisions. Evening establishes a routine for the week - dip in the little superheated pool, bath, dinner, bed.
Monday 27th: another luxurious post-eight am lie-in, followed by another provisions shopping trip to Windermere in the morning rain. Post-lunch siesta only ends when la soeur et la nièce numéro 3 turn up for a short visit in the afternoon rain. They renew acquaintance with their niece/cousin respectively, check into their B&B and then return to take part in the usual evening routine.
Tuesday 28th: the rain finally stops, encouraging us catch the 11am boat to the visitor's centre at Brockhole. A visit to the playground is followed by lunch on the terrace in the sunshine and the return boat ride to Waterhead. The habitual evening is interrupted only by the departure of la soeur et la niece.
Wednesday 29th: another morning outing, this time to a soft play centre near Ambleside. La petite cascadeuse has fun, tiring out parents too old or unfit for obstacle courses. After lunch in the café the heavens open, drenching la bienheureuse who misses the short cut to the car park. Slight diversion from the usual evening routine, with the older female generation out for dinner, the imminently new female member of the middle generation cooks chili con carne for everyone else. The lack of sticky toffee pudding for dessert is in part compensated by la bienheureuse providing DIY Pavlova.
Thursday 30th: quiet morning is followed by the traditional mass rounders game in the park. Damp conditions underfoot render it a somewhat dangerous sport for certain members of the older generations, but much fun is had by all and the ginger ninja's team wins comprehensively. In the evening it is the turn of the middle generation to enjoy their traditional night out. Dinner at a new Thai restaurant in Ambleside is enjoyed in the usual convivial fashion and surprisingly gets less noisy as the evening progresses.
Friday 31st: no sign of the sun, but no sign of rain either means we go ahead with another outing on the lake. This time we accompany the three sisters to Castle Wray across the water. We meet the soon-to-be-newly-weds there, have an outdoor lunch and a walk round the grounds before taking the young girl back on the early afternoon boat, leaving the old girls to enjoy a tour inside the castle. In the evening dinner is the traditional fish'n'chips for twenty-plus, and then it's time to think about packing and going home.
Saturday 1st September: we succeed in packing and checking out by the 10am deadline, say our goodbyes and head south down the M6 once more. Via a stop for coffee at a farm shop we arrive chez la belle-mère half an hour before le frère et les 2 nièces arrive from the other side of the county. Cheese toasties for lunch in warm sunshine outside in another pretty English garden start the afternoon off in splendid fashion while la petite enjoys getting thrown about by her uncle and playing hide and seek in the willow tree with her older cousins. All too soon it is time to say goodbye once more and do the final bit of packing and faffing.
Sunday 2nd: la grand-mère waves sadly goodbye and we hit the road again. Three hours later we arrive back in Cambridge. This time our host is the Margarita Man, who has kindly organised an afternoon BBQ for our benefit, allowing us to meet up with les gooner confrères again, as well as le grand M and family. A very pleasant way to end a very pleasant holiday. Later in the evening, the Caiparinha Kid drops in having been delayed on a Eurostar from the Brussels beer festival for the umpteenth time. Then it's bedtime and the journey home to follow…
24 août 2012
Tour of England
A tale of travels and travails in Blighty in nine easy steps:
Friday 17th
Decide to drive to the airport, find the long-stay car park full and are directed to a nearby field instead. Flight leaves and arrives at Stansted on time.
Travel note 1 - la petite coquinette does not like being strapped in on parent's knees. Much screaming and struggling.
Travel note 2 - having decided to take our own car seat for the first time, due to the cost of long term hire being more than the cost of a new one, we collect it and our baggage from the carousel and head off to pick up the car hire. It's only once we are in possession of the keys that we realise we're missing something. No, not the baby, but the baby carrier. Fortunately the procedure required to go back into the arrivals hall to collect it is fairly painless.
Travel note 3 - hire car we are allocated is covered in scratches and dents, far more than are listed on the already long damage sheet. Attendant duly notes that there is lots of extra damage and we set off.
Travel note 4 - a rather worrying screeching noise is heard before we get out of the car park. Emanating not from the back seat, rather from the front wheels. The attendant gets in to witness the noise himself and offers us another car.
Travel note 5 - new car is a rather nice to drive German model but on a rare hot day in England we fail to get the air-conditioning to work.
Nonetheless we arrive in chez J&C in Cambridge suffering only minor heat exhaustion and the usual convivial and well-lubricated evening follows.
Saturday 18th
Bumper English breakfast helps alleviate hangovers and the three Gooners leave la bienheureuse et la petite to fend for themselves for the day while we head south to the sacred turf in North London. We enjoy, if that's the right word, a frustratingly goalless afternoon. Back in Cambridge a slightly more restrained convivial evening with dinner outdoors follows.
Sunday 19th
After a morning spent enjoying lovely and unexpectedly warm sunshine in a pretty English garden, we wave goodbye to le grand chef et la petite beaucoup and we are on the road again by mid-afternoon.
Travel note 6 - the air conditioning definitely doesn't work.
Travel note 7 - la petite displays distinctly untypical travel behaviour - she lapses into a strange sort of travel zone, staring blankly out of the window for several minutes before falling asleep.
She stays asleep almost until we arrive in Bromley suffering only minor heat exhaustion and enjoy another convivial evening and outdoor dinner chez le petit frère et la belle-soeur colombienne numèro deux.
Monday 20th
The young professionals head off to work leaving us to spend a day relaxing. At least that was the idea…
Travel note 7 - after several phone calls la bienheureuse manages to get the hire car changed again. According to the RAC broken air-conditioning does not count as a break-down, even in Saharan temperatures.
So off we set to Chatham, the nearest centre with an available car. Hallelujah, the air-con and everything else on hire car number three works. Meanwhile we belatedly get in touch with the Punjabi Princess and arrange to go and see her and the new arrival for lunch. After a very pleasant few hours catching up with old times and swapping baby tales, we head back to our digs in Bromley. Another outdoor dinner follows.
Tuesday 21st
We wave goodbye to le frère et la cuñada and head south-west via a stop for lunch and playtime for la petite at a soft play centre in a Bromley entertainment complex.
Travel note 8 - la petite voyageuse gets into the new travel zone again, but then reverts to type by waking up after forty minutes and throwing a wobbly which necessitates an emergency stop at services on the M4.
The British weather reverts to type and we arrive in Bristol amidst a heavy shower and heavy traffic. Eventually we arrive chez le grand frère to find fifteen-year old paint testers still decorating the walls, and a pleasant indoor dinner follows.
Wednesday 22nd
The four of us get into the car once more and head further south towards deepest Devon.
Travel note 9 - atypical behaviour seems to be becoming typical. La petite lapses into her zone once more, falls asleep and, wonder of wonders, doesn't wake up again until we we are in South Devon a whole two hours later.
Travel note 10 - traffic on the winding road between Totnes and Kingsbridge is as bad as ever, made worse by road works and slow moving farm tractors.
Travel note 11 - eighty year-old aunts can give wonderfully explicit directions, so we arrive safely at the new-ish abode of my only surviving aunt and uncle in the back of the South Devon beyond.
A very pleasant lunch and afternoon follows during the long overdue visit in the mellow Devon sunshine. La cousine decoratrice comes across from Salcombe to say hello and introduce us to two of her five progeny. Late in the afternoon we wave goodbye and head north back up the A38 and M5.
Travel note 12 - another 90 minute plus car sleep. Astonishing.
