Choker

The Easter weekend started off with me abandoning les deux filles (et demie) for a final solo cross-channel flight of the season for football obsession feeding purposes. And it was an entirely relaxed trip for a change. Smooth outward flight, chauffeur-driven ride from airport to pub, pre-match pint or three in the pub with le grand gooner and the surrogate barrel-maker number 2, comfortable victory against the doomed Royals, delicious post-match dinner back in Cambridge with le grand chef et la petite beaucoup, and finally uneventful trip home the following day.

Meanwhile the girls apparently had a good time without me, barring one half-hour Saturday evening tantrum. And so it was en famille that we headed to the park on Easter Monday morning. After a pleasant stroll in cool, hazy sunshine we headed to the nearby garden centre café for lunch. And there the weekend almost came to a distinctly unpleasant end. La petite gourmande was tucking into a fruit salad when she suddenly started choking. Not an unusual situation in itself, as when she was younger she often stuffed too much into her mouth at once. However in the past she's always managed to cough it up and out straightaway. This time the offending object was well and truly stuck, and the way our little treasure was desperately and vainly trying to suck in air with a look of panic in her eyes suggested this was no ordinary choking episode. Her parents were also somewhat panic-struck, but after a scary moment that could have lasted anywhere between 20 and 60 seconds, papa's rather tentative attempt at the Heimlich manoeuvre at last dislodged a large chunk of pineapple.

Fortunately there were no discernible after-effects, though it was mildly worrying to see her uncharacteristically almost fall asleep on her push-along tricycle on the way home. Pineapple remains off the menu for the moment though…

The gestation of her future little sister apparently progresses well, though la bienheureuse's last appointment at the hospital produced an 'arrêt pathologique', a sort of maternity sick-leave (in her case due to the gestational diabetes) which extends the prenatal maternity leave by two weeks. La mère travailleuse thus stops work on Monday. No excuse for a holiday though - as it is a type of sick leave, she is constrained to be at home between 9-11am and 2-4pm every day of the two weeks. And the social security apparently can call round to check...

Brighter outlook

The sun has finally begun to make more regular appearances over the last week and, as the days lengthen, so the days of the cursed colds and coughs seem to be numbered. The course of antibiotics would appear to have done the trick for la bienheureuse and, while la petite & papa are slightly enrhumés with a cold that lingers on, it is a minor inconvenience rather than a major health hazard.

Despite being somewhat bothered by a blocked nose and chesty cough over the last ten days or so, la petite coquinette continues to astound and amaze. Favourite trick last week was diving head first off the sofa. With a pile of cushions to soften the landing I hasten to admit. She also spent most of the two hours we spent at 'Indoor Aventure' on Sunday on the trampolines, and was unfazed by a slide designated for over-3s that scared papa. Jumping is one of her favourite activities, "saute" is one of her favourite words, just one of a rapidly increasing vocabulary. About three quarters of the words she speaks at the moment seem to be French, perhaps surprisingly given that she only spends 2 days out of 7 in a totally francophone environment. It's tempting to conclude that simple French terms are easier to pronounce than English, or maybe the maternal assistants at the crèche just speak more clearly than papa…

Meanwhile her future little sister apparently sorted out all by herself the minor kidney malfunction that was causing mild concern, though la grossesse can't be said to be progressing quite as smoothly as the first. Maman, accompanied by papa, spent the morning at the hospital early this week, firstly for the echography that gave the renal all-clear, and then for a consultation with an endocrinologist, gestational diabetes having been diagnosed during the last monthly checkup. Daily blood sugar monitoring and a more careful dietary plan were prescribed.

Hopefully the new arrival won't put in her appearance during working hours. We made the decision to drive, on the correct assumption that the appointments would overrun and force me to drive straight from there to the airport to pick up la belle-mère, arriving for her grand-daughter's 2nd birthday. Big mistake (the decision to drive to the hospital that is, not going to fetch la belle-mère) - we got to the top of the hill and traffic ground to a complete halt. Neither of us could remember how much further the hospital was, but in the end the expectant mother got out and walked, leaving me to crawl along in the car.

