One of life's dilemmas: la bienheureuse's youngest cousin thoughtlessly fails to predict that she'd be 8 months pregnant on the day he finally chooses for his wedding. After some dithering we book cancellable train tickets and leave the final decision until the last moment. And a week before the day the gestational diabetes is under control, sleep deprivation is no worse than it has been for the previous 8 months, so we decide to go.
And the journey starts off well enough. Okay, twenty minute delay to the 9am TGV from Lyon to Lille, but that shouldn't be a problem because we have a 90 minute stopover before our Eurostar is due to depart. La petite behaves impeccably during the 3 hour train trip, and only starts getting stroppy an hour after we've been through security and passport control into the Eurostar departure lounge. There we get the first hint of trouble - 40 minute delay announced.
Eventually we troop down onto the platform, get on the train and settle into our seats. Uhoh - another announcement - due to a problem with the engine there will be a further 40 minute delay before a replacement train arrives. Rather more than 40 minutes later we eventually all file off, cross platforms and get on the new train, which was originally heading in the opposite direction. Bizarrely the passengers on the replacement get off and get onto our original train. Presumably the engine was serviceable enough to get them to Paris but not to be risked in the Tunnel…
So we eventually arrive in Ebbsfleet nearly two hours later than scheduled, find the car hire desk, complete the formalities and the car seat for la petite is produced. Only it's the wrong size, suitable for a child twice her age. The Avis girl rings round nearby branches and eventually a replacement is fetched from Maidstone by a driver and arrives nearly an hour later. All of which means we end up on the M25 in rush hour instead of at two in the afternoon. An exhausted toddler is asleep within minutes and only wakes up when traffic grinds to a halt for the first time, somewhat surprisingly, an hour later just south of the M3. Having been a little angel all day, she decides it's time to let loose, and screams accompany our crawl along Blighty's blighted motorways for the next half hour.
However, she gradually cheers up roughly in proportion to the car's speed and we arrive at our hotel over three hours later than planned, frazzled and frayed round the edges but in one piece. Mass dinner with the thus far assembled family follows and we finally get to our room ready to fall into bed just before nine in the evening. Ready but not willing in one case - all the excitement of the day has been too much for la petite voyageuse, and she promptly goes hyper and takes a full two hours to fall asleep, which she finally does sharing the double bed with maman while papa attempts to kip on the single bed.
Nine hours later we are all awake again, the parents having also been awake at regular and frequent intervals in the interim. Mother and child end the night sleeping across the bed, the latter having turned a full 90 degrees in her sleep and almost succeeding in pushing the former off the edge.
The big day is not due to start until mid-afternoon, so we keep la petite amused with a trip to nearby Wellington country park where a kindly employee lets us into the children's play area for a free half hour to avoid paying the steep £9 entry fee. Snack lunch in the cafeteria follows and then we head back to the hotel to attempt to get la petite coquinette to have a siesta before the festivities begin. Success is eventually achieved by dint of papa sharing the bed in front of children's TV while mama goes to mamy's room to put on her party frock.
We find the venue, a former manor house which is now owned by a charitable educational trust, with only minor navigational difficulties, and choose seats in the back row for the humanist ceremony in the packed Tithe Barn. La petite more or less behaves, with only one short walk outside with papa required to stave off boredom. Thence to the main house for the reception and drinks to toast the bride & groom. The weather is kind enough - cool but pleasantly sunny - to allow the younger guests to run around outside while those so inclined imbibe the alcohol on offer.
The wedding feast begins late in the afternoon, bangers & mash, home baked cakes and bacon butties on the menu, all washed down with wine and followed by wedding cheese cake, literally. Speeches are made, (un)fortunately missed by papa & la petite due to an urgent call to the nappy change facilities, the ceilidh begins, and la petite famille, enlarged by one, eventually decides to head back to the hotel at about nine-thirty. This time we get properly lost and have to stop at a petrol station to ask directions. The attendant has no idea how to find the hotel, but fortunately his next client is a local, and we are eventually back by ten. Thence follows another lengthy two hour 'getting la petite to sleep' session. At least this time she eventually drops off in her own bed.
The next morning it's time to say our goodbyes, and the various aunts, two generations of cousins, siblings and in-laws one by one take their leave, leaving us to make the short drive to nearby Ascot where the marathon running civil servant and the armchair rugby man await their first meeting with la petite. Drs N & C, Ealing branch of the UKC connection, were also there and we all enjoy a sumptuous home-cooked and home-butchered roast pork lunch and walk it off in the afternoon with a walk round the chilly, wind-swept race course.
After the climax to the Football League season is suffered by some, we wave goodbye and head back for our last night of hotel purgatory. A quick dinner in the adjoining pub allows us to make an early, 8pm, start to bedtime, but the process still takes two hours and ends this time with la petite asleep on the floor. The whys and wherefores are better left unsaid…
Next stop on the itinerary is Bexleyheath. We arrive chez the two doctors and the Jezoids just before lunch the next day. After the Jezoid aîné survives a severe winding from a fall off the monkey bars while showing off, I head off into the big smoke for a final pilgrimage of the season. I meet le grand gooner and the margarita man in the pub before watching with gritted teeth an honourable but unsatisfactory draw with the newly crowned champions.
I return to our base for the night find la petite already in bed, having had a two hour siesta in the afternoon, and she soon drops off with little fuss. A welcome return to near normality. The lady and the boys of the house are up and out on school day before their visitors are up, and we are left with to enjoy a leisurely morning preparing for the journey home. Short drive to Ebbsfleet, where Avis at least have the good grace to waive the car seat hire charges, Eurostar arrives on time, transfer to TGV in Lille progresses smoothly, and we arrive back in Lyon at seven in the evening. There the travel hoodoo strikes again. It's raining, rush hour and not one bus turns up in the half hour we spend waiting. We eventually decide to walk home, a two kilometre slog with suitcase, bags and two year-old toddler not made any easier by the fact that the cursed outward journey had also put paid to the child carrier, bent out of shape somewhere along the line. At last the blessed sanctuary of home is attained and, after a quick snack dinner, we fall into bed. La petite is asleep within minutes. Hallelujah…
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est UK. Afficher tous les articles
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est UK. Afficher tous les articles
30 avril 2013
21 février 2013
Fogged up
Winter weariness continues, seasonal sickness recurs yet again. La bienheureuse returned from frozen Finland with lungs and sinuses all clogged up. A visit to the doctor resulted in a referral to hospital for tests. Four hours spent at Croix Rousse urgences having a swab shoved up a nostril, seemingly as far as the brain, and various needles jabbed into the arms for blood tests resulted in an all-clear for flu but confirmation of bacterial infection.
Thus, another course of antibiotics is in progress. Meanwhile, la petite has picked up yet another cold and, just as papa thought he could see good health in sight, he too succumbed anew. Cough, cough. We yearn for the sun and warmth of spring.
The old fool didn't help his health by indulging an addiction with another trip across the Channel. Quel cauchemar. Monday evening the phone rings and British Airways inform me my flight at the nice relaxed time of eleven thirty in the morning has been cancelled because of bad weather. Alternatives offered: 7am or six in the evening, the latter too late to get me to the match on time.
Thus, I was up (after a night of little sleep) and making my bleary-eyed way through fog-bound Lyon to the airport at 5am in the morning. Fog at Heathrow was ostensibly the reason of the cancellation of the original flight. Surely in this day and age planes can take off and land in fog? Of course they can. An overheard conversation with the pilot of the 7am flight revealed that the later, less full flight, was probably just cancelled to avoid the knock-on delays that fog can, however, cause. Thanks, BA, think I'll stick to budget airlines next time.
Sure enough, fog blanketed London, but only the north and east. Heathrow itself was completely clear, and I thus found myself in sunny central London by 10am with a whole day to waste. And waste it I did, watching Bond fall from the sky, spending vouchers on childrens' books, having a leisurely lunch and then an extended pre-match dinner in the pub with le grand gooner. And then wasted the next two hours watching the misfiring Gunners being taught a lesson by a well-oiled Bavarian machine. The football season is all but over. Would that the winter season would end so abruptly.
And to cap it all, the flight home was full of enemy Spuds, coming over for tonight's match against OL. Though perhaps I ought to use the word enemy more advisedly. Enemy in the 'friendly' sporting rivalry sense. English fans were apparently attacked last night in a couple of pubs in Vieux Lyon that I've frequented on more than one occasion myself. Reports suggest that they were deliberately targeted by an extreme right group rather than opposition fans. I was thinking of going to watch the match - think I might watch it on TV instead. Too cold to watch football live anyway...
Thus, another course of antibiotics is in progress. Meanwhile, la petite has picked up yet another cold and, just as papa thought he could see good health in sight, he too succumbed anew. Cough, cough. We yearn for the sun and warmth of spring.
The old fool didn't help his health by indulging an addiction with another trip across the Channel. Quel cauchemar. Monday evening the phone rings and British Airways inform me my flight at the nice relaxed time of eleven thirty in the morning has been cancelled because of bad weather. Alternatives offered: 7am or six in the evening, the latter too late to get me to the match on time.