Thursday 23rd
We wave le grand frère off to work in the morning and not long afterwards leave the bachelor pad ourselves and hit the road once more.
Travel note 13 - the travel zone is not necessarily immediately followed by unconsciousness. The little traveller neglects to go to sleep until we are less than half an hour from Tattenhall.
Nonetheless the journey is relatively painless and we arrive chez la grand-mère suffering only minor travel weariness. In the evening however, after being on her best behaviour the whole week, la petite coquinette rebels against a sea of new and old faces constantly saying hello only to say goodbye a day or two later. She yells and steadfastly refuses to go to sleep for well over an hour. Exhausted, she is finally drops off around ten pm, and her parents fall into bed immediately afterwards.
Friday 24th
We spend a very pleasant day chez le beau-frère, la belle-soeur et les nièces canines in north Wales, despite the weather providing a taste of things to come in the Lakes - showers, not much sunshine and rather colder than the visitors from south-east France are used to. Back in Cheshire bed-time is slightly less taxing.
Friday 17th
Decide to drive to the airport, find the long-stay car park full and are directed to a nearby field instead. Flight leaves and arrives at Stansted on time.
Travel note 1 - la petite coquinette does not like being strapped in on parent's knees. Much screaming and struggling.
Travel note 2 - having decided to take our own car seat for the first time, due to the cost of long term hire being more than the cost of a new one, we collect it and our baggage from the carousel and head off to pick up the car hire. It's only once we are in possession of the keys that we realise we're missing something. No, not the baby, but the baby carrier. Fortunately the procedure required to go back into the arrivals hall to collect it is fairly painless.
Travel note 3 - hire car we are allocated is covered in scratches and dents, far more than are listed on the already long damage sheet. Attendant duly notes that there is lots of extra damage and we set off.
Travel note 4 - a rather worrying screeching noise is heard before we get out of the car park. Emanating not from the back seat, rather from the front wheels. The attendant gets in to witness the noise himself and offers us another car.
Travel note 5 - new car is a rather nice to drive German model but on a rare hot day in England we fail to get the air-conditioning to work.
Nonetheless we arrive in chez J&C in Cambridge suffering only minor heat exhaustion and the usual convivial and well-lubricated evening follows.
Saturday 18th
Bumper English breakfast helps alleviate hangovers and the three Gooners leave la bienheureuse et la petite to fend for themselves for the day while we head south to the sacred turf in North London. We enjoy, if that's the right word, a frustratingly goalless afternoon. Back in Cambridge a slightly more restrained convivial evening with dinner outdoors follows.
Sunday 19th
After a morning spent enjoying lovely and unexpectedly warm sunshine in a pretty English garden, we wave goodbye to le grand chef et la petite beaucoup and we are on the road again by mid-afternoon.
Travel note 6 - the air conditioning definitely doesn't work.
Travel note 7 - la petite displays distinctly untypical travel behaviour - she lapses into a strange sort of travel zone, staring blankly out of the window for several minutes before falling asleep.
She stays asleep almost until we arrive in Bromley suffering only minor heat exhaustion and enjoy another convivial evening and outdoor dinner chez le petit frère et la belle-soeur colombienne numèro deux.
Monday 20th
The young professionals head off to work leaving us to spend a day relaxing. At least that was the idea…
Travel note 7 - after several phone calls la bienheureuse manages to get the hire car changed again. According to the RAC broken air-conditioning does not count as a break-down, even in Saharan temperatures.
So off we set to Chatham, the nearest centre with an available car. Hallelujah, the air-con and everything else on hire car number three works. Meanwhile we belatedly get in touch with the Punjabi Princess and arrange to go and see her and the new arrival for lunch. After a very pleasant few hours catching up with old times and swapping baby tales, we head back to our digs in Bromley. Another outdoor dinner follows.
Tuesday 21st
We wave goodbye to le frère et la cuñada and head south-west via a stop for lunch and playtime for la petite at a soft play centre in a Bromley entertainment complex.
Travel note 8 - la petite voyageuse gets into the new travel zone again, but then reverts to type by waking up after forty minutes and throwing a wobbly which necessitates an emergency stop at services on the M4.
The British weather reverts to type and we arrive in Bristol amidst a heavy shower and heavy traffic. Eventually we arrive chez le grand frère to find fifteen-year old paint testers still decorating the walls, and a pleasant indoor dinner follows.
Wednesday 22nd
The four of us get into the car once more and head further south towards deepest Devon.
Travel note 9 - atypical behaviour seems to be becoming typical. La petite lapses into her zone once more, falls asleep and, wonder of wonders, doesn't wake up again until we we are in South Devon a whole two hours later.
Travel note 10 - traffic on the winding road between Totnes and Kingsbridge is as bad as ever, made worse by road works and slow moving farm tractors.
Travel note 11 - eighty year-old aunts can give wonderfully explicit directions, so we arrive safely at the new-ish abode of my only surviving aunt and uncle in the back of the South Devon beyond.
A very pleasant lunch and afternoon follows during the long overdue visit in the mellow Devon sunshine. La cousine decoratrice comes across from Salcombe to say hello and introduce us to two of her five progeny. Late in the afternoon we wave goodbye and head north back up the A38 and M5.
Travel note 12 - another 90 minute plus car sleep. Astonishing.
Thursday 23rd
We wave le grand frère off to work in the morning and not long afterwards leave the bachelor pad ourselves and hit the road once more.
Travel note 13 - the travel zone is not necessarily immediately followed by unconsciousness. The little traveller neglects to go to sleep until we are less than half an hour from Tattenhall.
Nonetheless the journey is relatively painless and we arrive chez la grand-mère suffering only minor travel weariness. In the evening however, after being on her best behaviour the whole week, la petite coquinette rebels against a sea of new and old faces constantly saying hello only to say goodbye a day or two later. She yells and steadfastly refuses to go to sleep for well over an hour. Exhausted, she is finally drops off around ten pm, and her parents fall into bed immediately afterwards.
Friday 24th
We spend a very pleasant day chez le beau-frère, la belle-soeur et les nièces canines in north Wales, despite the weather providing a taste of things to come in the Lakes - showers, not much sunshine and rather colder than the visitors from south-east France are used to. Back in Cheshire bed-time is slightly less taxing.
16 août 2012
Heating up
And so the Olympics are over, life returns to normal and I get off my TV couch and high horse. If my previous blog entry gave the impression of an anti-British view of the London games in France, I should perhaps correct it. In general they have been well received in France, particularly with a minor French gold rush in the final weekend, culminating in a second successive gold for "les Experts" all-conquering handballers. It was rather France TV's sports presenters who I was ranting about, and they can be characterised as a group of grumpy old men nursing a grudge that it was the BBC rather than France TV who were the host broadcasters for the games…
Meanwhile, the domestic sporting arena has been confined to la petite performing gymnastics on the sofa, and a couple of trips to an aquatic complex that opened relatively recently just outside Lyon. With three indoor and three outdoor pools, including paddling pools, 'fun' pools and plain swimming pools it is the ideal place to take a toddler swimming. We'll cure that aversion to getting water in her eyes yet…
Elsewhere life trundles along much as normal. Another aversion of la petite coquinette, that of being examined by a doctor, is still alive, kicking and screaming you might say. A trip to the paediatrician for another jab and a certificate stating that she is safe to be let loose amongst other children in a crèche resulted in the loudest and strongest screaming and struggling fit yet. She is otherwise in perfect health.
