Sun, sea and sand 2012

So it was, in our brand new voiture, that we set off on the annual week's holiday on the Côte d'Azur. Loaded almost to the gunnels, the new car swept silently down the autoroute like a dream, la petite more or less behaved herself and enjoyed the view from her new, higher perch, and we arrived in La Favière late on Sunday afternoon. After a quick drink at the corner café in the 28C sunshine, we successfully retrieved the keys to the apartment from the safe box outside the immobilier, and settled into our old/new home for the week. Three hours later, NI Soggydiver and new Scottish consort arrived and we all enjoyed beer and takeaway pizza for dinner as we watched the sun go down from the terrace.

Lazy Monday morning, though a somewhat earlier start than hoped for due to a toddler waking up and excitedly finding her parents in the same room, and slightly marred by the downstairs neighbour complaining about the noise. Shut that young child up…

And so to the first dive of the week and the discovery of the Bormes boys new headquarters. La bienheureuse generously volunteered for baby-sitting and beach life-guard duty leaving me to enjoy a trip in the afternoon sunshine to Pointe de la Galère with our two buddies. Pleasant enough pootle, though current and depth restrictions limited us to the less interesting west side of the point. In the evening, a return to a favourite haunt, la Brasserie du Port. Soupe de Poisson and Mousse au Chocolat naturally on the menu and, despite her parents' apprehensions, la petite coquinette displayed almost perfect table manners, albeit aided and abetted by a portable DVD player. Once again la bienheureuse chose the short straw and took baby home to bed, though the rest of us weren't too far behind. Wine, beer and a few traditional games of peanut-head followed. A girls off-night at the card table.

An early start the next morning because it was decided to do the morning dive. La mère plongeuse eventually overcame the apprehension at her first dive in over two years and accompanied the Soggy diver on the trip to Pointe de Montremian. The ski slope delivered its usual lovely dive though a National Instructor's current phobia put paid to the plan to swim out to the pinnacle. Meanwhile, la petite napped, papa lazed, and the RNLI cox explored Le Lavandou. Late afternoon was spent at the seaside, where la petite travailleuse busied herself in an ultimately fruitless attempt to transfer all the sand from the beach to the sea.

Dinner in that night, and we settled for two reliable old favourites - poulet au lait & tarte tatin. Or not-so-reliable old favourites. Though both dishes turned out to be tasty enough, a lack of suitable utensils and ingredients meant the chicken wasn't quite up to usual standards (bad chefs always blame their equipment), and an exploding masquerading-as-Pyrex dish put paid to the caramelisation process for the dessert.

We chose Wednesday for a day off diving. The East Lothian contingent decided on a day checking out the plastic surgery on display at St Tropez while les lyonnais spent the morning wine shopping. Or rather spent the morning on a scenic but hairy drive up and over the Col du Canadel in the hope that la petite would nap on the way to the vineyard. She eventually did, but not before her mother had spent an anxious half hour piloting a new car along a road barely wide enough for one old car, let alone two, with a precipitous drop on one side and a ditch and rock wall on the other. We eventually reached the Domaine de l'Angueiroun with nerves jangling but intact, and enjoyed a wine tasting session which ended with this so-called connoisseur choking (accidentally, I hasten to add) and the purchase of two cases.

After a much needed nap for all of us, ice creams in the village were followed by fun and frolics for the smallest member of the family in the fountains that are set into the floor of the village square. Once the NB lifeboat crew returned from glitz of St Tropez, we all went out for dinner again to the Tropicana Beach. Living the high life.

A lazy Thursday morning for la petite famille ensued, while the chefs for the day got busy at the supermarket and in the kitchen. The sun shone and the wind howled outside but the afternoon dive still went ahead. Papa and Auntie Sogs learned with a groan that the site was Pointe de la Galère, chosen for its protection from the easterly gale. However, it turned out to be the best dive of the week for me, as I managed to drag my buddies (a random stranger had joined us) over to the east side of the point, which rewarded us with a ring-side view of a large school of patrolling barracuda. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, la petite coquinette was amusing herself and her mother with a game of hide and seek in the living room dresser, and a gin palace amused everyone by coming adrift from its mooring and being battered by the waves on the beach. Rich boys should learn to tie knots.

The results of the morning's labour in the kitchen was seen in the evening - delicious spicy lamb tajine followed by sweet Eton Mess. Lovely. And more beer, wine and games of peanut-head to follow.

On Friday, mama once again generously put toddler time ahead of time and depth, and allowed the other three divers to enjoy a full day out at Port Cros. Which was indeed enjoyable, though still-stiff easterlies restricted diving to the lee-side of la Gabinière and Pointe de la Croix, neither of which are noted as particular gems of the region. Lunch in a Port Cros café in the warm sunshine was very pleasant though.

Meanwhile, back on the mainland, la bienheureuse et la petite set off after lunch to collect the Margarita Man, delayed by bereavement but nonetheless keen to pay a flying visit. The half hour trip each way to the airport didn't allow la petite coquinette an afternoon nap, but the additional entertainment provided by her favourite builder kept her amused and mostly even-tempered until the evening. The core La Fav gang thus reunited, we had dinner at La Rade in the port. Tasty food but slow service meant papa only had one course before it was his turn to take the tired toddler home to bed. The compensation, with no diving the next day, was more beer, wine and peanut-head once the rest of the card school returned.

Our last full day was spent on a brief dip in the pool in the morning - brrr, water colder than the sea - and, after lunch and naps, on a wander along the coastal path towards Le Lavandou and back in the perennial sunshine, followed by more playing in the water jets.

For the last supper it was back to La Brasserie, where a fine week was celebrated with champagne. A rather more leisurely final morning than usual was possible the following day thanks to the Sunday checkout and consequent lack of time constraints. Thus we were all able to have lunch together one last time in the Provençal sunshine before going our separate ways - Nice airport via one final shower for the Scottish party, Lyon via Hyères airport to drop off uncle Margarita for the Lyon lot. And a fast, smooth, quiet drive (albeit on an autoroute busier than expected) got us home by seven, tired but happy after yet another great week on the Côte d'Azur.

September summer holiday

A relatively painless (apart from a tough poo pellet episode) journey towards the Côte d'Azur ended in warm, late afternoon sunshine. Keys to the apartment were exchanged for a sum of money and a few cheques vacances, along with emergency bedclothes provided by the lady from the agency following an overlooked request to hire them. La petite famille settled in, watched the sun set over the beach, baby was put to bed and parents ate takeaway pizza from the restaurant across the road while waiting for the soggy diver and her new beau to turn up. A text informing us of lengthy queues for car hire however persuaded us to secrete the keys outside and do our waiting in the dormant state.