Right decision this time, because the hospital was a mere two or three hundred yards further on, which took three minutes on foot and more than twenty by car. Ironically, it turned out that the traffic problems were caused by the queue to get into the hospital car park, which was all but full. I eventually got there, parked in the exorbitantly expensive drop-off area, and was in time to see a rather nice 3d image of an unborn face. Looks remarkably like a similar image we were treated to just over two years ago…

Ups and downs

The respite from winter malady was all too brief. During the blighted trip to Blighty, my cough gradually got worse. Two days later I spent the day lying in front of the TV or in bed, and was driven to the doctor's surgery. For the following week antibiotics and anti-inflammatories coursed through my system, and happily seem to have more or less done the trick. Only worries now are the cough that refuses to go away chez moi, yet another in a seemingly unending procession of minor colds chez la petite actuelle, and a minor anomaly in one kidney chez la petite à venir.

Elsewhere, on foreign fields, the ups and downs also continue. A tendency to play only the second 45 minutes of each match proved enough to down the Swans and the Seagulls in the FA cup, but not enough to overcome the blue Russian not-so-nouveau riche of west London. On fields closer to home, the season for les gones has also been a bit up and down. Beaten on penalties in the first round of the French cup by a team two divisions lower (sounds familiar), but playing yo-yo with PSG and OM at the top of Ligue, OL currently lie second on goal difference to the Qatari-funded Parisians.

Talking of which (Qatari-funded sporting concerns, that is) today's edition of France Football magazine is effectively claiming the decision to award the 2022 World Cup was purchased. Not a new accusation, but what is new is the allegation that Sarkozy and Michel Platini met secretly with the Qatari crown prince ten days before Qatar was awarded the World Cup. Allegedly, the Qataris were promised the French vote in return for buying PSG and funding the new French sports channel that is currently threatening the TV football hegemony previously enjoyed France by Canal+, who Sarko viewed as a thorn in his side…

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.

Tottering

The big freeze is over. Maximum daytime temperatures finally crept above freezing on Monday, and minimum temperatures followed suit on Wednesday. Two full weeks of sub-zero temperatures apparently made it the fifth most severe cold snap since 1947, witness the Saône freezing over. Now we are back to normal, cold, dull February weather. Spring still seems a long way away.

It was so cold over the weekend that most Ligue 1 football matches were brought forward from evening to afternoon. It was still perishingly chilly at Gerland at 3pm on Saturday afternoon, where I shivered in a half empty stadium watching Lyon stumble to a 2-1 home defeat against Caen, a team just above the relegation zone. On Valentine's night it was a mild 2C with snow on the ground when I left my two true loves at home and repeated the trip to watch les gones play Apoel Nicosia in the Champions league. One goal was the sum total of 90 minutes of attack vs defence. The UEFA statistics on the big screen kept a running score of shots on goal; OL's total steadily increased to about 20 by the end of the match while the number in the visiting team's column remained stuck on zero until the 89th minute when Lloris was finally called on, and had to make a good save at that. I suspect the return match in Cyprus may be a little more difficult. At least Lyon have a good chance of making the last eight, something that can't be said for my third true love, but I'll skate quickly over that subject.

My little sweetheart is making great strides at the moment. Or, more accurately, small unsteady steps. However she now frequently tries to walk when going from A to B and can totter along upright for a good 7 or 8 steps.

Another small person tottering on the brink is Nicolas Sarkozy. On Tuesday we had confirmation that he would officially announce that he would be running for president the following evening. And on prime time Wednesday night TV the confirmation of the confirmation was finally delivered. He said he'd been considering standing for several weeks. Hmm, several years surely, Monsieur le Président…

Powerless

The cold weather continues to bite, France's peak power consumption keeps breaking records, and we suffered the perhaps inevitable blackout on Wednesday evening. The lights went out in the middle of the afternoon and didn't come back until late in the evening. Out came the candles, torches and warmer clothes. Gas central heating is all very well if you don't have a boiler that relies on electricity to work. Fortunately, if the blackout had continued, our downstairs neighbours had offered warm shelter, having an old-fashioned boiler. Indeed we sampled their sweltering conditions first hand when we went down for a candlelit chat. No bath for la petite and her parents were in bed by nine thirty. What else is there to do when there's no TV or light to read by…?