Thus, I was up (after a night of little sleep) and making my bleary-eyed way through fog-bound Lyon to the airport at 5am in the morning. Fog at Heathrow was ostensibly the reason of the cancellation of the original flight. Surely in this day and age planes can take off and land in fog? Of course they can. An overheard conversation with the pilot of the 7am flight revealed that the later, less full flight, was probably just cancelled to avoid the knock-on delays that fog can, however, cause. Thanks, BA, think I'll stick to budget airlines next time.
Sure enough, fog blanketed London, but only the north and east. Heathrow itself was completely clear, and I thus found myself in sunny central London by 10am with a whole day to waste. And waste it I did, watching Bond fall from the sky, spending vouchers on childrens' books, having a leisurely lunch and then an extended pre-match dinner in the pub with le grand gooner. And then wasted the next two hours watching the misfiring Gunners being taught a lesson by a well-oiled Bavarian machine. The football season is all but over. Would that the winter season would end so abruptly.
And to cap it all, the flight home was full of enemy Spuds, coming over for tonight's match against OL. Though perhaps I ought to use the word enemy more advisedly. Enemy in the 'friendly' sporting rivalry sense. English fans were apparently attacked last night in a couple of pubs in Vieux Lyon that I've frequented on more than one occasion myself. Reports suggest that they were deliberately targeted by an extreme right group rather than opposition fans. I was thinking of going to watch the match - think I might watch it on TV instead. Too cold to watch football live anyway...
15 janvier 2013
Cross dressing
And so, gradually we settle back into the routine of everyday life in chilly Lyon. La petite resumes her two day routine at the crèche with a trace of shyness but enjoys her fun-filled days there as usual. However, getting her dressed in the morning becomes something of a daily pitched battle, perhaps her way of protesting at getting abruptly abandoned after almost three weeks in the near full-time company of both parents.
Away from the morning wrestling and bargaining sessions, things trundle along just fine. The lurgies of the past few weeks seem to have finally been beaten, a lingering cough or two apart. Indeed the only health scare occurred on la travailleuse's first commute back to work, when a packed metro induced a fainting fit and heavy fall. Not uncommon for a woman in her condition apparently, and fortunately no damage done and no recurrence since.
Grey clouds in the sky, but the only dark cloud on my personal horizon is of the trivial sporting nature. I enjoy, in certain senses of the word, another cross-channel trip over the weekend, outward via train. Near St Pancras I meet up with le grand gooner chef for a very pleasant Sunday roast and beer or three in the pub before we head to the game against the oil-doped Mancunian citizens. A self-inflicted wound and a disappointing game later we spend a quiet night with tea and toast in Cambridge before I catch the plane home the next day to seek consolation in the family bosom.
Away from the morning wrestling and bargaining sessions, things trundle along just fine. The lurgies of the past few weeks seem to have finally been beaten, a lingering cough or two apart. Indeed the only health scare occurred on la travailleuse's first commute back to work, when a packed metro induced a fainting fit and heavy fall. Not uncommon for a woman in her condition apparently, and fortunately no damage done and no recurrence since.
Grey clouds in the sky, but the only dark cloud on my personal horizon is of the trivial sporting nature. I enjoy, in certain senses of the word, another cross-channel trip over the weekend, outward via train. Near St Pancras I meet up with le grand gooner chef for a very pleasant Sunday roast and beer or three in the pub before we head to the game against the oil-doped Mancunian citizens. A self-inflicted wound and a disappointing game later we spend a quiet night with tea and toast in Cambridge before I catch the plane home the next day to seek consolation in the family bosom.
04 janvier 2013
Feasts and family
As it turned out, the two day journey from Lyon to Cheshire wasn't as bad as feared. La travailleuse took half a day off work (intended to be a full day, but an unreasonable deadline at work put paid to that idea) to do most of the packing, leaving me to load the new voiture and finally figure out, with help from la bienheureuse, how to fit the roof bars securely (blame a head befuddled by illness and fatigue). Bars for a roof box that in the end we decided to travel without, partly thanks to efficient packing, but mostly because the new, higher car with roof box attached won't fit into the garage or even through the door into the courtyard which houses the garage. Gnash, gnash...
And so, the Friday before Noël we set off soon after 9.30am on the long drive north. Eight and a half hours and two refreshment breaks later we arrived at our overnight stop in the wonderfully named Loon Plage near Dunkirk after a journey troubled only by minor complaints from the child seat. iPads are wonderful in-car child entertainment devices. Dinner in the hotel and a relatively quiet night, at least in the case of the youngest occupant of the room, followed. Her parents, both still suffering heavy colds, intermittently slept and snored well throughout the night, though apparently never at the same time.
A five minute drive to the ferry terminal the following morning allowed us to check in more than an hour before the 10am sailing, though there was a bit of unseemly haste later after a relaxed drink in the café was rudely interrupted when la bienheureuse went back to the car to find it was only one of three left in the boarding queue. The two hour crossing was smooth enough and made easier by a soft play area which kept la petite coquinette amused for much the time, and French wheels touched English soil for the first time just after eleven in the morning.
Long drive north number two through persistent rain and a mere two traffic hold-ups (A2 and M25) took almost five hours, but we arrived chez la belle-mère (who had paid for her trip in the reverse direction three weeks earlier by contracting the dreaded virus) only mildly the worse for wear. Exhaustion was staved off until after dinner and then we all collapsed into bed.
Rest and recovery was the main item on the agenda for the next couple of days, apart from two shopping trips for la bienheureuse et la belle-mère, one for a bit of last minute Christmas shopping, the other the weekly provision run.
Come Christmas morning, lingering coughs and snot-clogged sinus pains apart, the adults in the family seemed to be on the slow road to health, and la petite was already there. After a morning spent opening presents it was off across the border to spend Christmas day chez le beau-frère in deepest north Wales. A cosy time was had by all, Christmas lunch was delicious and enormous, once again the in-laws were far too generous and received the dubious present of the nasty virus in return.
On Boxing Day, the slow gathering of the opposite side of the clan commenced, with le grand frère arriving late in the afternoon. The next day le petit frère and la cuñada dos arrived in the afternoon, after a game of hide and seek with me in their hotel in Chester for a few minutes, and la soeur completed the party the same afternoon. Despite suffering from a the after-effects of a heavy cold herself, la belle-mère heroically aided her French visitors' recuperation by doing almost all of the cooking and cleaning. Delicious roast ham was on the Boxing Day dinner menu, and followed by luscious roast lamb on Thursday.
The cook was given the morning off on Friday for the mass visit of the East Cheshire branch of the family, leaving me free reign of the kitchen to put together the now traditional family Christmas tartiflette for thirteen. Nieces and nephews keep growing and changing, but a good time was had by all, particularly the baby of the family who had sundry aunts, uncles and cousins to keep her amused and give her yet more presents. Enough to make us wonder if the roof-box might after all have been needed.
The next day, the visitors left one by one and the football obsessive also took temporary leave for a day trip to the smoke to watch the trigger happy gunners and geordies take unequal shares of a ten goal thriller. Well worth the long day and late night return. Meanwhile, the three girls took advantage of the absence of guests with a trip to the soft play centre at a nearby ice cream farm.
After another pleasant day in North Wales on Sunday, and another trip to the ice cream farm on Monday, all too soon it was the eve of the new year. We compromised on need for sleep and sense of duty by seeing in the French new year with a small coupe de champagne before going to bed. And on New Years day, it was time to start the long journey home. With a hint of a tear in the eye and car stuffed with baggage and gifts we took our leave of la belle-mère and headed south to our first stop near Cambridge, where we spent a pleasant day and two evenings chez Professor Margarita with his poorly spaniel.
Then we hit the road once more. Dover, cross-channel ferry, Dunkirk and three hours on French autoroutes passed in a blur before we made an overnight stop near Chalons in Champagne country. Thence it was a mere four hour cruise down the autoroute before we were back home in not-so-sunny Lyon. The end of a very pleasant, only-slightly-marred-by-ill-health festive holiday.
And so, the Friday before Noël we set off soon after 9.30am on the long drive north. Eight and a half hours and two refreshment breaks later we arrived at our overnight stop in the wonderfully named Loon Plage near Dunkirk after a journey troubled only by minor complaints from the child seat. iPads are wonderful in-car child entertainment devices. Dinner in the hotel and a relatively quiet night, at least in the case of the youngest occupant of the room, followed. Her parents, both still suffering heavy colds, intermittently slept and snored well throughout the night, though apparently never at the same time.
A five minute drive to the ferry terminal the following morning allowed us to check in more than an hour before the 10am sailing, though there was a bit of unseemly haste later after a relaxed drink in the café was rudely interrupted when la bienheureuse went back to the car to find it was only one of three left in the boarding queue. The two hour crossing was smooth enough and made easier by a soft play area which kept la petite coquinette amused for much the time, and French wheels touched English soil for the first time just after eleven in the morning.
Long drive north number two through persistent rain and a mere two traffic hold-ups (A2 and M25) took almost five hours, but we arrived chez la belle-mère (who had paid for her trip in the reverse direction three weeks earlier by contracting the dreaded virus) only mildly the worse for wear. Exhaustion was staved off until after dinner and then we all collapsed into bed.