On a morning with no diving planned, la petite gave us an undesired wake-up call at 5.30am, performing some cot gymnastics in anticipation of the arrival of an almighty thunderstorm. As the lightning flashed and thunder crashed outside, she went back to sleep. A couple of hours later we met the new arrivals. Late breakfast and a lazy morning ensued before they went for an introductory dive (La Formigue) after lunch, the youngest in the party went off for a nap, and the oldest went off to the airport to collect the new member of the 50 club.

Five reunited, the evening was the occasion for an experiment: taking la petite coquinette to a restaurant. Ensconced in her pram, the hope was that she would fall asleep. Fat chance: noisy restaurant, interesting things going on, lots of new faces. Nonetheless a good time was had by all, though la bienheureuse skipped dessert to take the tired-but-determined-not-to-be-sleepy little angel back to bed.

My turn to do the first dive of the week the following morning, while ma bien-aimée senior forewent the water to look after ma bien-aimée junior. With the Mistral blowing up an easterly gale in a cloudless sky, I joined the beach lady and the crooked nail for a dip on a rock in the sheltered bay. Very pleasant it was too, if a little chilly and a floppy sausage and detached fin demonstrated my rusty diving technique. Fortunately the latter was rescued by the brave La Favière tyro. Prof Margarita preferred to nurse blocked sinuses and indulge in a morning lie-in, but in the afternoon joined us in braving the whistling wind and for a squeaky sinus dive at Cap Benat. Red sausage fully inflated this time, but a buoy line wrapped round a reel handle almost resulted in a rapid early ascent. The 51 year-old resolved to try and dive more than once a year while the 50 year-old decided one dive was quite enough for this year.

A more successful sortie for a meal out took place in the evening. A strategically chosen quiet restaurant, with a longer walk timed to coincide with la petite's bedtime worked perfectly and she slept through a lovely meal. We walked back to the apartrment and were lulled to sleep by the howling wind, clinking riggings and crashing waves.

The next morning, la petite coquinette was awake early once more, but the wind had miraculously dropped. It was almost dead calm was the diving trio headed off for a day's diving at Port Cros, leaving two beauties and a beast to enjoy a quiet day and test the swimming pool. Water at 20C was not at all to la petite's taste. A bit cool for me too, but a wet suit helped enjoy a great dive on le Grec with AI N after NI S decided three was a crowd and gave up her perennial battle with the surface current. Lunch in the summer sunshine at Port Cros was followed by a pleasant plunge at Pointe du Vaisseau, where groupers lazed, a lonely moray lurked and a school of barracuda circled menacingly close to the bottom.

The divers took the middle day of the week off to spend time with the Margarita man and the two lovely ladies. A stroll along the coast path in the warm sunshine towards Le Lavandou was broken by a picnic lunch for baby and late morning drinks for the grown-ups. A lazy afternoon ensued apart from a sortie to the beach for la famille where la fille confirmed that she's none too fond of water that's well below body temperature. An evening in followed, with the shark lady cooking her renowned beer can chicken. Delicious it was too, even if the chickens had a little too much of the hard stuff and kept falling over.

The glorious weather continued on Thursday. The three divers set off on the boat for a day of wreck diving and lunch at Cavalaire. First dive on the agenda was L'Espingole. Dr S made it down the shotline this time, but contented herself with observing the broken up wreck from afar while her buddies explored as far as they dared. Le Rubis was the afternoon dive. After initial false reports about the current all three of us eventually got down and enjoyed a lovely dive on the lone star French sub of the 2nd world war. Dinner in again in the evening, tasty leftovers followed by a few testy games of cards. Too much glee from certain quarters about the champion peanuthead in my opinion.

Friday was Professor Margarita's last day. Skipping the morning dive, I drove him to the airport and then joined the Scottish pair for the last dive of the week on the jewel in the Port Cros crown - the east wall of La Gabinière. Excellent as usual. Our last night was taken up with packing, cleaning, takeaway pizza and more card games. The married couple came out top in the competition to be last.

And so another week of great weather and great diving at La Favière came to an end. On Saturday morning we headed north through perplexing autoroute queues while the soggy diver and her buddy headed east towards Nice airport via St Tropez and other coastal hotspots. No doubt we will be back again next year...

Corsican idyll

Birthday holiday fortnight, part 2. Toulon to Ajaccio, a week in Corsica, Ajaccio to Nice to Toulon to Lyon.

Saturday 12th
The 6am wakeup and belated car packing don't make for an ideal start to the week, but the trip to the ferry terminal and boarding go smoothly, so shortly after 8.30am we sail out of Toulon harbour past a Spanish aircraft carrier and into the calm, open water of the Mediterranean. A 90 minute nap revives a grumpy Sogwig, we successfully negotiate lunch with a grumpy Italian waiter and get our first sighting of l'Île de Beauté. Shortly after two in the afternoon, the ferry docks, disgorges its load, and we successfully navigate through the narrow streets of Ajaccio and onto the Route des Sanguinaires. Fifteen minutes later we find our home for the week and relax in the sun dappled garden for the next hour while the caretaker finishes cleaning and grumbling about the previous week's occupants leaving late.

At last we're in, and a lovely villa it is too, the sea twenty yards from the front door (albeit over a road and down a small precipice). Bedrooms are rapidly seized, we unpack and settle in before venturing out to the nearest supermarket to do some provisions shopping. Early evening we receive word and an ETA from the Cherry Hinton gooners, en route from Bastia, with la petite beaucoup suffering a touch of motion sickness as her driver enjoys the switchback mountain road in an attempt to arrived before England's opening match kicks off in South Africa. He almost makes it and we immediately tuck into barbecued lamb, sausages and salad. Several G&Ts, bottle of champagne, a box of rosé and a goalkeeping blunder later the match result seems immaterial. We eventually all fall into bed exhausted.

Sunday 13th
A lie-in and breakfast in the sunshine on the terrace are cut short as la bienheureuse and I drive north to collect le frère aîné from Bastia airport. As we leave Ajaccio behind us and climb into the mountains, the sun disappears behind threatening clouds. The route is winding and impressively scenic nonetheless, and we reach the airport two hours later. Big brother is retrieved, and we make the return trip intending to stop off for lunch en route. A thunderstorm puts paid to that idea and we content ourselves with refuelling on quiche and pastries in Bocognano. We return to the house to find the sun hiding behind clouds and our companions all having siestas. Hard work being on holiday.