The blown transformer which caused the power cut was presumably replaced the next day because we had two more cuts, one of over 2 hours in the middle of the day and another of a minute early in the evening. All lights blazing since then, fingers crossed. The sub-zero temperatures continue, -10C yesterday morning, even if our back window weather station recorded a maximum of 0.5C yesterday afternoon.

I experienced a different feeling of helplessness earlier in the week when my beloved daughter's attempts to escape from the changing table finally succeeded. As she pitched herself headlong off the end and into the bath my loose hold on her clothing slowed her fall enough for a desperate grab with the other hand to succeed in catching a leg. Result: a relatively gentle landing flat on her back with her head cushioned by a collection of rubber bath toys. No harm done other than a slightly grazed thigh and small bruise on one cheek. A lesson learned on both sides, we hope, but then I've said that before…

Another power problem, a sore elbow, eventually lead me to an appointment with a rheumatologist on Thursday. As I assume it's a bit like tennis elbow, I call it baby elbow, though in truth it started before baby came along. More likely computer mouse elbow or something. Anyway, he injected cortisone into the joint and told me to come back if it hadn't improved significantly after two weeks or so. More power to my elbow, fingers on the other hand crossed…

Someone else likely to lose power is Nicolas Sarkozy. He is still conducting what is referred to as a 'teasing' campaign for the presidential election. ie not officially confirming his candidacy, but dropping hints here and there. For instance, an interview in Le Figaro magazine a couple of days ago setting out his 'values' bore all the hallmarks of a personal manifesto. Headline grabber was his proposal to hold a referendum on the right of the unemployed to refuse whatever job or training they are offered. 

The campaign is hotting up with a political storm this week over interior minister Claude Guéant's comment that not all civilisations are equal. The English translation might seem relatively harmless but the subtext and his subsequent comments made it all too clear that he was saying 'Western' civilisation is better than the rest, in particular Islam. Cue an explosion of polemic and a retaliation in parliament by a socialist MP from Martinique who compared Guéant's ideology to those that led to the rise of Nazism. A view which one might sympathise with but succeeded mainly in letting Sarko's right wing rottweiler off the hook by provoking a mass walkout by ruling party MPs, allowing them to bluster about being insulted instead of having to defend the original insult.

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...

Chilled

"Le Grand Froid" has well and truly set in. Daytime temperatures yesterday didn't get above -4C, and dropped overnight to minus seven. The central heating is working overtime, and a biting northerly windchill factor of minus ten reduced our daily promenade to fifteen minutes from fear of baby getting home with frozen cheeks. And it's forecast to continue for another week. Brr. On the plus side, clear blue sky was sighted today in Lyon for the first time this year. A small corner of the apartment even saw sunshine.

Indoors we met the nanny from downstairs this morning. Nice lady, if a little brutally honest about my French. "It isn't any better after ten years?" So soon la petite coquinette will start learning to speak the local lingo better than her father, and start learning to share toys and playtime with a couple of little copains. And papa will rediscover free time. By which I mean time to write, of course...

Standing alone

Another visit to Monsieur le pédiatre, arranged for a vaccination she probably should have had last visit (do we suspect him of spinning out these visits for financial reasons?) last week saw la not-so-petite push the scales close to 10 kilos, and stand more than 20cm taller than when she was born. Standing is something she now does a lot of, able to stay upright more or less as long as she wants. We've even seen the odd involuntary solo step. Walking is only a few short paces away…

Otherwise it's been a quiet week at home and, as usual, a busy week at work for the travel-weary travailleuse. Another overnight trip to Germany five days ago, another to Milan today followed immediately by yet another to Brussels. Thankfully only one scheduled for next month. Meanwhile the house-husband got a small break from his less onerous duties on Saturday evening with a rare trip to Gerland to watch OL eventually overcome local new-boys Dijon to keep up their decent home form this season. It's away from home that les gones have struggled recently, and the three teams above them in the league all also won over the weekend.