The weather recently has been mostly warm and sunny, and the forecast is for temperatures in the upper 30s from this weekend onwards. Good job we are escaping to cool Britannia...
Meanwhile, the domestic sporting arena has been confined to la petite performing gymnastics on the sofa, and a couple of trips to an aquatic complex that opened relatively recently just outside Lyon. With three indoor and three outdoor pools, including paddling pools, 'fun' pools and plain swimming pools it is the ideal place to take a toddler swimming. We'll cure that aversion to getting water in her eyes yet…
Elsewhere life trundles along much as normal. Another aversion of la petite coquinette, that of being examined by a doctor, is still alive, kicking and screaming you might say. A trip to the paediatrician for another jab and a certificate stating that she is safe to be let loose amongst other children in a crèche resulted in the loudest and strongest screaming and struggling fit yet. She is otherwise in perfect health.
The weather recently has been mostly warm and sunny, and the forecast is for temperatures in the upper 30s from this weekend onwards. Good job we are escaping to cool Britannia...
08 août 2012
Sour grapes
La bienheureuse et la petite have both suffered but coped remarkably well over the last week while I feed my TV sport-watching habit, though the latter has been displaying more of her naughty side recently, perhaps as a protest at not getting enough attention. My excuse is of course that the summer Olympics only come along every four years, and the Olympics in one of my home countries only come along roughly once every thirty years. Not that I've been able to as fully satisfy my urge as I no doubt would have done had we been living back in Blighty. Coverage of the games in France has more or less been restricted to two channels, and naturally that coverage has tended to concentrate on the fortunes of home heroes. Envious of the BBC's 24 live HD streams, moi?
Early on in the fortnight, TV coverage on France Televisions adopted a tone which was a mixture of the genial and the exultant, as French golds in the swimming, canoeing and judo rolled in. Midway through the first week they were having a quiet snigger at the fact that the host country was still awaiting its first title. No doubt I'm just being cynical, but I detected a bit of revelling in schadenfreude. The games should of course have been in Paris not London.
However, it all changed a week ago when the British gold stream started flowing just as the French one dried up. Firstly the presenters on France TV made a big fuss about alleged British cheating in the cycling and rowing, judges favouring British competitors, etc, etc. The fact that the French cycling coach inconveniently admitted that they would also have deliberately crashed in the event of a poor start was largely ignored. As for the bias towards home competitors, dare I suggest it was bit of a sore point. The games after all should have been in France...
Since then it seems to this particular viewer, albeit perhaps overly sensitive, that British successes have been pointedly ignored. At one point France 2 was showing badminton, a game normally rarer on TV than tiddlywinks, while a track cycling final that ended in British victory was going on. This in a country that is home to the greatest cycling race in the world. Fortunately Eurosport was immune to partisan considerations and showed the cycling. It was almost enough to turn me into a bigoted nationalist.
There has also been constant carping by commentators about problems (transport nightmares) and perceived injustices at the London games, particularly the alleged marginalising of the French language. One presenter was outraged by the lack of announcements in French during an archery event at Lords. Well, what did he expect of an institution that only started admitting women members a little over ten years ago? It was of course a Frenchman who was the driving force behind the first modern Olympics, though a certain Shropshire village claims he got the idea from them. The modern Olympics are a British invention after all. So there…
Early on in the fortnight, TV coverage on France Televisions adopted a tone which was a mixture of the genial and the exultant, as French golds in the swimming, canoeing and judo rolled in. Midway through the first week they were having a quiet snigger at the fact that the host country was still awaiting its first title. No doubt I'm just being cynical, but I detected a bit of revelling in schadenfreude. The games should of course have been in Paris not London.
However, it all changed a week ago when the British gold stream started flowing just as the French one dried up. Firstly the presenters on France TV made a big fuss about alleged British cheating in the cycling and rowing, judges favouring British competitors, etc, etc. The fact that the French cycling coach inconveniently admitted that they would also have deliberately crashed in the event of a poor start was largely ignored. As for the bias towards home competitors, dare I suggest it was bit of a sore point. The games after all should have been in France...
Since then it seems to this particular viewer, albeit perhaps overly sensitive, that British successes have been pointedly ignored. At one point France 2 was showing badminton, a game normally rarer on TV than tiddlywinks, while a track cycling final that ended in British victory was going on. This in a country that is home to the greatest cycling race in the world. Fortunately Eurosport was immune to partisan considerations and showed the cycling. It was almost enough to turn me into a bigoted nationalist.
There has also been constant carping by commentators about problems (transport nightmares) and perceived injustices at the London games, particularly the alleged marginalising of the French language. One presenter was outraged by the lack of announcements in French during an archery event at Lords. Well, what did he expect of an institution that only started admitting women members a little over ten years ago? It was of course a Frenchman who was the driving force behind the first modern Olympics, though a certain Shropshire village claims he got the idea from them. The modern Olympics are a British invention after all. So there…
31 juillet 2012
Mountain high
As the temperature climbed last week, reaching 34C on Friday, we decided to stick to our original plan of a weekend in the mountains despite a less than optimistic forecast. And so, in the afternoon, we headed east, air-conditioning on max, and arrived at Meribel shortly after five pm. After settling into our accommodation for the weekend, courtesy of une amie de la bienheureuse, we headed straight for a cooling dip in the small pool that is part of the apartment complex. Very nice it was too.
Thunder rumbled ominously overnight and Saturday morning dawned cool and damp. At least I think it did - hard to tell with shutters closed and a toddler who remarkably slept until after eight in the morning. Luxurious lie-in. Thereafter the rain cleared and the pattern for the rest of the weekend was set: gradually clearing skies, morning sortie, lunch, attempt to give a nap to the youngest member of the family, swim in the pool, dinner, bed.
The first morning we hiked up from La Chaudanne to Mottaret, roughly following what in winter is the Truite piste. Nice easy green run down on snow, bit of a slog up on foot, particularly carrying a 11 kilo wriggling bundle on your back. We hadn't necessarily intended to go all the way to Mottaret but chose to follow a newly constructed path along the Doron stream and there was no way off it before we reached the top. All good exercise, and we recovered with a very pleasant outdoor lunch at one of the cafés in Mottaret. La petite coquinette then unsurprisingly fell asleep on her mother's back on the way down, albeit for only ten minutes, but that was enough to persuade her that any further nap that day was unnecessary. She did however, stay happily enough in bed for 40 minutes while mama read and papa napped in the sunshine on the terrace outside.
On Sunday, it was cooler still, but with the sun coming and going it was nice enough to contemplate another walk in the mountains. Actually, we chose one that was more or less flat, a pleasant stroll along the banks of Lac Tueda, with another nice café lunch, though the cold breeze forced us indoors on this occasion with traditional mountain fare, tartiflette, on the menu. Another brief nap on the way home, this time in the car, put paid to any ideas these concerned parents might have had about their daughter getting enough sleep. Another sleepless half hour in bed this time ended in vociferous complaint.
Uninterrupted sunshine was forecast for Monday and we were having such a good time the next that we decided to stay an extra night. We thus fitted in another walk the following morning, driving up to Altiport for a slow wander in the woods (little legs don't always follow straight lines) around the 'sentier des animaux'. And then alas, it was time to head back down to the stifling heat of Lyon. La petite was a little less cooperative in the car this time - slept the first 45 minutes and then screamed for the next half hour necessitating an emergency refreshment stop. Car journeys still aren't her favourite way of passing the time...