Sunshine makes a late afternoon reappearance, which means a game of boules in the garden and another BBQ on the dining agenda. G&Ts followed by dinner taken in the conservatory - salmon and cream cheese hors d'oeuvres, slow cooked meat accompanied by a tasty tomato sauce rustled up by the master chef, cheese, with chocolate tart to finish. Never under feed when you can over eat.

Monday 14th
Clear blue skies greet us on our first day of Corsican diving. Early breakfast and by 9am we are milling around at the dive centre on an Ajaccio beach itching to get into the water. Our hosts are impressed by the 4 stars on the First Class Diver's qualification card, but less impressed when she almost drowns before we even leave the beach. Fortunately I'm on hand to effect a rescue and we are soon zipping across the water on a large RIB with inboard engine towards the first dive site, Campanina, a large rock hosting a navigation beacon on the opposite side of the gulf of Ajaccio. A lovely dive, with spectacular underwater topology, sundry scorpion fish, moray eels, groupers and hundreds of transparent sea squirts.

After pizzas for lunch in a beachside paillotte, we return for a second dive. This time, having been assessed as competent during the morning, we are allowed to dive unaccompanied at a site only a couple of hundred metres from the first. E sette nave is another series of spectacular rock formations, above and underwater, at the Pointe de l'Isolella. More scorpion fish and morays, fewer tunicates, but an impressive pinnacle and a lovely swim through in shallow water are the highlights. We return to the north side of the bay dive-satisfied and arrange to return on Wednesday. Meanwhile the cycling chef has completed his first 100km jaunt of the week, and le frère and Ms Beaucoup have been for a stroll in Ajaccio and an abortive attempt to find the walking path in the hills behind.

For dinner Sogwig consults her cooking oracle, pater, and comes up with delicious roast chicken stuffed with onions, garlic, basil and lemon, while ma bien-aimée prepares a goat's cheese tart for starter. The Margarita man prepares a strong sample of his signature cocktail to oil the cuisine and dining, more cheese and chocolate tart are consumed, and one by one, or two by two, we all eventually retire, replete and well soaked.

Tuesday 15th
The clouds roll in overnight, and we all rise late. By late morning hangovers have receded enough to get everybody moving, and we set off for a drive along the coast road towards Porto. Despite the overcast skies, the scenic coastal and mountain route is enchanting, and we stop for lunch in a pleasant restaurant in Sagone. Pressing on, we reach our main objective, les Callanche de Piana by mid afternoon. Spectacular is an inadequate word to describe the views of the Golfe de Porto and the red rock cliffs and calanques. We eventually find space to park on the precipitous, winding, tourist-clogged road and get out to gape and snap. Drinking in the scenery reminds us of other things to imbibe, and we carry on down into Porto. Abandoning the soggy diver to sleep and fret in the car we stroll around the port and finish up in a restaurant terrace overlooking the harbour.

The rain starts to fall on the return journey, and as we take the hilly, back route through Ajaccio the streets turn into the rivers and the storm drains into geysers. Back at the villa the thunder and lightning roar. No matter, inside the G&Ts and rosé wine continue to flow, and we feast on leftovers and cheese.

Wednesday 16th
A cloudy start to another diving morning, but as we leave the beach in Ajaccio, the sun makes a welcome return. The boat heads in the same direction as Monday but stops a hundred metres short of the coast at a site known as the Tête de Mort. A pinnacle that rises from 40 metres to a few centimetres below the surface, it has snared many an unwary fishermen in the past, hence the name. And a stunning dive it is too. Plunging walls, schools of bream, morays, scorpion fish, an arrow-head shaped rock and a trapped bubble of air beneath an overhang.

While we play beneath the waves, the above water trio head upwards to explore the hills above the route des Sanguinaires and watch the surf rolling in on the isolated beach of Minaccia. We regroup at the villa and spend the afternoon relaxing in the sunshine. In the evening G&T aperitifs have to be necked rather quicker than intended as a late rush to find an alternative taxi company results in travel into Ajaccio a few minutes earlier than planned. We thus arrive at 20123 in high spirits, and a highly enjoyable dinner and evening follows. The restaurant is named after the post code of the mountain village it was transplanted from, and recreates the square village in-house. The fixed menu of vegetable soup or cheese & ham quiche, roast lamb or veal ragout, cheese and dessert is delicious, and all the while we are entertained by a tuneful Corsican cappella group.

Thursday 17th
For our final dive of the fortnight we head out in the same direction, and after a minor communication problem is resolved we end up back at Death's Head. Another great dive ends, and we reluctantly bid goodbye to the Ragnole beaux gosses. They send us off in traditional Corsican fashion with midday aperitifs of Cap Corse and pastis. Meanwhile the non-divers have been into town to visit the market.

All bar the cycling chef (off out for another short 100km ride through the hills) head back to the villa to relax, but the peaceful afternoon is shattered by the sound of low flying aircraft. We rush out just in time to see the third Canadair water bomber fly over barely 100 feet above our heads. Amid much excitement we watch the three amphibious aircraft circle out into the bay and, one by one, skim across the water filling their tanks before lifting off again. Three times they repeat the exercise, apparently dumping water each time, and we decide they are on a training run rather than real life fire-fighting.

In the evening it's la chef Beaucoup's turn to cook. The morning visit to the market has produced three large bream, which she stuffs with onion and parsley. Meanwhile la bienheureuse gives a master chef lesson on tarte tatin making to Prof Margarita, and I busy myself preparing caipirinhas, a long and labour intensive process. Fortunately the fish takes rather longer to cook than expected, so we all have time to sup  Brazilian rum and lime at our leisure. The bream and the tarte tatin are worth the wait and, as the drinking goes on deep into the night, the five litre box of rosé empties…

Friday 18th
Alack and alas, last day of the holiday. Late breakfast and a lazy morning (a quick cycle ride, and shopping trip to Ajaccio aside) are followed by a drive out along the route des Sanguinaires in search of a paillotte recommended by our dive centre friends. We end up in one which turns out not to be the one intended, but have a lovely lunch all the same in an idyllic beachside setting. Afterwards we continue to the end of the road, to la Pointe de la Parata to gaze out at the Îles des Sanguinaires. We stroll along the path round the point and the Genoese tower and then head up over the hills to swim and sunbathe on the Plage de Minaccia.