Rest and recovery was the main item on the agenda for the next couple of days, apart from two shopping trips for la bienheureuse et la belle-mère, one for a bit of last minute Christmas shopping, the other the weekly provision run.
Come Christmas morning, lingering coughs and snot-clogged sinus pains apart, the adults in the family seemed to be on the slow road to health, and la petite was already there. After a morning spent opening presents it was off across the border to spend Christmas day chez le beau-frère in deepest north Wales. A cosy time was had by all, Christmas lunch was delicious and enormous, once again the in-laws were far too generous and received the dubious present of the nasty virus in return.
On Boxing Day, the slow gathering of the opposite side of the clan commenced, with le grand frère arriving late in the afternoon. The next day le petit frère and la cuñada dos arrived in the afternoon, after a game of hide and seek with me in their hotel in Chester for a few minutes, and la soeur completed the party the same afternoon. Despite suffering from a the after-effects of a heavy cold herself, la belle-mère heroically aided her French visitors' recuperation by doing almost all of the cooking and cleaning. Delicious roast ham was on the Boxing Day dinner menu, and followed by luscious roast lamb on Thursday.
The cook was given the morning off on Friday for the mass visit of the East Cheshire branch of the family, leaving me free reign of the kitchen to put together the now traditional family Christmas tartiflette for thirteen. Nieces and nephews keep growing and changing, but a good time was had by all, particularly the baby of the family who had sundry aunts, uncles and cousins to keep her amused and give her yet more presents. Enough to make us wonder if the roof-box might after all have been needed.
The next day, the visitors left one by one and the football obsessive also took temporary leave for a day trip to the smoke to watch the trigger happy gunners and geordies take unequal shares of a ten goal thriller. Well worth the long day and late night return. Meanwhile, the three girls took advantage of the absence of guests with a trip to the soft play centre at a nearby ice cream farm.
After another pleasant day in North Wales on Sunday, and another trip to the ice cream farm on Monday, all too soon it was the eve of the new year. We compromised on need for sleep and sense of duty by seeing in the French new year with a small coupe de champagne before going to bed. And on New Years day, it was time to start the long journey home. With a hint of a tear in the eye and car stuffed with baggage and gifts we took our leave of la belle-mère and headed south to our first stop near Cambridge, where we spent a pleasant day and two evenings chez Professor Margarita with his poorly spaniel.
Then we hit the road once more. Dover, cross-channel ferry, Dunkirk and three hours on French autoroutes passed in a blur before we made an overnight stop near Chalons in Champagne country. Thence it was a mere four hour cruise down the autoroute before we were back home in not-so-sunny Lyon. The end of a very pleasant, only-slightly-marred-by-ill-health festive holiday.
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.
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.
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.
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...
08 mai 2012
Travel sick notes
Ten days of visits and visitors started last Thursday with an afternoon flight to Stansted, la petite coquinette's first experience of being cooped up in a plane since she turned one and started to walk. Not being the type to immediately fall asleep when travelling, she was rather uppity during the 80 minute flight but kept reasonably quiet by dint of a supply of biscuits and flapjack, a helpful neighbour in the aisle seat and a session of toddling up and down the aircraft.
The journey from Stansted to Bexleyheath in a hired people carrier (reason for which will become clear later) via M11 and M25 at rush hour was remarkably quick and smooth, and we arrived chez the Doctors C in the early evening in time for dinner. The mini-jezoids helped entertain and feed la petite and we eventually got her into bed a mere two hours later than normal. A restless night followed. Note to selves: if at all possible, avoid sharing a room with small daughter who fidgets and moves around in her sleep, something that was necessitated on this occasion by our hosts being in the middle of carpet laying.
The following morning we watched the rain coming down to a soundtrack of carpet tacks being banged home upstairs while our daughter entertained the lovely Dr L and worked her way through the stock of toys piled in the dining room. The weather cleared enough in the afternoon to allow a shoe shopping expedition before we waved goodbye and set off for our next destination.
The South Circular was somewhat slower early on a Friday rush hour than the M25 late on a Thursday rush hour, but we arrived in Bromley late in the afternoon to be effusively greeted by la cuñada dos. Le grand frère was also visiting for the weekend and le petit frère arrived home from work soon after our arrival. A convivial evening followed, as did another restless night, same reasons as above.
On Saturday I took temporary leave of absence from the family gathering to attend the last home game of the season ritual at the home of good football. Said good football had apparently deserted its home, at least in the first half, but seemed to have returned just in time to ensure a satisfactory season ending, only for the Canaries to spoil the party by accepting the gift of a late equaliser. I thus returned south of the river in ambivalent mood, which was alleviated by another pleasant evening and subsequent results the following day.
Marking time was the theme of the day on Sunday, as we all waited for the main event, the arrival of las chicas from Down Under via a university visit in Nottingham and a rainstorm in Hong Kong. Waiting time was filled with a cold weather gear trip to the local playground, a bit of shopping and such lazing around as an energetic 14 month old allows five adults. La cuñada y la sobrina uno eventually put in an appearance mid-evening, by which time la petite and her mother were already in bed, the latter somewhat earlier than planned because she was suffering with an extremely dodgy tummy. Whether due to poisoning by her sister-in-law's cooking or a vomiting virus wasn't clear at the time but no simultaneous, and later victims of the same malady seemed to suggest the latter.
While the election of a new president in France passed almost unnoticed in a small part of Bromley, overnight la petite slept more soundly than previously, possibly resting easy in the knowledge that Sarko had become the first French Fifth Republic president to fail to be re-elected but more probably because it was her third night in a row in the same bed. The same couldn't be said of either of her parents for differing reasons, but we were nonetheless up bright and early, soon to be joined by the new guests for their first encounter with their niece and cousin respectively.
By late morning, la bienheureuse had recovered sufficiently, even if her appetite hadn't, to undertake the trip home without fear of leaving a techicolour yawn en route. So we bade goodbye to la belle-soeur cadette et les deux frères and set off for the airport with the extra seats and luggage space in the Sharan taken up by the Austral-Anglo-Colombian girls. After a reasonably smooth six hour trip (albeit variously smeared with yoghurt and banana - messy business feeding a one year old on an aeroplane) we were home in warm, sunny Lyon. Two hours after we got back it was my turn to start throwing up, and it wasn't travel sickness…
The journey from Stansted to Bexleyheath in a hired people carrier (reason for which will become clear later) via M11 and M25 at rush hour was remarkably quick and smooth, and we arrived chez the Doctors C in the early evening in time for dinner. The mini-jezoids helped entertain and feed la petite and we eventually got her into bed a mere two hours later than normal. A restless night followed. Note to selves: if at all possible, avoid sharing a room with small daughter who fidgets and moves around in her sleep, something that was necessitated on this occasion by our hosts being in the middle of carpet laying.
The following morning we watched the rain coming down to a soundtrack of carpet tacks being banged home upstairs while our daughter entertained the lovely Dr L and worked her way through the stock of toys piled in the dining room. The weather cleared enough in the afternoon to allow a shoe shopping expedition before we waved goodbye and set off for our next destination.
The South Circular was somewhat slower early on a Friday rush hour than the M25 late on a Thursday rush hour, but we arrived in Bromley late in the afternoon to be effusively greeted by la cuñada dos. Le grand frère was also visiting for the weekend and le petit frère arrived home from work soon after our arrival. A convivial evening followed, as did another restless night, same reasons as above.
On Saturday I took temporary leave of absence from the family gathering to attend the last home game of the season ritual at the home of good football. Said good football had apparently deserted its home, at least in the first half, but seemed to have returned just in time to ensure a satisfactory season ending, only for the Canaries to spoil the party by accepting the gift of a late equaliser. I thus returned south of the river in ambivalent mood, which was alleviated by another pleasant evening and subsequent results the following day.
Marking time was the theme of the day on Sunday, as we all waited for the main event, the arrival of las chicas from Down Under via a university visit in Nottingham and a rainstorm in Hong Kong. Waiting time was filled with a cold weather gear trip to the local playground, a bit of shopping and such lazing around as an energetic 14 month old allows five adults. La cuñada y la sobrina uno eventually put in an appearance mid-evening, by which time la petite and her mother were already in bed, the latter somewhat earlier than planned because she was suffering with an extremely dodgy tummy. Whether due to poisoning by her sister-in-law's cooking or a vomiting virus wasn't clear at the time but no simultaneous, and later victims of the same malady seemed to suggest the latter.
While the election of a new president in France passed almost unnoticed in a small part of Bromley, overnight la petite slept more soundly than previously, possibly resting easy in the knowledge that Sarko had become the first French Fifth Republic president to fail to be re-elected but more probably because it was her third night in a row in the same bed. The same couldn't be said of either of her parents for differing reasons, but we were nonetheless up bright and early, soon to be joined by the new guests for their first encounter with their niece and cousin respectively.