Thunder rumbled ominously overnight and Saturday morning dawned cool and damp. At least I think it did - hard to tell with shutters closed and a toddler who remarkably slept until after eight in the morning. Luxurious lie-in. Thereafter the rain cleared and the pattern for the rest of the weekend was set: gradually clearing skies, morning sortie, lunch, attempt to give a nap to the youngest member of the family, swim in the pool, dinner, bed.
The first morning we hiked up from La Chaudanne to Mottaret, roughly following what in winter is the Truite piste. Nice easy green run down on snow, bit of a slog up on foot, particularly carrying a 11 kilo wriggling bundle on your back. We hadn't necessarily intended to go all the way to Mottaret but chose to follow a newly constructed path along the Doron stream and there was no way off it before we reached the top. All good exercise, and we recovered with a very pleasant outdoor lunch at one of the cafés in Mottaret. La petite coquinette then unsurprisingly fell asleep on her mother's back on the way down, albeit for only ten minutes, but that was enough to persuade her that any further nap that day was unnecessary. She did however, stay happily enough in bed for 40 minutes while mama read and papa napped in the sunshine on the terrace outside.
Uninterrupted sunshine was forecast for Monday and we were having such a good time the next that we decided to stay an extra night. We thus fitted in another walk the following morning, driving up to Altiport for a slow wander in the woods (little legs don't always follow straight lines) around the 'sentier des animaux'. And then alas, it was time to head back down to the stifling heat of Lyon. La petite was a little less cooperative in the car this time - slept the first 45 minutes and then screamed for the next half hour necessitating an emergency refreshment stop. Car journeys still aren't her favourite way of passing the time...
25 juillet 2012
Tour de force
A British victory in the Tour de France - a bit like a Frenchman scoring a century at Lords. Wiggins does seem to have won over the French public though, with his somewhat crooked sense of humour, quirky personality and willingness to give interviews in reasonably fluent French. And his triumph in what the French see as the ultimate sporting challenge has been welcomed, albeit somewhat grudgingly. Articles I've read have praised the professional, pragmatic way the Sky team controlled the race but at the same time bemoaned the way the spectacle was thus rendered somewhat less exciting than normal. This year's race has been described more than once as one of the most boring ever.
On the other hand, French commentators have also heralded it as a great year, largely due to the French success in winning five stages. In contrast to the boring Brits, the likes of Thomas Voeckler have been hailed for their panache and daring. French flair, quoi…
On the other hand, French commentators have also heralded it as a great year, largely due to the French success in winning five stages. In contrast to the boring Brits, the likes of Thomas Voeckler have been hailed for their panache and daring. French flair, quoi…
18 juillet 2012
British BBQ
The weekend past was taken up with a flying visit across the Channel, Cambridge the destination, a barbecue to celebrate the half-century of la petite beaucoup the prime reason. We left warm, 27C Lyon sunshine behind on Friday afternoon and arrived in Stansted four hours later and twelve degrees cooler. There was at least a glimpse of sunshine as we drove the hire car towards Cambridge, where the welcome was as warm as usual. And habitually convivial, which meant the grey skies that greeted us in the morning matched the grey fuzz clogging up my skull. It was as usual though la bienheureuse who dragged herself out of bed to deal with the chirping coming from the room across the landing at seven o'clock on the dot. Young children obviously automatically recognise time zones.
The clouds soon brought forth rain, rain and more rain. Not the ideal weather for a BBQ, but while our hosts toiled in the kitchen we made a quick trip to the local supermarket to restock on vital British supplies and then kept la petite amused indoors. And then, as if by prior arrangement, as the first guests started arriving in the late afternoon the rain stopped. And then, as if by miracle, as the JeB sausages, lamb and pork sizzled in the grill the sun came out and dried up all the rain. Well, enough of it to make sitting and consuming but a small proportion of the provided feast outside feasible. And a great time was had by all, particularly one particular toddler who had twenty odd adults and a dog to amuse and be amused by.
We spent the next day consuming barbecue leftovers, took la petite coquinette to the local park, and otherwise enjoyed a lazy Sunday afternoon chez des chers amis. The next morning our travel alarm was already in the process of adjusting for the trip home because she woke up half an hour before the traditional hour of seven. Which did at least mean we had an unrushed morning before we bade a fond farewell to the lady of the house and weekend, and set off homeward bound. Apart from longer than usual queues at the airport, we had a smooth trip and were back in warm, sunny Lyon soon after 5pm.
And there the pleasant weekend ended and a nightmare night started. The travel-weary toddler went to bed as usual but was awake 45 minutes later. She was settled back to sleep and woke up again 45 minutes later. She was settled back to sleep again and awoke 45 minutes later. Whereupon she refused to go back to sleep for the next four hours. When finally we did all get back to bed at about three in the morning, the little so-and-so allowed us five hours of uninterrupted rest. I use the word rest advisedly because sleep wasn't easy to come by…
And in the morning, when we were all finally up, the reason for her unrest became clear. A wretched cold, courtesy presumably of cold weather Blighty. Another interrupted night followed, albeit less dramatic, but our own little domestic drama was put into perspective by a real life drama we witnessed on our traditional afternoon outing to the playground yesterday. A group of passersby was gathered around a man lying flat on his back on the footpath along the river. The drama soon became a crisis as two of the helpers started administering artificial resuscitation, heart massage and all. Flashing lights heralded the arrival of the pompiers a few minutes later and they continued the resuscitation for a few minutes before putting the victim into a recovery position. Then a medical emergency team arrived, put on a BP cuff and put in a drip, which I took to mean the unfortunate fellow was alive.
And so la petite and I went home to resume our mundane routine of the mealtime and bedtime battles that have intensified since the return of le rhume...
The clouds soon brought forth rain, rain and more rain. Not the ideal weather for a BBQ, but while our hosts toiled in the kitchen we made a quick trip to the local supermarket to restock on vital British supplies and then kept la petite amused indoors. And then, as if by prior arrangement, as the first guests started arriving in the late afternoon the rain stopped. And then, as if by miracle, as the JeB sausages, lamb and pork sizzled in the grill the sun came out and dried up all the rain. Well, enough of it to make sitting and consuming but a small proportion of the provided feast outside feasible. And a great time was had by all, particularly one particular toddler who had twenty odd adults and a dog to amuse and be amused by.
We spent the next day consuming barbecue leftovers, took la petite coquinette to the local park, and otherwise enjoyed a lazy Sunday afternoon chez des chers amis. The next morning our travel alarm was already in the process of adjusting for the trip home because she woke up half an hour before the traditional hour of seven. Which did at least mean we had an unrushed morning before we bade a fond farewell to the lady of the house and weekend, and set off homeward bound. Apart from longer than usual queues at the airport, we had a smooth trip and were back in warm, sunny Lyon soon after 5pm.
And there the pleasant weekend ended and a nightmare night started. The travel-weary toddler went to bed as usual but was awake 45 minutes later. She was settled back to sleep and woke up again 45 minutes later. She was settled back to sleep again and awoke 45 minutes later. Whereupon she refused to go back to sleep for the next four hours. When finally we did all get back to bed at about three in the morning, the little so-and-so allowed us five hours of uninterrupted rest. I use the word rest advisedly because sleep wasn't easy to come by…
And in the morning, when we were all finally up, the reason for her unrest became clear. A wretched cold, courtesy presumably of cold weather Blighty. Another interrupted night followed, albeit less dramatic, but our own little domestic drama was put into perspective by a real life drama we witnessed on our traditional afternoon outing to the playground yesterday. A group of passersby was gathered around a man lying flat on his back on the footpath along the river. The drama soon became a crisis as two of the helpers started administering artificial resuscitation, heart massage and all. Flashing lights heralded the arrival of the pompiers a few minutes later and they continued the resuscitation for a few minutes before putting the victim into a recovery position. Then a medical emergency team arrived, put on a BP cuff and put in a drip, which I took to mean the unfortunate fellow was alive.