Then, alas, it's time to head home and start packing. In between we fit in a final sumptuous barbecue dinner - lamb and merguez sausages, aubergine bake, enormous salad and chocolate mousse - and watching drab England grind their way to another World Cup draw. Finally, it's time for bed and goodbyes, as the La Favière four have another early alarm call the following morning for the 8.30am ferry to Nice. The end of a wonderful week, capped by the crowning of FCD Cacatête six times in a row.

Saturday 19th
Ferry to Nice, drive around Nice trying to find the autoroute, make it to Toulon, somehow find the Margarita Man's hotel without map or directions, drop him off and then hit the road back to Lyon. We arrive just before nine in the evening, unload the car and eventually fall exhausted into bed, looking forward to a Sunday lie-in. No such luck. The soggy diver has an early flight the next morning, which means I'm up at 6am again for the trip to the airport. Looking forward to a relaxing week of lie-ins, back in the normal routine...

A bell tinkles 50

Two weeks of sun and wind, diving and driving, eating and drinking, walking and cycling, tinkling and snapping: what better way to celebrate ma cinquantaine, and what better place to do so than the Côte d'Azur and La Corse.

A wonderful holiday in two parts. The first week went something like this:

Saturday 5th: having collected the Sogwig from the airport late on Friday night, the three of us pack the car and the roof box and head south in warm sunshine for the 420km drive to La Favière. Four and a half hours later we arrive, collect the keys for the waterside apartments and settle in to await the arrival of the DenEfamily. Two hours after they are expected, I finally receive a phone call from the DenEdad, lost in a hire car somewhere between Marseille airport and La Favière without a map or a satnav. The trio finally reach their destination and the DenEmum, with calm control, relates the reason for the additional delay - her husband had hired a car with no idea from which hire company. The local mairie puts on a fireworks show on the water yards from our balcony to celebrate everyone's safe arrival.

Sunday 6th: a day of relaxation and recovery, interrupted by a short drive to Toulon airport to collect Professor Margarita, the final participant in the first week of celebrations. The weather holds, the Tinkler discovers the joys of sand castles on the beach and six adults to share his dinky cars with. Everyone enjoys a swim in the pool despite a non-functioning electronic key. The eating and drinking begin in earnest with dinner at La Rade, a quayside restaurant. The soupe de poisson earns a mere 6.0 but the dark chocolate mousse has the Sands of North Berwick in raptures.

Monday 7th: the first day of diving. A gentle start - a potter round La Formigue in the morning and an aborted trip to la Pointe du Vaisseau: the French military is carrying out test missile firing, so we make do instead with a gentle pootle up and down la Pointe de la Galère. Dinner in this evening - G&T aperitifs with delicious roast chicken and salad followed by a la bienheureuse special dessert. Cherry clafoutis, mmmm.

Tuesday 8th: a great day of diving - a trip to the Rubis laid on by the dishy Bormes Plongée boys by special birthday request, followed by the delayed rendezvous with the groupers at la Pointe du Vaisseau in the afternoon. Another restaurant dinner in the evening, a stroll out to an old favourite, the Copacabana Beach, where the DenEson discovers the delights of digital cameras and spends the evening amassing an entertaining portfolio of interestingly composed photos. The soupe de poisson earns a 7, alas no mousse au chocolat but the colonels provide cool consolation and leave everybody decidedly happy.

Windy Wednesday 9th: the big day dawns fresh and rather breezy. The boat surprisingly makes the trip out to Port Cros, battling through the wind and big waves, and we enjoy a lovely dive on the ski slope and pinnacle of la Pointe de Montremian. It is post dive that the problems begin. Large swells make getting back on board rather interesting. The more sensible among us hang about at three metres waiting for a free ladder and the boat to swing back towards us. Others with little legs and a suspect finning action are swept away by the wind and waves at the surface and are rescued by a heroic divemaster. A few poor travellers spend the trip back to port looking distinctly green but manage to keep their breakfast down, only to see it make the return journey as soon as we reach the haven of the marina.

Diving for the afternoon is cancelled, so we all go swimming in the pool even though the non-functioning key is still theoretically bars entry. In the evening I receive gifts including a silver topped marmite jar and an evening at the Ritz, sit back, watch and am waited on while my friends cook a bountiful birthday meal. While we sup caipirinhas and nibble breadsticks and dip-dip, The Margarita Man and the Soggy Diver prepare salmon, cream cheese, tomato and mozzarella toast for starters. Then the DenEmasterchef conjures up a marvellous main course - succulent steak and salad - while for dessert ma bien-aimée creates another specialty, the birthday boy's favourite, tasty tarte tatin. All washed down with champagne and wine. Delicious. An excellent evening ends with chocolate birthday cake and stuffed but satisfied tummies.


Thursday 10th: the wind still howls, the yacht riggings still clink, and the diving is cancelled again. We spend the morning on the windswept beach, where the DenEboy and the builder-gardiner build boats and planes respectively in the sand for the DenEtinkler, and la bienheureuse spends hours driving the sand-boat at its owners request. In the evening I enjoy birthday meal number two. Dinner out this time, at the Brasserie du Port with the mecs de Bormes Plongée who had graciously accepted the invitation to help celebrate my 50th year and our 9th year of diving with them at La Favière. They surprise me with a lovely gift - a marvellous picture of the Rubis, made of up 80 separate underwater photos. A great time is had by all, the soupe de poisson and the mousse au chocolate both earn an 8, and le beau belge is persuaded to take us to La Gabinière the next day despite being fully booked.

Friday 11th: recovery in the morning. La bienheureuse sorts out the pool entry problem and we all go swimming again, finally gaining entrance without any arm-twisting of the caretaker or other pool users. The girls then go shopping and return bearing gifts for themselves and me of an afternoon Thai massage. Our final dive of the week is programmed for as soon as the 40 strong diving club return from their afternoon sortie, which just gives us time to fit in three visits to the masseur. It is after 5pm by the time we leave port for La Gabinière. Most of us enjoy an exciting dive on the east wall in a current which proves a little strong for the force finner who spends some time clinging to a rock before la bienheureuse rescues her and provides a tow to calmer water. The benefit of the current is that the bigger fish are all out patrolling - lots of small groups of barracuda, dentis and groupers. Another stunning dive.