By late morning, la bienheureuse had recovered sufficiently, even if her appetite hadn't, to undertake the trip home without fear of leaving a techicolour yawn en route. So we bade goodbye to la belle-soeur cadette et les deux frères and set off for the airport with the extra seats and luggage space in the Sharan taken up by the Austral-Anglo-Colombian girls. After a reasonably smooth six hour trip (albeit variously smeared with yoghurt and banana - messy business feeding a one year old on an aeroplane) we were home in warm, sunny Lyon. Two hours after we got back it was my turn to start throwing up, and it wasn't travel sickness…
09 avril 2012
Upswing, down river
Seems two weeks of toddler grouchiness was probably brought on by feeling under the weather and teething. No different to adults then, apart from tooth problems being caused by them falling out or going rotten rather than growing. Anyway, la petite suddenly went from being a grumpy little monster to a sweet little angel in the space of 24 hours, the same day she was finally clear of illness and a seventh tooth made an appearance. However, cold number two has already started to snuffle its way through the nasal passages, so the good behaviour may not last long…
Out in the wider Lyonnais world, the big event of the Easter weekend was the opening of the new Confluence shopping and entertainment centre, part of the latest grand project in Lyon, the renovation of formerly derelict warehouses and docks at the southern tip of the Presqu'île where the Saône and Rhône rivers merge. We wandered out on Saturday to look at some of the festivities to mark the grand opening, including a float with water jets and mime artists on a giant umbrella on the Rhône, a flotilla of strange water craft (cars, beds, desert islands and giant hexapods topped by animal skulls) on the Saône, and a parade with a stuffed polar bear, marching bands and assorted strange machines in Place Bellecour.
Later in the evening I headed downriver again to Gerland, where OL eked out a turgid 2-1 victory against bottom club Auxerre thanks to two penalties earned and converted by Lisandro. The footballing entertainment on offer the following day was of rather higher quality, at least from the home team. The highly satisfying late victory against the oil-money wasting light blue Mancunians was preceded by a seven hour train journey across France and under the Channel, leaving just enough time for a quick pre-match pint in the pub with fellow gooners, grand et petite, who had just enjoyed an epicurean Easter lunch.
After the match we went our separate ways. I strolled north to chez the McBhoy and la Palombe, my hosts for the night. Turkish dinner was on the Sugar Lounge menu in the evening, followed by Match of the Day, sleep and an unaccustomed lie-in. Then it was time for me to make my way homeward through the London rain via tea-purchasing duties at Tescos, a crowded St Pancras, Eurostar, a time-pressed trip across Paris and a Lyon bound TGV caught with two minutes to spare. But all was well that ended well, and I was home little more than 5 hours after leaving London.
Out in the wider Lyonnais world, the big event of the Easter weekend was the opening of the new Confluence shopping and entertainment centre, part of the latest grand project in Lyon, the renovation of formerly derelict warehouses and docks at the southern tip of the Presqu'île where the Saône and Rhône rivers merge. We wandered out on Saturday to look at some of the festivities to mark the grand opening, including a float with water jets and mime artists on a giant umbrella on the Rhône, a flotilla of strange water craft (cars, beds, desert islands and giant hexapods topped by animal skulls) on the Saône, and a parade with a stuffed polar bear, marching bands and assorted strange machines in Place Bellecour.
After the match we went our separate ways. I strolled north to chez the McBhoy and la Palombe, my hosts for the night. Turkish dinner was on the Sugar Lounge menu in the evening, followed by Match of the Day, sleep and an unaccustomed lie-in. Then it was time for me to make my way homeward through the London rain via tea-purchasing duties at Tescos, a crowded St Pancras, Eurostar, a time-pressed trip across Paris and a Lyon bound TGV caught with two minutes to spare. But all was well that ended well, and I was home little more than 5 hours after leaving London.
31 mars 2012
Creating a stink
Make that three, or even four maladies in the space of less than four weeks. Head cold, followed by eye infection, followed by brief fever and spotty torso for two days, followed by a cough, which has afflicted the whole family. It all adds up to a little girl who is difficult to feed and swings from sweetness and smiles to screaming fit in the space of seconds. Not looking forward to the terrible twos if this is what the ornery ones is like…
She was however, mostly well-behaved for the visit of her aunt earlier in the week. La soeur arrived on Saturday evening to be met at the airport by her belle-soeur and niece while her brother was enjoying a little jaunt across the Channel to witness a stroll in the park against Villa and to enjoy another convivial evening chez la petite beaucoup et le grand gooner chef.
Nice weather in London too, to match the weather in Lyon, where it remained unseasonably warm and sunny for the entirety of the sororal visit. La bienheureuse meanwhile was in the midst of two exhausting weeks of travel to Milan and Monnheim respectively - a total of seven days and four nights away from home, where papa, tante and la petite passed the days playing, promenading in the sunshine and negotiating the obstacle course that the pavements of Lyon became during the two week garbage collectors strike. Large, albeit mostly fairly neat, piles of rubbish collected at various points in the streets, including one directly outside a primary school round the corner. The one outside our building slowly matured in the warm weather but was collected early in the week before the smell drifted as high as the third floor. Not sure how many potential restaurant customers were put off though. The strike eventually crumbled at roughly the same rate as the bin bags and apparently ended yesterday. Judging by the number of rubbish piles still sitting and stewing on the streets round us this morning it will take some time to clear the backlog though…
She was however, mostly well-behaved for the visit of her aunt earlier in the week. La soeur arrived on Saturday evening to be met at the airport by her belle-soeur and niece while her brother was enjoying a little jaunt across the Channel to witness a stroll in the park against Villa and to enjoy another convivial evening chez la petite beaucoup et le grand gooner chef.
Nice weather in London too, to match the weather in Lyon, where it remained unseasonably warm and sunny for the entirety of the sororal visit. La bienheureuse meanwhile was in the midst of two exhausting weeks of travel to Milan and Monnheim respectively - a total of seven days and four nights away from home, where papa, tante and la petite passed the days playing, promenading in the sunshine and negotiating the obstacle course that the pavements of Lyon became during the two week garbage collectors strike. Large, albeit mostly fairly neat, piles of rubbish collected at various points in the streets, including one directly outside a primary school round the corner. The one outside our building slowly matured in the warm weather but was collected early in the week before the smell drifted as high as the third floor. Not sure how many potential restaurant customers were put off though. The strike eventually crumbled at roughly the same rate as the bin bags and apparently ended yesterday. Judging by the number of rubbish piles still sitting and stewing on the streets round us this morning it will take some time to clear the backlog though…
14 mars 2012
Quietly busy
Wednesday, mid afternoon, my time is my own. More or less. La petite coquinette is spending her second day (first full one) downstairs with her young neighbours and la nourrice. Dropped her off this morning and sidled out when she wasn't looking. All has been quiet since, even when I stopped briefly on the landing to wistfully listen on my way in and out of the building. No doubt I'll wean myself off that eventually.
Not that I've been twiddling my thumbs and pining (not too much, anyway). Notice of a £100 penalty from HM Revenue & Customs for failing to file a tax return in time saw to that. Fined for neglecting to inform them that they owe me money for the last tax year seems a bit unfair, that's the UK tax office for you. A phone conversation with a distinctly unsympathetic Geordie jobsworth informed me that I had no choice but to pay and appeal. 'Rules is rules' apparently, so a letter of appeal is already on its way across the Channel. Don't hold your breath…
Another bit of paperwork out of the way is a letter to the Syndic (our building management company) to accompany the cheque for the latest charges, pointing out that last year's AGM still hasn't been called yet (technically due within the first 3 months of the year), and that the last set of accounts approved dates back to 2009. I politely asked them not to cash the cheque until the AGM has been held and the previous years' accounts closed. Not holding my breath on that one either.
The weather in Lyon continues to be fine. It was sunny over the weekend but rather breezy. The pushchair was almost blown over during a walk along the river and into the park on Sunday, and watching OL end a 4 game run without a win (including the limp exit from the Champions League in Cyprus last week) against Lille on Saturday evening was rendered a rather chilly experience with the Mistral whistling through Gerland. Today the wind has dropped and temperatures up into the 20s, where they are forecast to remain for the next few days, which might have the whole city holding its breath and noses soon because the bin men are on strike in protesting at the privatisation of the service. Not sure how effective the strike will be with the council bringing in interim workers to collect rubbish, but then that's only going to harden the attitude of the unions…
On the wider political stage, with the countdown to the presidential election now below forty days, the various drama queens are all warming up nicely. Front National candidate, Le Pen fille, now has her 500 nominations. One suspects the FN was merely making political capital out her of potentially being prevented from standing for president, although one political commentator on TV reckoned it was the ruling UMP party deliberately making her sweat by withholding permission for local maires to sign her nomination until the last moment. Meanwhile le president-candidat himself has been trying on more and more of Madame Le Pen's clothes in a bid to drain support from the far right, a tactic which has made up some ground but so far not enough. A recent poll put him ahead in the first round, but still losing the second round to Hollande.