And so la petite and I went home to resume our mundane routine of the mealtime and bedtime battles that have intensified since the return of le rhume...
11 juillet 2012
Mellow yellow
A fortnight has passed and much has happened. La belle-mère arrived for a two week visit, she and la petite-fille spent three days getting reacquainted in hot Lyon and then we all set off in the petite voiture for a week's holiday in the deep sud-ouest; more specifically the Lot-et-Garonne, a gentle land of green and gold, sunflowers and hazelnuts, ruined castles and hilltop mediaeval villages. We arrived at our base for the week, holiday residences near Monflanquin, after a smooth eight hour journey punctuated by service stops to keep la petite voyageuse from going car-seat crazy. We settled in and the week thereafter followed something of a routine - morning outing, relaxed afternoon, early evening swim, dinner and early to bed.
Sunday: with the aim of purchasing provisions for the first couple of days, we chose a morning trip to Pujols, a mediaeval village classed as l'un des plus beaux villages de France. Perched on a hilltop, with a Sunday market, it was indeed notably pretty. Provisions duly acquired, we sat down for a pizza lunch as the skies cleared, la petite made friends with the children from a large group of Dutch tourists and then displayed her talent for the grand departure by dramatically blowing a kiss at the perfect moment as we left. Mass "aaahhh". A scenic route home allowed a short afternoon nap, and then we sampled the heated outdoor pool in the holiday complex. Very pleasant.
Monday: the Chateau de Gavaudun was the chosen destination for the day's outing. On a warm sunny day we climbed and wriggled through the narrow entrance in a sheer rock face, and admired the views of the ruined castle and beyond from the top of the castle keep. Thence back to base for a late lunch, and late nap for la petite, which lasted three hours. Unheard of…
Wednesday: the weather broke, and heavy showers that came and went all day persuaded us to stay put and watch the rain coming down from the cover of the apartment. La bienheureuse cured a stir-crazy daughter by taking her for a walk in the rain, and then, like true Brits on holiday, we all went for a swim in a deserted pool despite a 10 degree drop in temperatures from the previous day.
Thursday: even cooler and wetter. Undaunted, we set off on the traditional morning outing, choosing a hazelnut farm with a self-styled 'museum' on the theory that we would be under cover. True enough, though we had a short wait outside while the owner came across from the farm to open the doors for us. Being the only visitors we had the benefit of a personal tour and tasting session, and naturally came away weighed down with nut oil, nut biscuits and nutty sweets. A short stop at another farm shop allowed us to stock up on that other local specialty, prunes. As it was even colder we skipped the swim in the pool on our return.
Saturday: homeward bound. A seven hour trip, including only two stops for a more travel-hardy toddler, and we were back in warm, muggy Lyon by five pm. The end of a pleasant and more relaxing than might have been expected week…
The last few days of la belle-mère's visit passed quickly for some. La bienheureuse spent 2 days and a night away in the company mother country while la grand-mère et la petite-fille enjoyed each other's company, apart from an extreme reluctance on the latter's part to go to bed. Perhaps the after-effects of a holiday during which she slept a lot during the day and went to bed late. Perhaps she was missing mama, or perhaps she was missing Wednesdays with her little playmates, as our nanny-sharing arrangement with the neighbours has sadly come to an unexpected and abrupt end.
Monday: the Chateau de Gavaudun was the chosen destination for the day's outing. On a warm sunny day we climbed and wriggled through the narrow entrance in a sheer rock face, and admired the views of the ruined castle and beyond from the top of the castle keep. Thence back to base for a late lunch, and late nap for la petite, which lasted three hours. Unheard of…
Tuesday: on the sunniest, hottest day of the week, we drove to le Jardin des Nenuphars, a calm and pretty garden of water-lilies and lotus flowers. The decision to stay for lunch in the outdoor café was the low point of the day. More than two hours later we finally finished the meal. A coach party of pensioners was the likely cause, but la petite didn't care, she just got ratty. However, the return to Monflanquin was notable for a couple of firsts. We took another scenic route home in the hope that la petite coquinette would sleep, a plan that worked better than our wildest dreams. Firstly she slept one when we stopped to look at a windmill on a hill, and then slept almost all the way home, a total of well over an hour. First time she's stayed asleep for more than 40 minutes in the car. A swim in the pool at the end of a hot day was more than welcome.
Wednesday: the weather broke, and heavy showers that came and went all day persuaded us to stay put and watch the rain coming down from the cover of the apartment. La bienheureuse cured a stir-crazy daughter by taking her for a walk in the rain, and then, like true Brits on holiday, we all went for a swim in a deserted pool despite a 10 degree drop in temperatures from the previous day.
Thursday: even cooler and wetter. Undaunted, we set off on the traditional morning outing, choosing a hazelnut farm with a self-styled 'museum' on the theory that we would be under cover. True enough, though we had a short wait outside while the owner came across from the farm to open the doors for us. Being the only visitors we had the benefit of a personal tour and tasting session, and naturally came away weighed down with nut oil, nut biscuits and nutty sweets. A short stop at another farm shop allowed us to stock up on that other local specialty, prunes. As it was even colder we skipped the swim in the pool on our return.
Friday: an improvement in the weather encouraged yet another outing, to another ruined castle. Le Chateau de Bonaguil calls itself the most beautiful fortified castle in France, and most impressive it was too, even if we were there a day early for the mediaeval fête the following weekend. After a picnic lunch in a shady spot above the chateau, we drove back to base and then, while the three generations of females slept or read according to age, the token male was given time off to finally visit Monflanquin, another plus beaux villages de France perched high on a hill. And very pretty it was too, all narrow alleys and picturesque stone buildings with an impressive central square bordered by arcades.
Saturday: homeward bound. A seven hour trip, including only two stops for a more travel-hardy toddler, and we were back in warm, muggy Lyon by five pm. The end of a pleasant and more relaxing than might have been expected week…
The last few days of la belle-mère's visit passed quickly for some. La bienheureuse spent 2 days and a night away in the company mother country while la grand-mère et la petite-fille enjoyed each other's company, apart from an extreme reluctance on the latter's part to go to bed. Perhaps the after-effects of a holiday during which she slept a lot during the day and went to bed late. Perhaps she was missing mama, or perhaps she was missing Wednesdays with her little playmates, as our nanny-sharing arrangement with the neighbours has sadly come to an unexpected and abrupt end.
29 juin 2012
Hubris & schadenfreude
Seems I spoke too soon about the improved mood in the French football camp. No sooner had they gained plaudits for their first two games, than they threw it all away against a team with nothing to play for. Thanks to English luck though, they still made it through to the quarter-finals, where the bad against Sweden went to worse against Spain. It seems the fissures in les Bleus had only been papered over post-Knysna.