And so a great week ended. We ate our final dinner back in the Brasserie du Port with the opening French game of the World Cup going on in the adjoining restaurant, and spent the remainder of the evening cleaning and packing. Saturday it was the return home for some, and the trip to Corsica for the rest. The latter group were up at 6am to finish squeezing three sets of dive kit, four sets of luggage and four adults into one small car and roof box for the 8.30am ferry crossing from Toulon to Ajaccio. Somehow we made it…

Sun, sea and scuba

The celebration of underwater sightseeing and above water restaurant visiting that is the annual dive budwigs trip to La Favière turned out to be one of the best ever. Seven days of uninterrupted sunshine, calm seas, superb diving and gourmet dining.

The warm, sunny weather lured the crowds onto the roads and the drive down on Saturday took somewhat longer than usual, but the Lyon contingent arrived in time to take possession of our two apartments and await the arrival via Nice of Dr & Mr Wig and Professor Margarita. Alas, the sixth member of our happy band cried off at the last moment, pleading tiredness and stress brought on by overwork. No matter, we dried our tears, raised a glass to the missing Miss Colonel and tucked into our first dinner and mousse au chocolat of the week at an old favourite, the Brasserie du Port.

Late start to the diving on Sunday, due in part to a mass invasion of Bormes Plongée by two large diving clubs, but after the discovery six years late of the rather excellent swimming pool the gentle first dive on La Fourmigue was welcome, no less enjoyable and notable for a profusion of octopii. Dinner was taken at Cartoon Beach, the 'restaurant on the corner'. Thumbs up for the Marmite du Pecheur from the SdP connoiseur, and thumbs down for a bowl of water from the local stray moggy.

Monday morning, another old favourite, from a different angle - Pointe du Vaisseau: grouper city and nudibranch heaven for our macro expert, mini-diver Sogs. In the afternoon the over-chilled Margarita man and the merely chilled Caipirinha kid skipped the dive and missed a surprisingly excellent plunge on la Pointe de la Galère, previously named as my least favourite site. A couple of perfectly posing scorpion fish and an octopus in full display changed my mind.

In the evening we ventured further afield, a whole half a kilometre along the coast to Le Lavandou, where a new favourite, La Favouille, was found. Soupe de Poisson with a tentative JeB rating of at least 8, a Meli-Melo fruits de mer entrée off the scale, melt in the mouth agneau, and the best mousse au chocolat ever.

Tuesday - armed with a toastier wet suit, Prof M enjoyed a deep morning dive on the Sec de la Gabinière with the rest of us, except 1st class diver S who floated on the surface with a lighter than expected cylinder and not enough lead. Eventually she put on weight, found new buddies and enjoyed a dive on the algae infestged Gab east wall. After the usual gourmet lunch of bread, cheese, paté, saucisson and tinned fish, everyone was newly enthused and enjoyed a dive on a ski slope. Pointe de Montrémian the site, hide and seek in the sea grass the game.
Un nouveau depart in the evening - dinner in. Taking advantage of our uninhabited spare apartment, a rather tasty salad and fritata was cooked up by the resident master chefs, preceded by apertifs and the new cocktail of choice for the discerning drink-diver, caipirinha. Two thirds of a bottle of rum and two bottles of rosé later, we watched the Sands big adventure holiday video - great white shark cage diving amid heckling from the rum sozzled audience.

Wednesday morning, hurrahs all round. First and only wreck dive of the week, but what a wreck. Le Donator, 45 narcotic metres of wonder: coral and gorgonian covered metal, merous playing cache cache, and only a stuck dump valve to spoil JeB's delight. Nothing a bit of clawing at the neck seal can't solve. Afterwards lunch of delicious leftovers, and then no afternoon dive: siestas all round.
Another long trip for dinner, all the way up the hill to Bormes village. Excellent meal, excellent wine, excellent company. Little more to say.

Thursday morning - Pointe de la Croix, notable for a wayward swim over lots of sea grass, lots more groupers and a highly amusing lesson on how not to deploy a delayed SMB by the Professor. 1st lesson: it's useful to have a weight on the end of the line to avoid it floating in tangles about you. Second lesson: watch your depth otherwise you might end up finally getting some air into your buoy just before it reaches the surface. At the same time as you.
The giggles of hilarity subsided just in time for the afternoon dive on a site new to us - la Pointe de Maupertuis on the Ile du Levant. And a beautiful site it was too, a succession of ridges illuminated by the sun, and a couple of giant sea slugs made it one of the best dives of the week. The Gardiner DSMB deployment take two added to the fun too. The weighted line worked well. So well that the weight hit the bottom before the line was even half unreeled. Diver bouyancy was better controlled, but buoy buoyancy less so. A small puff of air eventually got it to the surface and it stayed there. Just.


Another trip to Le Lavandou in the evening. A half hearted attempt to seek out restaurants new ended with us back at Tuesday evening's haunt. Another gourmet dinner followed.

Friday - last day, last dives. The morning, back to the one of the jewels in the crown of Côte d'Azur diving - the east wall of La Gabinière. Rather good it was too, though the profusion of algae covering the rocks and coral somewhat dulled the glitter. The Margarita DSMB deployment drill finally went off smoothly and even ascertained the length of line to be 12 metres exactly. The dive finished with a heroic rescue of Dr Sogs (FCD), swept away on the tide, Spain the next stop, by her hero JeB.
The afternoon, and then there were two - the diving die-hards, Dr S and moi-même. The Mistral had whipped up a choppy sea in the intervening few hours, meaning we had to make do with the short return trip to La Fourmigue. Another interesting tour of a rock, an interesting navigational technique to find le Spahis, and finally the diving for the week was over. And a great week's diving it was too.
Final evening, final dinner of the week. Another new restaurant, tasty moules frites Chez Mamie for most, charred magret de canard for the non-seafood eater amoung us. Back home for a farewell game of tête de merde, and it was all over bar the shouting and apartment cleaning the next morning.
We will be back.

Saba, queen of the Caribbean

After the longest night of the year, in the cold, gloomy depths of l'hiver lyonnais, let me take you back to a warmer time and a sunnier place...

Sunday 23 November
Dawn breaks, and the chirping of frogs is replaced by bird song. Due to be picked up at 8.45 we're all down at the restaurant for 7.30, eager for breakfast. The doors are firmly closed and we're forced to wait ten minutes. The breakfast is worth the wait, and our table is right next to the nectar bird feed just outside the window, so we have ringside seats for the hummingbird show.