Not that I've been twiddling my thumbs and pining (not too much, anyway). Notice of a £100 penalty from HM Revenue & Customs for failing to file a tax return in time saw to that. Fined for neglecting to inform them that they owe me money for the last tax year seems a bit unfair, that's the UK tax office for you. A phone conversation with a distinctly unsympathetic Geordie jobsworth informed me that I had no choice but to pay and appeal. 'Rules is rules' apparently, so a letter of appeal is already on its way across the Channel. Don't hold your breath…
Another bit of paperwork out of the way is a letter to the Syndic (our building management company) to accompany the cheque for the latest charges, pointing out that last year's AGM still hasn't been called yet (technically due within the first 3 months of the year), and that the last set of accounts approved dates back to 2009. I politely asked them not to cash the cheque until the AGM has been held and the previous years' accounts closed. Not holding my breath on that one either.
The weather in Lyon continues to be fine. It was sunny over the weekend but rather breezy. The pushchair was almost blown over during a walk along the river and into the park on Sunday, and watching OL end a 4 game run without a win (including the limp exit from the Champions League in Cyprus last week) against Lille on Saturday evening was rendered a rather chilly experience with the Mistral whistling through Gerland. Today the wind has dropped and temperatures up into the 20s, where they are forecast to remain for the next few days, which might have the whole city holding its breath and noses soon because the bin men are on strike in protesting at the privatisation of the service. Not sure how effective the strike will be with the council bringing in interim workers to collect rubbish, but then that's only going to harden the attitude of the unions…
On the wider political stage, with the countdown to the presidential election now below forty days, the various drama queens are all warming up nicely. Front National candidate, Le Pen fille, now has her 500 nominations. One suspects the FN was merely making political capital out her of potentially being prevented from standing for president, although one political commentator on TV reckoned it was the ruling UMP party deliberately making her sweat by withholding permission for local maires to sign her nomination until the last moment. Meanwhile le president-candidat himself has been trying on more and more of Madame Le Pen's clothes in a bid to drain support from the far right, a tactic which has made up some ground but so far not enough. A recent poll put him ahead in the first round, but still losing the second round to Hollande.
29 février 2012
Spring in the step
Winter seems a little further away now. Blazing sunshine most of this week and temperatures creeping towards 15C. Lovely sunny day last Sunday too, in all respects. Though I have to admit I wasn't looking much on the sunny side of life at 2pm that day, more like staring into the abyss, with the red and white forces of good football two goals down to the local enemy. A mere hour later however, a five gun salvo had sounded and all was (almost) right with the world. Even if the previous ten days had seemed like a nightmare.
It all made for a very pleasant weekend jaunt across the Channel. Flight Sunday morning was on time, quick pint with le grand gooner before the game, albeit in the company of a fifth columnist who remained remarkably restrained all the way through the remarkable match, even when his side's second, illicitly obtained, goal hit the back of the net. Just desserts in the end for the diving lily-white though.
Afterwards I made my way south of the river to visit le petit frère & la cuñada numèro dos. Kitchen now finished, witness a very tasty lamb shank dinner, but much of the rest of the house still a work in progress. Monday morning I trekked back to Stansted and thence home, while the two not-so-newly weds oversaw a fireplace installation before heading off for a holiday in the Indian Ocean. Their home for the following 10 days, an infamous hotel, scene of a recent murder. Ooerr…
Meanwhile, back in Lyon, la petite, la mère et la grand-mère enjoyed an all girls weekend. La belle-mére arrived a week ago and was eventually picked up from the airport by her daughter, after a minor panic in the morning. La vieille voiture failed to survive two months of winter idle in the garage. Or more specifically the battery did - completely flat. Friendly local garage (2 minute walk away) started it for a mere 50 euro call-out charge, charged up the battery and then informed us the starter motor needed replacing too, suspected of being the cause of the prematurely flat battery. Total cost, more than 300 euros. Hmm, the old banger had better pass that controle technique this week…
Someone not suffering in the slightest from ignition problems is the little munchkin. The hesitant few steps have now developed into full-blown, confident walking, which now takes precedence over crawling most of the time. Astonishing how much babies develop in a mere 12 months, but no doubt all new parents say that…
Would that her parents were as full of energy. La bienheureuse survived her first trip involving two whole nights and days away from her darling(s), including most of Sunday, necessary for a brainstorming meeting with government authorities and competitor companies. Fortunately a strike somewhat perversely meant she got home four hours earlier than expected, early enough for bath and bedtime.
Meanwhile the old man exhausted himself in the pursuit of footballing pleasure over the weekend. The seven goal thriller in London on Sunday was preceded by an eight goal nail biter at Gerland on Saturday evening. The oil-rich mercenaries from Paris visited the plucky gones and walked away with the half share of the spoils, after coming back from two goals down in the last 10 minutes, including a last minute of injury time equaliser. Money can almost buy you everything. Still, fifteen goals in total made it an entertaining weekend.
It all made for a very pleasant weekend jaunt across the Channel. Flight Sunday morning was on time, quick pint with le grand gooner before the game, albeit in the company of a fifth columnist who remained remarkably restrained all the way through the remarkable match, even when his side's second, illicitly obtained, goal hit the back of the net. Just desserts in the end for the diving lily-white though.
Afterwards I made my way south of the river to visit le petit frère & la cuñada numèro dos. Kitchen now finished, witness a very tasty lamb shank dinner, but much of the rest of the house still a work in progress. Monday morning I trekked back to Stansted and thence home, while the two not-so-newly weds oversaw a fireplace installation before heading off for a holiday in the Indian Ocean. Their home for the following 10 days, an infamous hotel, scene of a recent murder. Ooerr…
Meanwhile, back in Lyon, la petite, la mère et la grand-mère enjoyed an all girls weekend. La belle-mére arrived a week ago and was eventually picked up from the airport by her daughter, after a minor panic in the morning. La vieille voiture failed to survive two months of winter idle in the garage. Or more specifically the battery did - completely flat. Friendly local garage (2 minute walk away) started it for a mere 50 euro call-out charge, charged up the battery and then informed us the starter motor needed replacing too, suspected of being the cause of the prematurely flat battery. Total cost, more than 300 euros. Hmm, the old banger had better pass that controle technique this week…
Someone not suffering in the slightest from ignition problems is the little munchkin. The hesitant few steps have now developed into full-blown, confident walking, which now takes precedence over crawling most of the time. Astonishing how much babies develop in a mere 12 months, but no doubt all new parents say that…
Would that her parents were as full of energy. La bienheureuse survived her first trip involving two whole nights and days away from her darling(s), including most of Sunday, necessary for a brainstorming meeting with government authorities and competitor companies. Fortunately a strike somewhat perversely meant she got home four hours earlier than expected, early enough for bath and bedtime.
Meanwhile the old man exhausted himself in the pursuit of footballing pleasure over the weekend. The seven goal thriller in London on Sunday was preceded by an eight goal nail biter at Gerland on Saturday evening. The oil-rich mercenaries from Paris visited the plucky gones and walked away with the half share of the spoils, after coming back from two goals down in the last 10 minutes, including a last minute of injury time equaliser. Money can almost buy you everything. Still, fifteen goals in total made it an entertaining weekend.
06 février 2012
Goal blizzard
A weekend return trip to Blighty provided a satisfactory return, despite travel troubles and weather worries. Temperatures of -8C on Saturday morning had no impact on travel to the airport but once there I discovered that the brand new low-cost terminal was being closed because it was "too cold". Perhaps heating a large tin shed is problematic once external temperatures remain below freezing for over a week. There were however still two flights operating from the cold room, one of which was the one to Gatwick. The bonus of this was absolutely no queues at security and only short ones at passport control, and everybody was on the plane fifteen minutes before it was due to leave. And there we sat for the next 45 minutes while the engineers tried to unfreeze a fuel valve. And as the plane was refuelling the aircraft doors had to remain open. My plan of sitting near the front to allow a quick exit on arrival didn't seem so bright until one of the stewards got permission to hold the door almost closed.
In the end we touched down in Blighty only twenty minutes late, where I made another poor decision, namely to get the train to Victoria rather than London Bridge in an attempt to get to the pub for a swift pint before the game. It cost more and probably took longer because the Victoria line was closed for the weekend due to engineering works, resulting in chaos in the underground station of the same name. And I needn't have bothered trying to make the pub anyway because le grand chef et la petite beaucoup were going straight to the ground. Still, all was well that ended well and the seven goals smashed past the hapless Rovers were worth all the travel travails. And there was hot coffee and flapjack at half time to boot, courtesy of my genial hosts.
Back in Cambridge my ever accommodating hosts provided the usual tasty dinner, fine wine and convivial company. As the parsnip soup, sausage pasta and conversation were ingested and digested, the snow started falling outside. It continued until the small hours, prompting a regression into childhood, a double helping of TV goals, and a late night opera sing-a-long by le grand gooner. Perhaps the wine and house-strength G&T had something to do with it. Never does any harm to see a 21 gun salute in one day.
Six inches of snow on the ground threatened to make the journey home problematic, but snow tyres and a lift to the station from my generous host and trouble-free train journey got me to Stansted two hours before flight time. The boards showed my flight expected to take off nearly two hours late and the length of the queues for security suggested I might need all of the spare time. In the event it only took about an hour to get through to departures, which left nearly three hours to twiddle my thumbs before the flight eventually took off. Over two hours late I finally got home, just in time to kiss my petit ange goodnight. And, courtesy of my vrai ange, waiting for me was dinner and lunch for much of the week ahead and flapjack. Maybe I should go away more often...