It felt perishingly cold in the stadium on Saturday with the chilly north wind blowing down the neck, but with the temperature close to freezing it was positively balmy compared to the -11C they are forecasting for next Saturday. Pretty cold today with a maximum of about two degrees and the first snow of the winter on the ground in Lyon.

In the wider world, Monsieur le Président made another of his solo appearances on prime time TV to announce more measures to combat la crise financière. Headline grabber was the hike in VAT, the so-called TVA social, which seems a bit of a misnomer to me. The extra tax raised is supposedly to allow reductions in charges levied on businesses, which is supposed to help the recovery from recession. Or just puts more money in the pocket of businessmen, depending on how you look at it…

The increase won't be applied until October, after the elections, and the president's likely opponent and predicted winner, François Hollande has already said he won't apply it. Sarko still hasn't confirmed that he will be standing, and the elections are now less than twelve weeks away. Not quite sure why he's being so coy when everybody and his uncle knows he will. Who else have the ruling party got, after all?

Up and down

The downgrade of France's credit rating last week was greeted with bristling defiance in government circles (who are these rating agencies anyway?), and seized as another stick to beat Sarko with by all his opponents in the forthcoming elections. The presidential campaign is starting to heat up with the big day a mere three months away. Socialist candidate François Hollande has been battling dissent and criticism from within his own party and not doing himself any favours with rather woolly policies. Meanwhile Sarko and Le Pen fille have been rivalling each other in trying not to appear to be identifying with national icon Jeanne d'Arc, the girl who beat the English, on the occasion of ther recent 600th anniversary of her birth. Only 90 more days to endure…

Our own little icon continues to develop and grow. Hiding objects and herself under the furniture is now something of a favourite game and getting from all fours into a standing position without any external support is now a given. Morning naps have been jettisoned in favour of ratty lunches and longer afternoon naps, the latter not without occasional vociferous complaint. She might soon have to cope with sharing nap and play time once a week with two other young children soon. Our downstairs neighbours are looking for another family to share their nounou with on Wednesdays. Don't think sharing is in her vocabulary yet. On verra… Meanwhile an early start and late return meant her mother missed two days of the little angel's development last week with another overnight trip to the company motherland, and another one coming up this week.

The weather has been up and down too. Mild and damp, punctuated by a dry cold snap last week, all adding up to a bumper Alpine ski season. I wistfully gaze up while my daughter keeps me occupied at an altitude of about 60 metres. It was relatively mild when we crossed the river yesterday and saw what we thought were a flotilla of canoes coming downstream. Turns out they were accompanying the annual Rhône swim, 8km from Caluire to Gerland. A long swim in single figure water temperatures, even if it was swollen with rain and fast flowing...

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...

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…

Striking lucky

The weekend before Christmas, four days before we were due to fly to Blighty for a two week holiday, security personnel at some French airports decided to go on strike. For some reason Lyon airport was the worst hit (because or in spite of all the security staff being supplied by Brinks) and two days before our departure, the Stansted flight was cancelled. Big sigh of relief therefore, when the next day all flights were assured, thanks to the airport bringing in staff from "elsewhere" (unspecified). Bigger sigh of relief on Wednesday when the same thing happened, only change being that we were advised to arrive early and that our flight was leaving from the Air France terminal rather than the (newly rebuilt) low-cost terminal. So, we duly turned up at the airport (via tram, a surprisingly smooth journey with baby, pram and assorted luggage) three hours before departure, and joined the long queue to check in - long but fast moving queue, followed by another long but equally fast moving queue at security.

In the end we were through to the departure lounge a full two hours before the flight was due to leave. First time I've ever been through security at an airport and never seen anyone stopped for a hand luggage search. Airport authorities and the government claimed that security of passengers was fully assured. Hmm, not convinced, but not complaining either as it all led to a rather more pleasant journey than normal - Air France personnel at the gate meant the usual strict Easyjet hand baggage policy was ignored; and there was an air bridge to the plane rather than walk in the rain across the tarmac; and no ten minute slog from security to the departure gates as is the case at the new low-cost terminal.

We thus arrived in Cambridge in good spirits early in the evening, reintroduced the new all-crawling, all-climbing bundle of energy to Prof Margarita and Ms Beaucoup, put her to bed and then enjoyed a tasty salmon dinner and wine chez the convivial builder.