Sometime after nine the taxi eventually arrives, Vincent rather than Garvis today. We meet our companions on the boat during the ride down to Fort Bay - an American foursome and a Frenchman. At the boat we're introduced to Tom and Kat, boatman and dive guide. Kat checks we're all geared up and then we're off to the first site, one of the famous Saban pinnacles.

Dive 1: Third Encounter
The Wigs have brought their own gear, and neither makes it more than a few feet below the surface. Sporting a brand new wetsuit, Sogs flounders underweighted on the surface, and Jogs' regulator fails to give him any air. The three hirers all enjoy a fantastic first dive - blacktip shark spotted on the way down, then a swim off the plateau to 'Eye of the Needle' - a needle shaped pinnacle topping off at 27m.

Dive 2: Tent reef
After a surface interval of little more than 90 minutes, we're back in the water for the shallower second dive. This time the Wigs make it to the bottom, though JeB's regulator is still misbehaving. Boulders, overhangs, coral outcrops and abundant life make it another very pleasant dive.

Afterwards, Vincent drives us back up the mountain and drops us off in Windwardside for lunch. Then we undertake the steep climb up the first part of the Mount Scenery trail back to the Ecolodge. 300 odd steps and 120 metres higher we collapse back at the lodge for a siesta. Then we relax in the hot tub with our resident bird humming busily around the flowers mere inches from our heads. Magical.

We walk back down the road to Windwardside for dinner at Brigadoon, chief entertainment provided by the maitresse du restaurant, Trish. Well watered with margaritas and wine as we are by the end of the evening, she judges us unruly enough to be treated to her stock of bawdy jokes - four ways a girl has an orgasm (butt of the joke, the most sober male on the table), and four ways to peel a banana. Imagine the punch lines yourself...

At the start of the evening we planned on walking back up to the lodge. When push comes to shove we take a taxi.

Monday 24 November
Morning off from diving, we embark on a circular walk out and back to the Ecolodge. Up along the Crispeen Track, down and along Bud's Mountain trail, up to join the Mount Scenery Trail and finally back to the Ecolodge. Courting hummingbirds, killer ants, posing anole lizards and exotic foliage all spotted during the walk. After lunch, it's another rendezvous with Garvis for the ride down to the dive boat.

Dive 3: Greer gut
Kat's driving the boat this time, and our guide is Troy. Pleasant pootle down at twenty odd metres, with numerous coral outcrops, morays, lobsters, sailfin blennies dancing in and out of their holes, and an electric blue flounder.


After siestas and hot-tubs, we venture back down to the Brigadoon again for an early evening talk about Saba's history and diving. While one of the Sea Saba dive guides expounds, Professor Margarita downs his newly discovered drink of prediliction. Afterwards we feast at the Eden restaurant while the wind blows outside.

Tuesday 25 November
Morning dives again. After another hearty breakfast, Vincent is our chauffeur for the day and takes us down to a boat rocking gently at dockside in the northwesterly swells. The weather means that the more adventurous dives on the northwest side are off, and Tom and Troy take us instead to the more sheltered south coast.

Dive 4: Hole in the Corner
Another pleasant dive in swaying swells, down a gentle slope littered with lovely hard coral. Sharks number two and three of the week spotted, blacktips. One of them apparently swims mere feet behind me as I'm pointing the camera in the other direction.

Dive 5: Tent reef
More coral, more boulders, more fish, more sponges, a sleeping nurse shark.

Post-diving, we're dropped off in Windwardside, eat too much pizza, find the museum closed, and undertake the long climb back up to the Ecolodge. Afternoon spent recovering and relaxing in the hot-tub. In the evening, after the ritual Margarita aperitifs, the on-site restaurant serves up a delicious Indonesian buffet, which we enjoy with our French dive buddy Arnaud.

Wednesday 26 November
Another morning off, and we get more ambitious with our hiking. Mount Scenery here we come! Fortunately, at the Ecolodge we have a head start, about a third of the climb done already. Up, and up, and up we go. Steps, then muddy path, then a scramble over rocks.

By 1015 we stand atop the highest point in the Dutch kingdom, with panoramic views of St Martin, St Barts and St Kitts & Nevis. From there it's all downhill, 877 metres down to Fort Bay again.

Dive 6: Greer gut
Those northwest swells keep rolling in, but the diving with guide EJ is still good. A large free-swimming moray makes me curse myself for deciding to dive sans camera.

Another talk in the evening, this time chez nous at the Ecolodge on Saba's geology and wildlife, given by lodge owner Tom van't Hof, who was instrumental in setting up the island's marine park. After several drinks and another delicious dinner, the guffawing calls of the Margarita bird and the Jogwig echo through the dark rainforest night.

Thursday 27 November
After a bumper breakfast and amusement watching our aspiring wildlife photographers vainly trying to capture hummingbirds at the honey trap, we wait for our usual pickup on the road above the lodge. And wait, and wait. Vincent eventually turns up, we stop off at the dive shop in Sea Saba, where Vincent is summarily sacked for dereliction of duty. Nonetheless he takes us down to Fort Bay and we sail forth with a grumpy boatman and dive guide Scott.

Dive 7: Tedran wall
The swells mean the visibility is the worst of the week, but we still have a lovely dive along a stunning drop off. Turtles, stingrays and pipe fish all spotted.

Dive 8: Hot springs
Turns out the boatman is grumpy because the boat engine is misbehaving. Second dive is close to home and includes the diving highlight of the week: a small turtle smarter than the average diver lures the lesser Jogwig into swimming alongside it, head first into a large lump of rock. Professor Margarita's guffawing laugh can be heard above water as far away as the top of Mount Scenery. Afterwards we clear masks and limp back to port. Garvis picks us up for the ride back up the mountain while we listen to our American buddies telling us the two dives we've just done are the two worst they've experienced in four years on Saba.

Margaritas and delicious T-bone steak in the evening back at the Brigadoon. Trish starts telling us the same jokes, until we remind her we've been here before. Back at the lodge we play Sh*thead by candlelight late into the night. It's almost ten by the time we're in bed.

Friday 28 November
Last day, sob, but what a day. JeB and the Americans aren't diving, but their 'constructive criticism' and our polite but persistent requests to dive more pinnacles pay off. The swells have subsided so Kat and EJ take us and a French travel agent (there for her job, une fille chanceuse) out towards the holy grail.

Dive 9: Shark Shoals
Awesome double pinnacle, the first starting at 28m, the second at 36. Sadly, deep dive means short dive and it's over all too soon.