In the end we touched down in Blighty only twenty minutes late, where I made another poor decision, namely to get the train to Victoria rather than London Bridge in an attempt to get to the pub for a swift pint before the game. It cost more and probably took longer because the Victoria line was closed for the weekend due to engineering works, resulting in chaos in the underground station of the same name. And I needn't have bothered trying to make the pub anyway because le grand chef et la petite beaucoup were going straight to the ground. Still, all was well that ended well and the seven goals smashed past the hapless Rovers were worth all the travel travails. And there was hot coffee and flapjack at half time to boot, courtesy of my genial hosts.
Back in Cambridge my ever accommodating hosts provided the usual tasty dinner, fine wine and convivial company. As the parsnip soup, sausage pasta and conversation were ingested and digested, the snow started falling outside. It continued until the small hours, prompting a regression into childhood, a double helping of TV goals, and a late night opera sing-a-long by le grand gooner. Perhaps the wine and house-strength G&T had something to do with it. Never does any harm to see a 21 gun salute in one day.
Six inches of snow on the ground threatened to make the journey home problematic, but snow tyres and a lift to the station from my generous host and trouble-free train journey got me to Stansted two hours before flight time. The boards showed my flight expected to take off nearly two hours late and the length of the queues for security suggested I might need all of the spare time. In the event it only took about an hour to get through to departures, which left nearly three hours to twiddle my thumbs before the flight eventually took off. Over two hours late I finally got home, just in time to kiss my petit ange goodnight. And, courtesy of my vrai ange, waiting for me was dinner and lunch for much of the week ahead and flapjack. Maybe I should go away more often...
10 janvier 2012
Ten
The new year was seen in quietly, with a half-bottle of champagne and some heartening TV watching, Match of the Day. On the second day of 2012 we waved a reluctant goodbye to grand-mère, and set off for the journey south. Three and a half relatively painless hours later we arrived chez Professor Margarita once more, and enjoyed yet another convivial evening with salmon and salad for dinner, and the Caiparinha Kid for additional company.
And after a reasonably smooth and uneventful flight across the Channel, we were home by 6pm the following day. La petite, as usual, forewent any sleep during the journey, too much going on to even consider closing her eyes, but was subsequently asleep within an hour of getting home. While drinking her milk. The whole biberon still went down on autopilot mode though…
Since then, life has resumed its normal course. La petite coquinette's new year resolution seems to be that one daytime siesta is quite enough for her, unless the second is in the pram during our habitual early evening winter promenades. La bienheureuse is overworked and travel weary - one night away from home already, a second coming up at the end of the week ('team-building' event) and another next week. Two whole days without seeing her little angel is tough.
Meanwhile, last weekend we celebrated a couple of anniversaries. The youngest member of the family reached 10 months (able to stand for a few seconds unsupported already), and her parents notched up ten whole years in France. How time flies...
And after a reasonably smooth and uneventful flight across the Channel, we were home by 6pm the following day. La petite, as usual, forewent any sleep during the journey, too much going on to even consider closing her eyes, but was subsequently asleep within an hour of getting home. While drinking her milk. The whole biberon still went down on autopilot mode though…
Since then, life has resumed its normal course. La petite coquinette's new year resolution seems to be that one daytime siesta is quite enough for her, unless the second is in the pram during our habitual early evening winter promenades. La bienheureuse is overworked and travel weary - one night away from home already, a second coming up at the end of the week ('team-building' event) and another next week. Two whole days without seeing her little angel is tough.
Meanwhile, last weekend we celebrated a couple of anniversaries. The youngest member of the family reached 10 months (able to stand for a few seconds unsupported already), and her parents notched up ten whole years in France. How time flies...
31 décembre 2011
Climbing high
And so ten days of eating, drinking and chasing baby began. In three short weeks, hesitant crawling had became high speed scampering, on either hands and knees or hands and feet depending on floor surface. Favourite game: sticking something forbidden in the mouth, waiting for maman or papa to say no before gleefully turning round and scampering off, not without a brief pause to see if anyone was giving chase. And in a few days granny's stairs had been clambered up and conquered. First serious tumble probably not too far away…
Meanwhile, the festive break took its normal course, give or take a baby consideration or two. Porridge breakfast and then an internationally flavoured Christmas lunch chez le beau-frère in Wales, with visitors from England, France and the USA and a bit of Lebanese home cooking mixed in with the usual turkey lunch. I wasn't so lucky with strikes on Boxing Day, the London Underground version putting paid to my hopes of a visit to the home of good football. The postponed match was played the following day, clashing with the clan visit, which naturally took precedence. A full house bar two dogs and a sister-in-law was treated to tartiflette and apple crumble before a teenage night out took precedence in turn and cut short the visit of the east Cheshire hordes. The anticipated cascade of presents for granddaughter, niece and little cousin respectively was of moderate proportions, even if la grand-mère kept her promise of not going overboard by presenting a whole box of toys before Christmas day. For use when petite-fille is visiting, therefore not Christmas presents, you understand…
The following day dawned bright but chilly. La soeur, le petit frère, la cuñada & I left three generations of S-ladies behind and ventured to Bickerton Hill for a not-so-brisk walk in the brisk wind. Momentary confusion about the way back to the car was eventually resolved by a GPS-equipped mobile. Technology sometimes has its uses, even if following our noses would probably have got us home too…
Two days before the final one of the year, the last of the visitors left, and la petite famille and la grand-mère made another afternoon visit to a former pub, current Welsh residence of uncle, aunt and two large canine cousins. Today, la bienheureuse et la belle-mère dragged themselves out in the rain for a sales shopping trip to Chester, leaving papa et fille to resume old habits…
Meanwhile, the festive break took its normal course, give or take a baby consideration or two. Porridge breakfast and then an internationally flavoured Christmas lunch chez le beau-frère in Wales, with visitors from England, France and the USA and a bit of Lebanese home cooking mixed in with the usual turkey lunch. I wasn't so lucky with strikes on Boxing Day, the London Underground version putting paid to my hopes of a visit to the home of good football. The postponed match was played the following day, clashing with the clan visit, which naturally took precedence. A full house bar two dogs and a sister-in-law was treated to tartiflette and apple crumble before a teenage night out took precedence in turn and cut short the visit of the east Cheshire hordes. The anticipated cascade of presents for granddaughter, niece and little cousin respectively was of moderate proportions, even if la grand-mère kept her promise of not going overboard by presenting a whole box of toys before Christmas day. For use when petite-fille is visiting, therefore not Christmas presents, you understand…
The following day dawned bright but chilly. La soeur, le petit frère, la cuñada & I left three generations of S-ladies behind and ventured to Bickerton Hill for a not-so-brisk walk in the brisk wind. Momentary confusion about the way back to the car was eventually resolved by a GPS-equipped mobile. Technology sometimes has its uses, even if following our noses would probably have got us home too…
Two days before the final one of the year, the last of the visitors left, and la petite famille and la grand-mère made another afternoon visit to a former pub, current Welsh residence of uncle, aunt and two large canine cousins. Today, la bienheureuse et la belle-mère dragged themselves out in the rain for a sales shopping trip to Chester, leaving papa et fille to resume old habits…
24 novembre 2011
Late departure
A hastily arranged trip last week gave us three pleasant days across the Channel, even if one of those days was taken up by the funeral of the family doyenne, the reason for the long weekend. And it was a long weekend. Woken in the small hours of Thursday morning by an SMS from Air France to say our 9am flight had been cancelled wasn't the best start, even if it also said we'd been put on another flight later in the day. No-one told la petite though, so no luxury of a lie-in…
We eventually reached Birmingham airport in the early evening and set off for the three hour drive north; three hours in theory - rush hour traffic on the good old British motorway system pushed it closer to four, and inattention to road signs added another half hour as we got lost somewhere in the wilds of Teeside. La petite suffered being cooped up in a car seat for over four hours remarkably well until the physical discomfort (and an emergency stop occasioned by the driver's lapse in concentration and clumsy use of walking boots on the pedals) got the better of her and brought forth most of her dinner. It was thus a somewhat bedraggled trio who eventually made it to great-aunt's house late in the evening, where we had a quick snack before joining la belle-mère et le beau-frère for the short drive to a nearby hotel.
There was no lie-in the following morning either. Despite the lack of sleep the previous evening, the little alarm clock woke us close to her normal hour (French time). She was however persuaded to join her parents in having a good hour's nap after breakfast before we checked out. From the hotel it was back to join the assembling family at the senior S-sister's house prior to the lunchtime service, and then la petite enjoyed a 45 minute siesta as papa perambulated round an estate of mansions while everyone else said goodbye to the last of the great generation at the crematorium.
There were snacks and much catching up after the service before those not staying overnight made their way homewards. Which for us meant our Cheshire home chez la grand-mère. Despite more rush hour traffic on the M62 and a short screaming fit solved by a stop to feed la petite and interrupt uncle's fast food dinner, we were there by 8pm and in bed by ten.