The next morning it was onwards and northwards as we left Cambridgeshire and head to Cheshire once more. Four hours later, unscheduled stop to calm screaming baby included, we arrived chez la grand-mère and the build-up to Christmas commenced in fine style with mince pies and roast ham welcoming us.

Light visits

The 2011 version of la Fête des Lumières came and went with the usual crowded streets and a couple of visitors making it a crowd chez nous. A bit of a mixed bag this year - some good, some a little underwhelming. Perhaps the moderate impression comes from the fact that we didn't get out to see a great deal of the displays, partly due to the logistical difficulties that come  attached to evening sorties with a 9 month old baby, partly because I rather thoughtlessly booked a flying trip to London last weekend. Which only caused me to miss one night, spent with only a cat for company as my usual hotel owners were all out partying. Nonetheless it was worth the trip because the 1-0 victory over the Toffees coincided with the 125th anniversary of the best football club in the world.

Earlier in the week, visitor number two, la soeur, arrived to see the lights and her niece, not necessarily in that order of priority, on the night of the 8th. Her chauffeur was late arriving at the airport because he lingered to watch the opening night fireworks and trusted the Lyon airport website when it said the flight was twenty minutes late instead of early. Never mind, she got here in the end and the next night her brother treated her to a marathon grand tour of the main light sites in the town centre while the three generations of the other side of the family restricted themselves to a shorter look.

While I was away feeding a habit, the four ladies enjoyed a weekend of not doing any Christmas shopping or any lights viewing. A visit to the Marché de Noël was abandoned due to the crowds. Still, the visitors found their main entertainment without leaving home. On Sunday the traveller returned and did his duty by staying at home to look after baby while the three older ladies visited the park to view la Mythe de la Tête d'Or, one of the highlights of the Lumières.

By Tuesday the visitors had returned from whence they'd come, la bienheureuse was back at work and reluctantly out for dinner in the evening, which meant la petite had only papa for company. A return to her own bedroom met with mixed results. Decent daytime naps were somewhat counterbalanced by a half hour complaining session before she finally went to sleep in the evening. Similar story the next night, with la travailleuse out being quiz master at another work do, followed by a day when she wasn't keen on going to sleep at all. At lunch the situation was complicated by the fact that I was waiting for Monsieur le chauffagiste to turn up to service the boiler. By the time he phoned ninety minutes late to say he was on his way la petite coquinette had won the nap battle, and later in the evening it took an hour for her mother to finally get her to sleep. Two days later things seem to have returned to normal. Famous last words...

Against the odds

While the rest of England laughs at Manchester, most of France is revelling in the unlikely victories of Lyon and Marseille in the Champions League. Needing to win in Dortmund, OM trailed 2-0 before pulling one back at the end of the first half and scoring twice in the last five minutes to win 3-2. OL's exploit the following night was even more spectacular, clawing back a 7 goal overall deficit to Ajax. The Dutch team duly lost 3-0 to Real Madrid, meaning OL had to win by at least 4 clear goals in Zagreb. And set about it by going 1-0 down before an astonishing second half saw them score six goals in 30 minutes to run out 7-1 winners. Predictably the feat in Croatia is being questioned (it seems mainly by the Dutch and English). Is scoring seven against ten men of a team that failed to gain a single point and conceded an average of three goals in their previous five games really that surprising…?

Meanwhile our own minor miracle is growing up fast. Full crawling, full investigative mode means she can cross the room in 10 seconds flat when something catches her eye. A favourite trick at the moment is to stand up in her cot looking mighty pleased with herself while a bedtime story is being read. We suspect the wide grin has little to do with her enjoyment of the story. She has acquired the knack of pulling herself upright on other items of furniture too, but not yet fully learned that if she grabs something off the sofa or table with both hands she might topple over backwards. Full time vigilance required. Fortunately, at the moment there is a spare pair of eyes, keeping a fond watch. La belle-mère is over and spending more time with her favourite grandchild, when her favourite beau-fils gives her time off from baking mince pies and other tasty nibbles, that is...