The French public and media are reasonably unanimous in condemning the self-centredness and lack of respect displayed by some players. And squarely in the middle of all the blame flying around was one Citizen who shunned footballing idealism for huge reserves of oil-stained lucre. Quite apart from his hate-hate relationship with the French media, even his teammates were accusing him of selfishness. Now where have I heard that before? L'Équipe claims the authorities are considering banning him from the national team for two years. Hohoho…
Watching an otherwise entertaining Euro 2012 unfold on French TV has been something of a trial. Unlike previous major competitions, which have all been available on free-to-air channels, this year a new player muscled in on the scene and bought up a large chunk of the TV rights. And as it's a subscription channel, if you don't pay, you don't watch. In fact half the games, including all the knockout phase are on free channels and I thought I was quids in when the new channel appeared on our cable feed unscrambled during the first weekend. However, three days in the so-and-sos encrypted it, so I was forced to miss half the remaining group games. Which at least offered some relief in certain quarters…
In the domestic arena things trundle along happily. La petite continues to grow and develop at what I might describe as an alarming rate. Most things have to be be done by herself and help from parents is often decidedly unwelcome, which doesn't stop her becoming quickly frustrated and upset when things don't go her way. Favourite activities at the moment include taking dirty mugs and bits of rubbish into the kitchen and wearing papa's underwear.
The last couple of weekends we've kept her amused by taking her swimming on Saturday morning, where she floats and splashes happily when she's not gazing intently at all the other activity going on around her. Last Sunday we also ventured out on a day trip to the Parc des Oiseaux, where she remarkably suffered without complaint an unexpected half hour queue to get in. I guess the thing about queues is that there are always plenty of other people to keep the interest. As for the birds, well they were just birds…
The French public and media are reasonably unanimous in condemning the self-centredness and lack of respect displayed by some players. And squarely in the middle of all the blame flying around was one Citizen who shunned footballing idealism for huge reserves of oil-stained lucre. Quite apart from his hate-hate relationship with the French media, even his teammates were accusing him of selfishness. Now where have I heard that before? L'Équipe claims the authorities are considering banning him from the national team for two years. Hohoho…
Watching an otherwise entertaining Euro 2012 unfold on French TV has been something of a trial. Unlike previous major competitions, which have all been available on free-to-air channels, this year a new player muscled in on the scene and bought up a large chunk of the TV rights. And as it's a subscription channel, if you don't pay, you don't watch. In fact half the games, including all the knockout phase are on free channels and I thought I was quids in when the new channel appeared on our cable feed unscrambled during the first weekend. However, three days in the so-and-sos encrypted it, so I was forced to miss half the remaining group games. Which at least offered some relief in certain quarters…
In the domestic arena things trundle along happily. La petite continues to grow and develop at what I might describe as an alarming rate. Most things have to be be done by herself and help from parents is often decidedly unwelcome, which doesn't stop her becoming quickly frustrated and upset when things don't go her way. Favourite activities at the moment include taking dirty mugs and bits of rubbish into the kitchen and wearing papa's underwear.
The last couple of weekends we've kept her amused by taking her swimming on Saturday morning, where she floats and splashes happily when she's not gazing intently at all the other activity going on around her. Last Sunday we also ventured out on a day trip to the Parc des Oiseaux, where she remarkably suffered without complaint an unexpected half hour queue to get in. I guess the thing about queues is that there are always plenty of other people to keep the interest. As for the birds, well they were just birds…
18 juin 2012
Pride, prejudice, pathos
And so, Président Hollande and the Socialists duly won a thumping parliamentary majority in the second round of elections yesterday. Not that 43% of the French electorate cared enough to go out and vote. Media interest has been concentrated on various high profile circonscriptions, such as the one in Northern France where the Front National leader's gratifyingly lost by a whisker to her Socialist rival. Perhaps Mme Le Pen should have grown a beard to go with the voice. Unfortunately, 3 of her similarly inclined colleague, including her 22 year old niece, did win their seats to give the extreme right MPs for the first time.
Elsewhere, Ségolène Royal was soundly beaten in her chosen seat by the dissident Socialist who maintained his candidacy despite being ordered by the party hierarchy to stand down in favour of the 'parachuted in' Royal. The battle was given added piquancy when Valérie Trierweiler, the current partner of Hollande tweeted her support for the rebel Olivier Falorni. Mme Royal was given lukewarm backing by the president and is, of course, his ex-partner and mother of his four children. Miaow…
One novelty this year was the introduction of 11 'foreign' constituencies, among them one for Northern Europe which includes the UK, giving expat French people a minor say in what goes on in their mother country. Anybody in Westminster listening? asks one expat Brit who will lose his right to vote in the UK in less than five years…
Perhaps France was more preoccupied by the European football championships in Poland and the Ukraine, where the national team's campaign has borne a marked contrast to the 2010 World Cup, despite a mere draw with the boring English. The subsequent win over Ukraine has seemingly set les Bleus on course for the quarter-finals, barring an unlikely set of results in the next games.
The football itself was somewhat overshadowed over the weekend by the sudden death of Thierry Roland, the doyen of French football commentators. His enthusiasm for the game will be sorely missed on TV games from now on, even if TF1 had already rather rudely deprived him of his largest audience some years ago. Perhaps the best description of his commentating style was given by another larger than life character in French football, Rolland Courbis, who said he commentated as though he was watching games at home from his own sofa. RIP Thierry.
Elsewhere, Ségolène Royal was soundly beaten in her chosen seat by the dissident Socialist who maintained his candidacy despite being ordered by the party hierarchy to stand down in favour of the 'parachuted in' Royal. The battle was given added piquancy when Valérie Trierweiler, the current partner of Hollande tweeted her support for the rebel Olivier Falorni. Mme Royal was given lukewarm backing by the president and is, of course, his ex-partner and mother of his four children. Miaow…
One novelty this year was the introduction of 11 'foreign' constituencies, among them one for Northern Europe which includes the UK, giving expat French people a minor say in what goes on in their mother country. Anybody in Westminster listening? asks one expat Brit who will lose his right to vote in the UK in less than five years…
Perhaps France was more preoccupied by the European football championships in Poland and the Ukraine, where the national team's campaign has borne a marked contrast to the 2010 World Cup, despite a mere draw with the boring English. The subsequent win over Ukraine has seemingly set les Bleus on course for the quarter-finals, barring an unlikely set of results in the next games.
The football itself was somewhat overshadowed over the weekend by the sudden death of Thierry Roland, the doyen of French football commentators. His enthusiasm for the game will be sorely missed on TV games from now on, even if TF1 had already rather rudely deprived him of his largest audience some years ago. Perhaps the best description of his commentating style was given by another larger than life character in French football, Rolland Courbis, who said he commentated as though he was watching games at home from his own sofa. RIP Thierry.
11 juin 2012
Dampened expectations
The first round of the parliamentary elections in France yesterday were inevitably somewhat overshadowed by the presidential election that preceded them a month ago. It wasn't until about 10 days ago that the media started paying much attention at all to them, and that was mainly focused on the more high-profile constituencies such as the extreme right-far left punch-up between Le Pen & Melenchon. And it seems enthusiasm for the vote was duly dampened, perhaps in part by the wet weather yesterday, because the turnout was the lowest ever in the republican era.