Dive 10: Man O'War Shoals
Last dive of the week, and it may be the best. Another double pinnacle, but rising from a sandy bottom a mere 22m down. Dive starts well when a nurse shark swims right underneath me as we reach the bottom. From there we move on to morays, fireworms, filefish, and towards the end of the dive watch a real-life marine drama being played out. A tiny octopus, no bigger than baby's fist, is harassed by a pack of wrasse. As we watch, he frantically changes colour and texture, and flees across the reef but fails to find refuge. We surface before witnessing the end. Did he escape or did he finish as fish food? We'll never know...

Final hot-tub, final margaritas (the strongest yet, served up by our host), and final dinner of the week back at the Ecolodge. Afterwards we polish off a bottle of complementary wine playing cards again, and I regret boasting of my prowess at not being the sh*thead the previous night, as Lady Luck and my fellow card-sharps turn cruelly against me. Not once, not twice, not thrice, but four times in row...

Saturday 29 November
Last hearty Ecolodge breakfast. We wave goodbye as the Wigs and Professor Margarita catch the morning flight back to St Martin (though their luggage doesn't) before winging their way home to chilly Jockoland, and even chillier Michigan respectively. La bienheureuse and I spend the afternoon pottering in the warm Windwardside sunshine and find the museum still closed. We labour one last time up the steps to the Ecolodge before asking for our luggage to be taken up to the road. One of the staff roars up the path on the quad bike with our luggage in a trailer behind him. A couple of minutes later we catch up. Quad, trailer, luggage and driver are all in the ditch. Fortunately no serious injuries to man or machine, and he manages to get everything back on the path intact. Garvis eventually arrives takes us down the road to Fort Bay one last time to catch the afternoon Edge back to St Martin...

We arrive back at Pelican Marina as the sun begins to set and struggle to find a taxi. A grumpy driver eventually deigns to take us to our hotel in Grand Case, though his mood isn't improved by taking an Indian family as additional fares and thus getting stuck as the swing bridge on the main road opens to let the last daytripping yachts into the lagoon. He seems baffled about why we want to go to 'all that way' to the French side rather the Dutch, but gets us there by 7pm and I sense he's mollified by a 5 dollar tip.

Le Petit Hotel reception is closed, but the security guard is waiting for us with an envelope and room key. We quickly settle in and then stroll out for a gourmet meal in the self styled gastronomic capital of the Antilles. Back in our gorgeous room on a bed the size of our entire Ecolodge cabin, we are lulled to sleep by the sound of waves breaking on the beach yards from our balcony. I could get used to this...

From sand and sunshine to snow

It wasn't quite as bad as a certain other return from holiday, but to arrive home on Tuesday to be greeted by near-zero temperatures and a light snow shower was something of a rude shock, having left a beach side hotel in 30C sunshine a little over 12 hours previously.

La quarantaine de la bienheureuse was the excuse (again) for the Caribbean trip. It was a holiday in three parts - a couple of nights rest and recuperation in the Dutch part of Sint Maarten/Saint Martin, before a week's diving in Saba, followed by another three nights in French Saint Martin. All in all, highly enjoyable. Part one went like this...

Thursday 20th November
Up before the crack of dawn to catch a connecting flight from Lyon to Paris. Fingers crossed that we haven't forgotten anything during hasty packing the previous evening, after la bienheureuse ends a hectic time at work and I stay up till after midnight printing out first rough draft of book number three. Partial recovery from less than five hours sleep during the eight hour flight (business class courtesy of air miles) to Saint Martin is ruined by over-indulgence in champagne, wine, etc. Result: both suffer from hangovers before the plane has even landed. A stroll along the beach to a converted bus café to watch the sunset over cocktails, and the five hour time difference unusually allows recovery from hangover to take effect before going to bed.

Friday 21st November
Early to bed, early to rise. A full night's sleep, albeit in one to two hour chunks, mean we're up soon after dawn and out early in search of a supermarket to buy breakfast. Croissants, fruit and yoghurt set us up for a stroll along Simpson Bay in the morning, scouting places to dine and buying swimwear for la bienheureuse. Eat a picnic lunch back at our hotel, situated on the narrow strip between Simpson Bay beach and lagoon.
Spend afternoon on the beach watching waves. Added attraction, the planes landing and taking off on the main airport runway mere yards from the beach. Fish dinner at a lagoon side restaurant.

Sat 22nd November
7.45am: Sitting in the smallest room in our little hotel apartment contemplating life when I hear a tremulous call from the bedroom: 'Honey, I've done something very stupid...'
Hastily wiping up, I dash in to find la bienheureuse clutching a wad of tissue to her left eye, which has just been speared by the window winding handle while she bent over to check nothing had dropped under the bed. Visions of a bloody, pulped mess instead of an eyeball, and a cancelled diving holiday flash before my own eyes, but the damage turns out to be not as bad as first feared. Blurred vision and a painfully bloodshot eye apart, la bienheureuse deems herself healthy enough to tell the taxi which turns up at that very moment to take us to the marina rather than the hospital.

Trying my best not to look like a wife-beater, I take care of the check-in and immigration formalities for the boat to Saba, while ma bien-aimée holds an improvised ice pack to her eye. By the time the boat leaves at 9am she is able to dispense with the ice pack and don sunglasses. We are thus able to enjoy the ninety minute, 25 mile trip and look forward to the week on Saba. La bienheureuse even feels confident enough to predict she'll be able to dive the next day.
We arrive in Fort Bay, get our passports stamped dockside, and are met by Garvis, trusty taxi driver for the week. Saba is a volcanic rock of barely 5 square miles. It has one main road, but what a road it is. Winding steeply from Fort Bay (the only dock) across the island and down to the airport the other side (supposedly the smallest 'international' airport in the world), via the quaintly named main town The Bottom (not altother apt as it's at about 250m) and Windwardside (the other main conurbation, population about 400, altitude about 400m), it was built entirely by hand over the course of twenty plus years by the islanders under the guidance of a self taught road builder after Dutch engineers had said it couldn't be done.

Garvis drops us off at the offices of Sea Saba in Windwardside so that we can carry out pre-dive formalities before picking us up again to take us up to our home for the week, the Ecolodge Rendezvous. We get out at the end of the road, at the highest point on the island reachable by motor vehicle, and then drag our baggage the further two hundred yards to the Ecolodge. There, we are shown to our one room wooden 'cottage', with solar powered lighting and shower (no mains electricity at the lodge), private porch and hot tub. We settle in, eat a delicious lunch at the restaurant, and then take turns to laze in the hammock and watch a humming bird buzz around our chalet. Later in the afternoon we undertake the wending downward road to the airport to watch the others arrive on the last flight in. Spectacular landing it was too, runway less than 400m long, perched on a flat(-ish) bit of lava flow a few metres from, and 40 metres above the sea.