Crawling time

December the first and it's 16C in Lyon today. The autumn just gone has gone down as one of the warmest on record, and winter is starting the same way. Not good news for the ski stations, which have all been forced to delay opening. Lovely sunshine to welcome la belle-mère though, over for her annual lights trip and her monthly granddaughter fix.

It's been a quiet week on the home front since our return from Blighty. Things aren't so slow at work for la travailleuse despite no trips abroad. Meeting after meeting while work waits to be done back at the desk. That's 'reorganisation' for you. She did get in some quality one-to-one time with son petit ange over the weekend though, as papa left the girls at home for another overnight flying visit to London and Cambridge. A local derby with the Cottagers in the big smoke could have gone better but could have been worse too, while the welcome at my habitual hotel was as warm as usual.

In my absence, la petite was practising her crawling, getting back into a sitting position and showing reluctance to sleep during the day. The latter behaviour continued on Monday when mama was back at work. Half an hour to get to sleep in the morning, followed by a two hour nap/no-nap battle with papa at lunchtime. No prizes for guessing who won. However, the next day she was back to her sweet cooperative self. We put it down to that 8-9 month phase when baby realises she's an independent person and not merely an extension of her parents. Or maybe just another tooth coming through.

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.

Sunny lockout

The long bank holiday weekend was blessed with sunshine and mild temperatures. We duly took advantage with a long afternoon promenade each day. On Friday we followed the crowds along the river to the park, where la petite was treated to her first open air autumn goûter - yoghurt and biscuit on the menu. A pleasant afternoon ended in consternation when we returned home to find the key wouldn't turn in the lock. Not the ideal situation, being locked out of the apartment with an 8 month old baby, but fortunately the upstairs neighbours were there (unusually for a bank holiday weekend) and came to the rescue, providing the phone number of a reliable locksmith, drinks and shelter while he turned up and drilled his way in. New locks on the agenda this week…

Saturday we joined the shopping crowds on the Presqu'île and then had the bright idea of climbing the hill to Fourvière. Baby carrier rather than pushchair might have been the right choice but it was still rather a hard slog with an extra 12kg on papa's back. At the top the crowd queued three deep to look at the view with Mont Blanc just visible in the distance. Second open air afternoon snack on the way down with la petite gourmande demonstrating her raspberry blowing technique to all and sundry. Sunday saw another jaunt to the park - a more genteel amble this time - to mingle with the crowds and the falling leaves. The fine weather continues this week, with night time temperatures inexorably dropping. The first frost isn't far away…

Adjusting

La petite coquinette seems to have adjusted to winter time. Seven am alarm call this morning, but the previous two it was closer to 7:30. As the season changes so it seems do her habits. Perhaps understandably, as the days shorten, she seems to think she has to take advantage of every available daylight hour. And sleeping during the day earlier this week was not part of that agenda. Actually she did eventually, but usually only after lengthy and vociferous protest. Maybe it was just a phase, with tooth number two on the way. Hopefully the reversion to a former favourite pastime - raspberry blowing during mealtime - is also a passing phase. If not we'll soon have rather fetching spatter-effect wallpaper and furniture...

The weather in Lyon remains mild, though not quite as mild as a week ago, when the minimum nighttime temperature was a couple of degrees higher than the average maximum daytime temperature for this time of year. It was looking a lot more like autumn though, with the sunshine of the previous week making way for overcast skies. Which tended to make our habitual afternoon riverside promenades rather gloomy affairs before the sunshine returned yesterday.

La petite famille was reunited again yesterday, after several days apart. Last Saturday I caught an early flight to Blighty for another pilgrimage to the blessed ground. For a change the game was comfortable, as was the habitual overnight welcome chez le grand chef et la petite beaucoup. La bienheureuse and I then briefly crossed in Lyon on Sunday night before she flew to the teutonic north for a couple of days of meetings.