Saturday we finally managed a lie-in of sorts as la petite coquinette woke at her normal time but then caught up on some sleep by dropping off for another hour. First bowl of porridge of the winter was on the late breakfast menu before we headed off to brave the hounds in north Wales for a deluxe meals-on-wheels lunch. Everyone should have a Lebanese father-in-law who likes cooking. Thence it was back to Tattenhall to give baby a much-needed early night.
A late afternoon flight back to Lyon made for a relaxed Sunday morning and drive back to Brum, and a grumpy baby was kept more or less quiet during the latter part of the flight by drip-feeding her biscuits and dilute apple juice. We finally got home in the early evening, put la petite straight to bed, and ate defrosted red cabbage before getting a welcome early night ourselves.
No rest for the wicked, or the saintly for that matter. Work for la bienheureuse on Monday was followed by a late afternoon visit to the baby doctor - routine 9th month checkup after an hour spent in a waiting room unusually full of other babies and parents. While notre petite was pronounced to be in bouncing good health, elsewhere there were sniffles aplenty and one baby suffering from bronchitis - winter fast approaches.
Tuesday morning la travailleuse endured a 6am alarm call and an all day trip to Germany while la petite and I slowly got used to having only each other for company during the day. Apart from when the locksmith visited to replace the broken front door lock, and the survey lady visited to complete our official entry into French work statistics.
We eventually reached Birmingham airport in the early evening and set off for the three hour drive north; three hours in theory - rush hour traffic on the good old British motorway system pushed it closer to four, and inattention to road signs added another half hour as we got lost somewhere in the wilds of Teeside. La petite suffered being cooped up in a car seat for over four hours remarkably well until the physical discomfort (and an emergency stop occasioned by the driver's lapse in concentration and clumsy use of walking boots on the pedals) got the better of her and brought forth most of her dinner. It was thus a somewhat bedraggled trio who eventually made it to great-aunt's house late in the evening, where we had a quick snack before joining la belle-mère et le beau-frère for the short drive to a nearby hotel.
There was no lie-in the following morning either. Despite the lack of sleep the previous evening, the little alarm clock woke us close to her normal hour (French time). She was however persuaded to join her parents in having a good hour's nap after breakfast before we checked out. From the hotel it was back to join the assembling family at the senior S-sister's house prior to the lunchtime service, and then la petite enjoyed a 45 minute siesta as papa perambulated round an estate of mansions while everyone else said goodbye to the last of the great generation at the crematorium.
There were snacks and much catching up after the service before those not staying overnight made their way homewards. Which for us meant our Cheshire home chez la grand-mère. Despite more rush hour traffic on the M62 and a short screaming fit solved by a stop to feed la petite and interrupt uncle's fast food dinner, we were there by 8pm and in bed by ten.
Saturday we finally managed a lie-in of sorts as la petite coquinette woke at her normal time but then caught up on some sleep by dropping off for another hour. First bowl of porridge of the winter was on the late breakfast menu before we headed off to brave the hounds in north Wales for a deluxe meals-on-wheels lunch. Everyone should have a Lebanese father-in-law who likes cooking. Thence it was back to Tattenhall to give baby a much-needed early night.
A late afternoon flight back to Lyon made for a relaxed Sunday morning and drive back to Brum, and a grumpy baby was kept more or less quiet during the latter part of the flight by drip-feeding her biscuits and dilute apple juice. We finally got home in the early evening, put la petite straight to bed, and ate defrosted red cabbage before getting a welcome early night ourselves.
No rest for the wicked, or the saintly for that matter. Work for la bienheureuse on Monday was followed by a late afternoon visit to the baby doctor - routine 9th month checkup after an hour spent in a waiting room unusually full of other babies and parents. While notre petite was pronounced to be in bouncing good health, elsewhere there were sniffles aplenty and one baby suffering from bronchitis - winter fast approaches.
Tuesday morning la travailleuse endured a 6am alarm call and an all day trip to Germany while la petite and I slowly got used to having only each other for company during the day. Apart from when the locksmith visited to replace the broken front door lock, and the survey lady visited to complete our official entry into French work statistics.
20 octobre 2011
Flying high
And so, la petite voyageuese experienced her first trip on an aeroplane. We made it as easy as possible for ourselves by taking a taxi to the airport and a flight in the middle of the afternoon, a plan which worked to perfection. Short sleep in the pram while waiting for our flight to be called, mid-afternoon snack (yoghurt & milk) on the plane, smooth car hire pick-up and another short nap during the drive to Cambridge resulted in a baby in perfect good humour the whole day.
Chez J&C la petite was introduced to four more new faces and another baby (canine variety) before finally being put exhausted to bed. For us a sumptuous and highly convivial dinner awaited. Venison was consumed, wine quaffed, and an aluminium foil shapes competition judged before the dog finally alerted the parents to the sound of crying coming from upstairs. And so the evening ended for la bienheureuse as she spent the next two hours trying to calm a distressed baby. We put the unaccustomed late night disturbance down to the excitement of international travel and a rare late night bowel movement.
The next morning, oblivious to her parents' somewhat worse-for-wear condition, the little dear was awake and excitedly exercising limbs and vocal chords in her new travel cot at six in the morning. A slap-up late breakfast eventually followed before le grand gooner and I left the ladies behind to attend an important engagement at the sacred ground. The Wearsiders eventually became cannon fodder for the new Dutch hero as the green shoots of recovery continued their tentative growth.
A quieter (albeit enlivened by a hysterical eleven year old) but equally marvellous meal back at the Cherry Hinton nest was followed by an early night. No late night waking this time, but another early morning wakening, which this time was welcomed by la travailleuse as it gave her a few minutes with her daughter before heading off to the airport once more for a flight across the Irish Sea.
While maman was attending to business in Dublin, papa et fille enjoyed a quiet couple of days entertaining and being entertained by la petite beaucoup and her anglo-allemande niece-in-law. When the latter could be dragged away from the blaring TV or computer games upstairs she did an excellent pram-pushing job on Monday afternoon round the grounds of Cherry Hinton Hall, which helped la petite sleep through a display of hearts by a pair of courting swans. On Tuesday afternoon, my kind hostess and her helper bravely babysat for an hour while I cycled on an undersized steed into Cambridge on a secret errand. The three girls just about survived my absence and a couple of hours later we were saying fond goodbyes as la petite and I moved base to the other side of Cambridge to allow the vivacious young lady's Mutter somewhere to sleep that night.
Professor Margarita kindly picked us up and offered us lodging for the night, put up la petite's bed and while she slept cooked another delicious dinner. La grande voyageuse returned from her Irish travels later in the evening, and the next morning la petite famille headed back to the airport once more. With a flight timed for just after lunch we hoped la petite coquinette would take her traditional lunchtime nap on the plane. Too much going on, too many interesting people to charm and a session of outrageous flirting with one of the stewards soon put paid to that idea. And predictably the descent into Lyon had a yelling baby soundtrack, though fortunately a man making funny faces across the aisle and the nouveauté of a rice cake to chew on soon quietened the little darling.
We landed in a damp Lyon, which was about 10 degrees cooler than we left it. The heating went on in the evening. Autumn has finally made an appearance.
Chez J&C la petite was introduced to four more new faces and another baby (canine variety) before finally being put exhausted to bed. For us a sumptuous and highly convivial dinner awaited. Venison was consumed, wine quaffed, and an aluminium foil shapes competition judged before the dog finally alerted the parents to the sound of crying coming from upstairs. And so the evening ended for la bienheureuse as she spent the next two hours trying to calm a distressed baby. We put the unaccustomed late night disturbance down to the excitement of international travel and a rare late night bowel movement.
The next morning, oblivious to her parents' somewhat worse-for-wear condition, the little dear was awake and excitedly exercising limbs and vocal chords in her new travel cot at six in the morning. A slap-up late breakfast eventually followed before le grand gooner and I left the ladies behind to attend an important engagement at the sacred ground. The Wearsiders eventually became cannon fodder for the new Dutch hero as the green shoots of recovery continued their tentative growth.
A quieter (albeit enlivened by a hysterical eleven year old) but equally marvellous meal back at the Cherry Hinton nest was followed by an early night. No late night waking this time, but another early morning wakening, which this time was welcomed by la travailleuse as it gave her a few minutes with her daughter before heading off to the airport once more for a flight across the Irish Sea.
While maman was attending to business in Dublin, papa et fille enjoyed a quiet couple of days entertaining and being entertained by la petite beaucoup and her anglo-allemande niece-in-law. When the latter could be dragged away from the blaring TV or computer games upstairs she did an excellent pram-pushing job on Monday afternoon round the grounds of Cherry Hinton Hall, which helped la petite sleep through a display of hearts by a pair of courting swans. On Tuesday afternoon, my kind hostess and her helper bravely babysat for an hour while I cycled on an undersized steed into Cambridge on a secret errand. The three girls just about survived my absence and a couple of hours later we were saying fond goodbyes as la petite and I moved base to the other side of Cambridge to allow the vivacious young lady's Mutter somewhere to sleep that night.