Having been told that Winair flights to Saba have a habit of not taking place, and hearing that our boat was the only one to make it to Saba that day, we are relieved to be fully reunited as JeB, Swigs and the builder all duly emerge in 'arrivals', complete with baggage too (of which more later).

Garvis ferries us all back up the mountain to the Ecolodge and we celebrate all making it in due fashion, with dinner and margaritas in the Rain Forest restaurant at the Ecolodge. Alcohol and an 18 hour journey soon contribute to drooping eyelids, and everybody's in bed by eight thirty, being lulled to sleep by chirping frogs and crickets. There's diving to consider the next day, after all...

Soupe de poisson, version 2008

The annual La Favière gastronomic diving extravaganza, mark VII, can only be described as another resounding success. Ten dives, profuse marine life, weather that improved as the week went on, good food and fine wine aplenty, a convivial 8-strong, 6 diver bunch - a holiday that's hard to beat. It all started on Friday evening...

The denny-boy arrives an hour late in Lyon, but in time for a quiet dinner for three. Pick up newly serviced regulators on Saturday morning, set off on the four and a half hour drive down south. Pick up keys to the apartments and install ourselves. Receive text from Scottish threesome telling of 2 hour flight delay, so it's another quiet dinner for 3, though this time quayside on the Côte d'Azur, in the open air. Finish eating in time for la bienheureuse to collect the Cambridge pair from Hyères airport, while we hold the fort to await the wigs arrival. Eventually all eight are reunited, and a magnum of Coteaux du Tricastin is nearly polished off.

Diving rustiness and expectation of first night hangovers means only the afternoon dive on Sunday is scheduled. Pleasant little pootle in the lee of Cap Benat beneath the now Russian owned former Luc Besson residence. More noisy meal for 8 in the Brasserie du Port, rating 7 on the JeB soupe de poisson scale.

La Gabinière, jewel in the Port Cros scenic crown, is on the agenda for Monday morning. JeB cries off with blocked ears, and the soggydiver cries "too much swimming!".
The more modest attraction of la Formigue in the afternoon, enjoyable nonetheless, even if I get stuck with Eduardo the non-professional Italian photographer. Cartoon beach restaurant for the evening meal, a startling 9 on the JeB SdP scale, though the entrecôtes drag down the overall dinner score.

Tuesday morning, first wreck of the week, Le Grec, means that JeB is dragged into the water. Lovely dive, highlight a soggy screaming to alert everyone to a passing Mola Mola. Less lovely is the sight of JeB's blood & sinal fluid filled mask at the end. La galère in the afternoon, by name of site and by description of dive. The gardening builder and I start off being accompanied by Eduardo, but immediately manage to pass him on to la bienheureuse and the denny-boy. Dinner at la Rade, chosen for proximity to TV screen at neighbouring café. No soupe de poisson, no score, no more Euro 2008 for our hosts.

Dive deep, dive wrecks is the motto for Wednesday. JeB (still leaking nasal blood) and Simon take advantage of the two 50m dives on offer, the barge aux congres and the Wildcat, la bienheureuse and I do the former in the somewhat disconcerting company of Eduardo - dancing with congers and a strange plongeur italien. Soggy & the under-qualified gardiner stick to plants and animals on the Pointe de Montremian. The four of us then complete an hour long full circuit of la Formigue in the afternoon. "Not so much swimming after all!"
Stroll over to Le Lavandou for dinner, soupe de poisson score 8, top score from Mlle H for the proprietor, but there's no beating marvellous Mirko for the diving girls.

Hooray, it's the Donator on Thursday, last dive with videographer Greg on the boat. Great dive, no-one gets stuck with Eduardo 'cos he's gone home. The gardiner is sadly leaving too, so the rest of us use taking him to the airport as an excuse to do some above water sightseeing for a change. Summer has now well and truly arrived, unbroken sunshine and thermometer touching 30. We go from the airport to the old town of Hyères, via an unscheduled detour to a carpark which seems to be but a figment of the soggy satnav's imagination. Another pretty, mediaeval Provençal town, with a ruined chateau looking down from the top of the hill. Soggy and listless in the heat, only three of us set off on the climb to the top, only one arrives. Still, the view was lovely. Occupants of apartment 39 carry on to Bormes les Mimosas, in search of thank-you-for-letting-me-come-diving gift for the better half of denny, left at home holding the baby. Mission accomplished.
Return to le Port de Bormes in time for dinner with the cowgirl lady at le Winch. Eat far too much foie gras and duck, so not too disappointing that the fondant au chocolat is no such thing. Nobody has soupe de poisson.

Sweltering, scenic Friday. La Gabinière in the morning, not entirely enjoyed by yours truly due to a strange regression to uncontrollable buoyancy, novice diver. All is explained on return to port when I discover my cylinder was nearly 4kg lighter than normal. Had much more fun in the afternoon, correctly weighted at la pointe de Montremian, drag the soggydiver out to the pinnacle to see the giant scorpion fish and hermit crab. Alas, it's the last dive of the week. Alack and alas, also the last restaurant dinner of the week, a return to la Brasserie du Port.

Lie in till eight on Saturday morning, spend a couple of hours cleaning before the lass from the agency returns to check the state we've left the apartments in. She hands over the 800 euro security cheque with no quibbles. A final drink in the café, a wander round the Saturday market, and then we all go our separate ways. La bienheureuse & I drop the denny-boy off at St Exupèry in plenty of time for his 7pm flight home, and that's the end of another fab La Fav week.

Fish soup & football

La bienheureuse is in allemagne again, giving my conscience free reign to watch as much football as I like until Friday. 2 or 3 decent games out of 8 so far, perhaps I won't miss it much when she returns on Friday. The form of Les Bleus is just another thing preoccupying La Belle France at the moment...

Not that I'll get to see much of Euro 2008 next week anyway, because we're down south with the usual suspects for the annual Côte d'Azur gastronomy (soupe de poisson, mousse au chocolat & wine)and diving trip. Weather forecast remains iffy. We have just had two days of partial sunshine in Lyon, but the clouds are back today. Oh well, we'll have fun anyway.