Economic belt tightening is the adjustment apparently required in France to reduce the deficit and retain the sacred triple A rating handed out by the same American based agencies who gave AAA+ rating to Freddie & Fannie Lehman right up to their respective financial deaths. And yesterday one of them 'erroneously' downrated France. Hmm, reliable these ratings then. Anyway, a second austerity plan in two months (still judged insufficient by the EC) resulted in a two per cent rise in lower rate VAT, a bringing forward by a year of the increase in retirement age and linking some social security payments to growth rather than inflation. Economic 'experts' in France and Europe are full of doom and gloom, but then not so long ago most of the same experts were forecasting full recovery by next year…

Elsewhere, belt-loosening is more in the news. A top hotel in Lille has been exposed as the centre of a prostitution ring, with the hotel manager and a high-up policeman among the chief suspects for running it. And another name heavily linked to the affair is none other than Dominic Strauss-Kahn, the man with seemingly the biggest libido in France. Texts from him have been found on the phone of a local businessman also involved in the whole business talking about parties and 'young ladies' in Lille, Barcelona and New York.

Another policeman in trouble is the former number two in the Lyon Police Judiciare (rough equivalent of the CID), who is in prison while under investigation for corruption and links to organised crime. The man once fêted as Lyon's top crime-busting cop allegedly used drugs seized by the police to keep a supposed informer sweet, supplied copies of police files  to, and accepted expensive holidays from, individuals known to be part of Lyon's criminal underworld…

Firsts

A quiet week back in the bosom of the family home, following our return from Blighty. Quiet, at least, for the two of us lucky enough not to have to go out to work. The past few days have, however, been notable for a couple of 'firsts' in the life story of the youngest member of the family:
First tooth finally broke through a few days ago - age 7 and a half months.
First aquatic stool evacuation - in the bath a few nights ago. Hope that one isn't repeated too often…

This week also saw the second occasion I almost killed our daughter. Leaving the apartment building for our habitual afternoon promenade, I carelessly knocked the lens cap off the camera slung over my back. Ducking back inside to pick it up, and finding it just out of reach, I momentarily let go of the pushchair. Oops. The steep pavement camber sent it careering towards the road. Normally it wouldn't have come to much harm as cars are normally parked bumper to bumper along the side of the road. However, this was one occasion when there was a gap just outside the building. Fortunately a passer-by happened along at the right time and stopped the pram's precious bundle being pitched headfirst into the road. I console myself by thinking I might have caught it myself. Perhaps. Must remember to use the brakes in future...

You'd have thought I'd learned my lesson from the the previous heart stopping moment, which occurred a couple of months earlier on the nappy-changing table. The little dear had recently acquired the knack of scooting backwards by vigorously pumping her feet. A moment's inattention taught me just how fast she could propel herself - one moment she was safely in the middle of the table, the next her head was hanging over the edge as she teetered above a sheer head-first drop into the bath. Can't take my eyes off you… On the other hand, she seems to have inherited her father's thick skull, so perhaps no damage would have been done.

A few other milestones in the development of notre petite puce adorée (purely for future reference, not for my-baby-is-more-advanced-than-yours purposes you understand):

5 weeks: first genuine smile
7 weeks: first sleep through the night (8 hours, 11pm - 7am)
4 months: first roll, front to back
5 months: first full night sleep (12 hours, 7pm - 7am give or take)
5 and a bit months: first back to front roll, mastered sufficiently in a week to be able to roll across the room at remarkable speed until an immovable obstacle is encountered. Only in one direction though, over her left side. She's only just figured out rolling in the other direction. Also recently mastered - the tummy swivel, which gives her complete movement in 2 dimensions. Crawling is only a matter of time, once she realises she needs to get up on hands and knees at the same time. And the apartment is far from baby-proof at the moment...
6 and a bit months: able to maintain sitting position unaided for several minutes. Until she gazes up at the ceiling and falls backwards. Fortunately she has that thick skull…
7 months: able to demonstrate that she wants something by grunting repeatedly and gazing expectantly at her parents. We assume she'll find some way of telling us exactly what she wants soon…

There was another first in France over the weekend. The first time the French rugby team deserved to win a match in this year's World Cup. Rather ironic that it was the final. They've just returned and are being fêted as heroes, which is a bit odd considering the team was universally slated for its performances up to the final, apart perhaps from when they disposed of the English. Egg-chasers this side of La Manche even have the gall to be complaining about an allegedly biased referee…