The new president seems likely to be given a workable parliamentary majority, even if it is only with the support of the far left. Thanks to the election system, the Front de Gauche are ironically predicted to gain a dozen or so seats, at least four times as many as the Front National despite only getting half the number of votes and Melenchon losing the mediatised battle with Le Pen. Long may it continue…
Chez these particular disenfranchised foreigners, the election more or less passed us by. Other matters demand greater attention:
the weather - the arrival of summer ten days ago turned out to be a mere rumour. Since that blazing hot Saturday, temperatures have dropped below seasonal norms and the rain has been more or less ever present. Taking la petite out for her daily constitutional has become an exercise in dodging the showers. Yesterday we got it wrong. A trip by bike to the local garden centre for lunch and an emergency purchase of wellies for la travailleuse's sugar beet field trip to eastern Germany this week seemed a good idea until we left the shop to find the rain coming down. No waterproofs either. Fortunately it eased enough for us to get home without getting too wet.
toddler health: another routine visit to the paediatrician last week produced familiar results - tears and struggles before the jab but not after, a clean bill of health, another 3cm, another kilo, and a recommendation from the good doctor that la petite take up judo after her demonstration of muscle strength. He also warned of minor after-effects from the MMR vaccine, which possibly explain why la petite succumbed to yet another cold a few days later.
toddler adventure: the cold doesn't stop the little stunt artist from frequent demonstrations of her new found climbing skills. Latest favourite mountains to conquer are the arms of the sofas, from which it's great fun to fall backwards onto the soft sofa cushions. Continual admonishments from mama & papa as they nervously eye the more dangerous fall in the other direction have little effect.
The new president seems likely to be given a workable parliamentary majority, even if it is only with the support of the far left. Thanks to the election system, the Front de Gauche are ironically predicted to gain a dozen or so seats, at least four times as many as the Front National despite only getting half the number of votes and Melenchon losing the mediatised battle with Le Pen. Long may it continue…
Chez these particular disenfranchised foreigners, the election more or less passed us by. Other matters demand greater attention:
the weather - the arrival of summer ten days ago turned out to be a mere rumour. Since that blazing hot Saturday, temperatures have dropped below seasonal norms and the rain has been more or less ever present. Taking la petite out for her daily constitutional has become an exercise in dodging the showers. Yesterday we got it wrong. A trip by bike to the local garden centre for lunch and an emergency purchase of wellies for la travailleuse's sugar beet field trip to eastern Germany this week seemed a good idea until we left the shop to find the rain coming down. No waterproofs either. Fortunately it eased enough for us to get home without getting too wet.
toddler health: another routine visit to the paediatrician last week produced familiar results - tears and struggles before the jab but not after, a clean bill of health, another 3cm, another kilo, and a recommendation from the good doctor that la petite take up judo after her demonstration of muscle strength. He also warned of minor after-effects from the MMR vaccine, which possibly explain why la petite succumbed to yet another cold a few days later.
toddler adventure: the cold doesn't stop the little stunt artist from frequent demonstrations of her new found climbing skills. Latest favourite mountains to conquer are the arms of the sofas, from which it's great fun to fall backwards onto the soft sofa cushions. Continual admonishments from mama & papa as they nervously eye the more dangerous fall in the other direction have little effect.
06 juin 2012
Sun & water dance
On Saturday, the sun shone, the temperature climbed into the thirties and we spent the afternoon at the Fête de l'Eau, not so much a water party as the Jons village fête. A friend of la bienheureuse was one of the organisers, hence our presence, and we enjoyed delicious paella for lunch in the sweltering heat. Someone had rather thoughtlessly cut down the large trees that had apparently provided shade in previous years, but a giant marquee fortunately sheltered the lunch party from the worst of the sun, even if it also trapped warm air somewhat.
On the agenda after lunch was a guided visit to the Barrage de Jons, one of the dams on the Rhône management system that diverts water to a small hydroelectric station upriver of Lyon. Meanwhile, back at the party, dancing dogs, rides in horse-drawn carriages and various river craft continued through the afternoon. And so did the music, the rhumba band delighting la petite danseuse so much that she climbed up onto the dance floor and led the boogying.
The next day we recovered and the water arrived a day late, lots of it falling from the sky. As if in sympathy, the thermometer mercury tumbled too, a full fifteen degrees. From midsummer to early spring in one fell swoop, and la petite grognarde went a little stir crazy, despite being taken out for a walk in the rain by maman while papa remained dry in front of the TV tennis. Or perhaps she was suffering from the previous day's excitement and lack of sleep. Still, the day spent mostly indoors allowed her to practise her latest skill, climbing. Nothing so easy as the sofa for her. No, something more challenging like the baby walker or the wooden activity box. And once she's reached the top and stood up, the huge self-congratulatory grin - 'look, no hands, how clever am I?' - makes it hard to tell her off with a straight face.
A few days earlier a different sort of water was falling from above. La bienheureuse went into la petite chambre and realised there was leak coming from l'appartement au dessus. Visions of the infamous flood of 2006 came flooding back and she dashed upstairs to warn the neighbours. Yes, the same flat and the same neighbours who were the origin of that six month nightmare.
Meanwhile, I hastened to see how many buckets might be required, only to find that the leak had stopped. The neighbours arrived in a state of some bemusement until Monsieur said to Madame, "Did you just water the plants?". She nodded. A simple case of an overfilled house plant pot; only damage - a couple of small damp patches on the bed cover. Phew!
A few days earlier a different sort of water was falling from above. La bienheureuse went into la petite chambre and realised there was leak coming from l'appartement au dessus. Visions of the infamous flood of 2006 came flooding back and she dashed upstairs to warn the neighbours. Yes, the same flat and the same neighbours who were the origin of that six month nightmare.
Meanwhile, I hastened to see how many buckets might be required, only to find that the leak had stopped. The neighbours arrived in a state of some bemusement until Monsieur said to Madame, "Did you just water the plants?". She nodded. A simple case of an overfilled house plant pot; only damage - a couple of small damp patches on the bed cover. Phew!
30 mai 2012
Dipping little toes
After the rain, the sunshine, which seems to have finally arrived just in time for the first sporting event of summer, the French Open. The third bank holiday weekend in May (though a mere 3-day one this time) was for the most part bathed in warm sunshine. And on Saturday, the warmest day of the year so far, it was our turn to be bathed in blissful cool water. The occasion was an invitation to a BBQ chez une amie de la bienheureuse, where we got a first try of their new pool. Given the recent weather, you'd be forgiven for suspecting the water might have been rather too cool, but some solar heating got it to a more or less bearable 23C. And with a cute little neoprene suit, it was just about warm enough for la petite nageuse, though she was none too sure about her first taste of an outdoor pool at first. And she was perfectly behaved for the rest of a very pleasant evening, obligingly going happily to bed while the rest of us ate a sumptuous barbecue feast before putting up gracefully with being woken rudely at about midnight, carted across Lyon in the car, and put to bed again.
Sunday was recovery day, which was just as well because it was the one day of the weekend when the weather was a little less beautiful. The sun and elevated temperatures were back on Pentecost Monday, which allowed another balade by bicycle along the river to the Parc de la Feyssine. Yesterday, la petite and papa were back in the old routine while maman went off to work, and today le père has a day off while la fille is downstairs, where she has settled in as though it's an extension to home, having fun with her friends and being looked after by the nounou.