Professor Margarita kindly picked us up and offered us lodging for the night, put up la petite's bed and while she slept cooked another delicious dinner. La grande voyageuse returned from her Irish travels later in the evening, and the next morning la petite famille headed back to the airport once more. With a flight timed for just after lunch we hoped la petite coquinette would take her traditional lunchtime nap on the plane. Too much going on, too many interesting people to charm and a session of outrageous flirting with one of the stewards soon put paid to that idea. And predictably the descent into Lyon had a yelling baby soundtrack, though fortunately a man making funny faces across the aisle and the nouveauté of a rice cake to chew on soon quietened the little darling.
We landed in a damp Lyon, which was about 10 degrees cooler than we left it. The heating went on in the evening. Autumn has finally made an appearance.
05 septembre 2011
Ritzy nights
Four became three on Thursday as we bade a fond farewell to la grand-mère and hit the road south. Six hours later, including two spent going nowhere on the M1 and M25, we finally arrived in Bromley. Petit frère was there to show us round the building site and, an hour or two later, tia numero dos made her long awaited-acquaintance with la sobrinita.
The next morning la petite greeted yet another new bedroom with some early morning cot gymnastics, but her parents were granted a lie-in when la tia kidnapped her for an hour before breakfast. The builders turned up, took one look at baby and decided to work elsewhere for the day, leaving la petite coquinette and her parents free run of the half-rebuilt house while tia & tio were at work. A walk in the late summer sunshine, a bit of shopping and, before we knew it, baby was back in bed and the taxi was there to take her parents for their first night out alone in nearly a year.
The Ritz was the destination, courtesy of a birthday present from Professor Margarita. Very nice it was too: lovely four-course meal, live swing band, bit of dancing, bit of uncertain celebrity-spotting, personal service in the gents, and all too soon it was time for the taxi home. Tia two sounded almost disappointed to report that the babysitters had heard not a peep from the sleeping baby when we got back.
Saturday was spent recovering, observing a fascinating discussion on choice of paints by the home builders, and then it was time to head for the bright lights of London once more. Second night out in a row, once again thanks to the Margarita Man, this time celebrating his own half-century. Having received strict instructions to be at Festival Pier by 7pm otherwise the boat would leave without us, we left the babysitters to feed, bathe and put their niece to bed. First time la petite has been put to bed by someone other than one of her parents. Crossing fingers, we caught a train into Charing Cross leaving them to cope as best they could.
Arriving on the South Bank early, we gradually met a few others who had made their own way there and waited for the main party and birthday boy to arrive by coach from Cambridge. The boat arrived, the clock ticked past seven, and still no sign of the majority of the partygoers. Modern technology informed us they were becalmed in heavy traffic somewhere in the City. The captain fidgeted, the clock ticked on and finally the bus deposited its load at about half past. The description containing the words piss-up and brewery springs to mind, but as it was his fiftieth birthday I'll be kind and not apply it here.
We all eventually boarded, drank Pimms and the boat slipped its moorings for an evening cruise up and down the Thames. Riverside sights by night, magician, caricature artist, buffet dinner, drinking and dancing: a good time was had by all. When the cruise came to end we all piled into a noisy club and shouted at each other for half an hour before the taxi turned up to take us home to our baby.
And we got there to find her sound asleep. Apparently all had gone well apart from a brief wake-up and need for a cuddle and slurp mid-way through the evening. Phew.
No rest for the wicked though. Six hours after going to bed we were up and, an hour later, on the road to Dover. A seven and a half hour drive awaited the other side of the Channel, survived with intermittent short screaming sessions from a very tired baby until 7pm (usual bedtime) when she finally fell asleep and stayed asleep until we reached Lyon. The end of an exhausting but very enjoyable holiday. And only two weeks till the next one...
The next morning la petite greeted yet another new bedroom with some early morning cot gymnastics, but her parents were granted a lie-in when la tia kidnapped her for an hour before breakfast. The builders turned up, took one look at baby and decided to work elsewhere for the day, leaving la petite coquinette and her parents free run of the half-rebuilt house while tia & tio were at work. A walk in the late summer sunshine, a bit of shopping and, before we knew it, baby was back in bed and the taxi was there to take her parents for their first night out alone in nearly a year.
The Ritz was the destination, courtesy of a birthday present from Professor Margarita. Very nice it was too: lovely four-course meal, live swing band, bit of dancing, bit of uncertain celebrity-spotting, personal service in the gents, and all too soon it was time for the taxi home. Tia two sounded almost disappointed to report that the babysitters had heard not a peep from the sleeping baby when we got back.
Saturday was spent recovering, observing a fascinating discussion on choice of paints by the home builders, and then it was time to head for the bright lights of London once more. Second night out in a row, once again thanks to the Margarita Man, this time celebrating his own half-century. Having received strict instructions to be at Festival Pier by 7pm otherwise the boat would leave without us, we left the babysitters to feed, bathe and put their niece to bed. First time la petite has been put to bed by someone other than one of her parents. Crossing fingers, we caught a train into Charing Cross leaving them to cope as best they could.
Arriving on the South Bank early, we gradually met a few others who had made their own way there and waited for the main party and birthday boy to arrive by coach from Cambridge. The boat arrived, the clock ticked past seven, and still no sign of the majority of the partygoers. Modern technology informed us they were becalmed in heavy traffic somewhere in the City. The captain fidgeted, the clock ticked on and finally the bus deposited its load at about half past. The description containing the words piss-up and brewery springs to mind, but as it was his fiftieth birthday I'll be kind and not apply it here.
And we got there to find her sound asleep. Apparently all had gone well apart from a brief wake-up and need for a cuddle and slurp mid-way through the evening. Phew.
No rest for the wicked though. Six hours after going to bed we were up and, an hour later, on the road to Dover. A seven and a half hour drive awaited the other side of the Channel, survived with intermittent short screaming sessions from a very tired baby until 7pm (usual bedtime) when she finally fell asleep and stayed asleep until we reached Lyon. The end of an exhausting but very enjoyable holiday. And only two weeks till the next one...
31 août 2011
Relatively old and new
Having left twenty odd new relatives in the Lakes, back in Cheshire it was time to start renewing acquaintance with some old faces and two new ones. Old in the sense of familiar, of course. On Sunday la petite was strapped into that hated car seat once more for the short trip across the border to visit ewthr and modryb. A new experience awaited - the encounter with two large, boisterous labradors was viewed from the safety of her parents' arms with a sort of supercilious curiosity. Shortly afterwards the parents of la tante arrived bearing lunch and a long time after that old uncle arrived having spent some time wandering the Welsh countryside with a less than helpful satnav.
The evening saw an experiment which was not entirely successful. La petite was put to bed in Wales and then, when her parents decided it was time to leave, she was rudely awakened, put back into that car seat, rudely awakened once more on arrival in England and put to bed again. Four different bedrooms in two days was perhaps one change of scenery too much: an hour of protest later she finally went to sleep. Don't think we'll try that one again in a hurry.
Next in the queue to see baby was auntie, who arrived late on Monday afternoon in time to say hello and goodbye to her eldest brother and take over the guest room. On Tuesday four of us temporarily left la grand-mère tending the birds and the garden in west Cheshire, got into la petite voiture and head across the county to meet some more relatively new faces. Another uncle and aunt and all four first cousins were greeted with a mixture of bemusement and coy smiles. A short walk, dinner and five hours later it was time to say reluctant goodbyes to all but one cousin and see if we could squeeze four adults and a baby in a car seat into the little car.
The seven of us squeezed into chez grand-mère for one night, achieved by aunt sharing with niece number three and baby sharing with a computer and lots of books. Bath time for baby was a crowded all-female affair - mama assisted by her belle-soeur and niece. The following day was taken up with entertaining la petite and a stroll round the village through nettle patches and churchyards. La soeur headed back to Yorkshire in the early evening, dropping off la nièce en route, and then we were four once more.
The evening saw an experiment which was not entirely successful. La petite was put to bed in Wales and then, when her parents decided it was time to leave, she was rudely awakened, put back into that car seat, rudely awakened once more on arrival in England and put to bed again. Four different bedrooms in two days was perhaps one change of scenery too much: an hour of protest later she finally went to sleep. Don't think we'll try that one again in a hurry.
Next in the queue to see baby was auntie, who arrived late on Monday afternoon in time to say hello and goodbye to her eldest brother and take over the guest room. On Tuesday four of us temporarily left la grand-mère tending the birds and the garden in west Cheshire, got into la petite voiture and head across the county to meet some more relatively new faces. Another uncle and aunt and all four first cousins were greeted with a mixture of bemusement and coy smiles. A short walk, dinner and five hours later it was time to say reluctant goodbyes to all but one cousin and see if we could squeeze four adults and a baby in a car seat into the little car.
The seven of us squeezed into chez grand-mère for one night, achieved by aunt sharing with niece number three and baby sharing with a computer and lots of books. Bath time for baby was a crowded all-female affair - mama assisted by her belle-soeur and niece. The following day was taken up with entertaining la petite and a stroll round the village through nettle patches and churchyards. La soeur headed back to Yorkshire in the early evening, dropping off la nièce en route, and then we were four once more.
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