The father-daughter days are indeed pretty routine at the moment. La petite coquinette regularly wakes up at 7am, give or take 15 minutes, happily goes down for two daytime naps at regular hours (circa 10am and 2pm), eats fairly willingly (albeit needing a bit of gentle persuasion from time to time) as long as she's given whatever her parents are eating and is allowed to have a go at feeding herself, be it with fingers, fork or spoon. And most of the rest of the time the petit ange plays contentedly on her own or with parent, apart from the odd occasion when she wakes up in a bad mood or tantrums are thrown as a result of frustration with not being able to do something. Dressing herself is one source of annoyance at the moment, or at least trying to. Socks, trousers and tops (not necessarily her own) just won't cooperate at the moment, and she can get very upset when they won't do as she wants. Life when you're less than fifteen months can be tough at times but, fortunately for her parents, bad moods usually pass as quickly as they arrive…
Sunday was recovery day, which was just as well because it was the one day of the weekend when the weather was a little less beautiful. The sun and elevated temperatures were back on Pentecost Monday, which allowed another balade by bicycle along the river to the Parc de la Feyssine. Yesterday, la petite and papa were back in the old routine while maman went off to work, and today le père has a day off while la fille is downstairs, where she has settled in as though it's an extension to home, having fun with her friends and being looked after by the nounou.
The father-daughter days are indeed pretty routine at the moment. La petite coquinette regularly wakes up at 7am, give or take 15 minutes, happily goes down for two daytime naps at regular hours (circa 10am and 2pm), eats fairly willingly (albeit needing a bit of gentle persuasion from time to time) as long as she's given whatever her parents are eating and is allowed to have a go at feeding herself, be it with fingers, fork or spoon. And most of the rest of the time the petit ange plays contentedly on her own or with parent, apart from the odd occasion when she wakes up in a bad mood or tantrums are thrown as a result of frustration with not being able to do something. Dressing herself is one source of annoyance at the moment, or at least trying to. Socks, trousers and tops (not necessarily her own) just won't cooperate at the moment, and she can get very upset when they won't do as she wants. Life when you're less than fifteen months can be tough at times but, fortunately for her parents, bad moods usually pass as quickly as they arrive…
23 mai 2012
Key costs
Before three days of almost continuous rain arrived, the last two days of last week were reasonably mild and sunny, which made for a pleasant start to the long Ascension bank holiday weekend. On both days we took advantage of the good weather with afternoon outings on the bicycles. On Thursday we cycled to the Parc de la Tête d'Or, a pleasant little trip, which had an undesirable ending. On returning to the garage the keeper of the keys (he that wears shorts with zip-closing pockets) searched in vain for the key. Only then did he remember that there was a hole in the particular pocket in which the key had been deposited. Oops. In my defence, the garage key is rather large and the hole rather small. Still, it had obviously slipped through somehow, and an hour spent retracing our route scanning the ground carefully was singularly fruitless.
And so the bikes accompanied us back to the apartment and were laboriously lugged up six flights of stairs. The next morning a call to a serrurier produced a reasonably prompt response and by early afternoon the garage was open. The locksmith's method of gaining access: a large screwdriver and a couple of judicious blows with a hammer. Not the most secure of lockups. Total cost of a lost key: 210 euros. Admittedly that included a replacement lock & keys, but apparently Friday counts as the weekend when it's a bridging day, hence weekend callout rates. Hmm…
Anyway, as the weather was still good my disgruntled mood was cured with another pleasant little balade à velo, further upriver this time, as far as the Parc de la Fessine, where la petite adventurière could wander far and wide without need for immediate parental intervention.
And so the bikes accompanied us back to the apartment and were laboriously lugged up six flights of stairs. The next morning a call to a serrurier produced a reasonably prompt response and by early afternoon the garage was open. The locksmith's method of gaining access: a large screwdriver and a couple of judicious blows with a hammer. Not the most secure of lockups. Total cost of a lost key: 210 euros. Admittedly that included a replacement lock & keys, but apparently Friday counts as the weekend when it's a bridging day, hence weekend callout rates. Hmm…
Anyway, as the weather was still good my disgruntled mood was cured with another pleasant little balade à velo, further upriver this time, as far as the Parc de la Fessine, where la petite adventurière could wander far and wide without need for immediate parental intervention.
22 mai 2012
Damp squibs
Unlike in England the previous weekend, the football championship in France was rather gratifying won on Sunday by minnows Montpellier, who finished three points clear of the Qatari-funded Parisians. PSG won their final game at Lorient but then had to wait half an hour for Montpellier's match at already-relegated Auxerre to finish, after irate Auxerre fans twice interrupted the match with a barrage of smoke bombs, toilet rolls and tennis balls being thrown onto the pitch. Undeterred, the relatively impoverished men from the Herault held their nerve to win 2-1 despite going behind early in the match. In French football at least, money isn't yet everything...
Meanwhile I was at Gerland in the pouring rain, being kept up to date with events elsewhere by a neighbour with a smart phone, to watch Lyon's final game end in an entertaining 4-3 defeat to Nice. Strange match, perhaps not surprisingly given that OL already knew they could finish no higher and no lower than fourth, and that Nice needed three points to be sure of avoiding relegation. It rather neatly summed up a mixed season - lowest league place for 11 years but a trophy, the French Cup. Nice hit the woodwork three times in the first twenty minutes, only to find OL making the most of their chances and going 2-0 up. An inexperienced central defence then allowed the visitors to equalise and then take the lead in the second half with a rare Lloris error. Stung into action, les gones equalised and threatened the winner only to allow the Nice centre-forward to run through all the way from his own half and score.
Back on the home front, we enjoyed a quiet first weekend in three en famille, even if the weather was mixed in the extreme. Pleasant sunshine early on Saturday afternoon enticed la bienheureuse et la petite out for a shopping trip. New stock of toys duly purchased they made for home at the same time as the heavens opened, throwing down rain, lightning and hail. Rather large hailstones at that, but rather surprisingly a flimsy umbrella protected both mes bien-aimées.
A similar story on Sunday. Warm sunshine in the morning dragged us out to the market before the rain started coming down early in the afternoon. That didn't stop la petite coquinette from fetching shoes, her way of demanding to be taken out, and her mother duly obliged. No stay-at-home girl that little one. And the rain has barely stopped since. Summer is still dragging its heels...
Meanwhile I was at Gerland in the pouring rain, being kept up to date with events elsewhere by a neighbour with a smart phone, to watch Lyon's final game end in an entertaining 4-3 defeat to Nice. Strange match, perhaps not surprisingly given that OL already knew they could finish no higher and no lower than fourth, and that Nice needed three points to be sure of avoiding relegation. It rather neatly summed up a mixed season - lowest league place for 11 years but a trophy, the French Cup. Nice hit the woodwork three times in the first twenty minutes, only to find OL making the most of their chances and going 2-0 up. An inexperienced central defence then allowed the visitors to equalise and then take the lead in the second half with a rare Lloris error. Stung into action, les gones equalised and threatened the winner only to allow the Nice centre-forward to run through all the way from his own half and score.
Back on the home front, we enjoyed a quiet first weekend in three en famille, even if the weather was mixed in the extreme. Pleasant sunshine early on Saturday afternoon enticed la bienheureuse et la petite out for a shopping trip. New stock of toys duly purchased they made for home at the same time as the heavens opened, throwing down rain, lightning and hail. Rather large hailstones at that, but rather surprisingly a flimsy umbrella protected both mes bien-aimées.
A similar story on Sunday. Warm sunshine in the morning dragged us out to the market before the rain started coming down early in the afternoon. That didn't stop la petite coquinette from fetching shoes, her way of demanding to be taken out, and her mother duly obliged. No stay-at-home girl that little one. And the rain has barely stopped since. Summer is still dragging its heels...
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