One of life's dilemmas: la bienheureuse's youngest cousin thoughtlessly fails to predict that she'd be 8 months pregnant on the day he finally chooses for his wedding. After some dithering we book cancellable train tickets and leave the final decision until the last moment. And a week before the day the gestational diabetes is under control, sleep deprivation is no worse than it has been for the previous 8 months, so we decide to go.
And the journey starts off well enough. Okay, twenty minute delay to the 9am TGV from Lyon to Lille, but that shouldn't be a problem because we have a 90 minute stopover before our Eurostar is due to depart. La petite behaves impeccably during the 3 hour train trip, and only starts getting stroppy an hour after we've been through security and passport control into the Eurostar departure lounge. There we get the first hint of trouble - 40 minute delay announced.
Eventually we troop down onto the platform, get on the train and settle into our seats. Uhoh - another announcement - due to a problem with the engine there will be a further 40 minute delay before a replacement train arrives. Rather more than 40 minutes later we eventually all file off, cross platforms and get on the new train, which was originally heading in the opposite direction. Bizarrely the passengers on the replacement get off and get onto our original train. Presumably the engine was serviceable enough to get them to Paris but not to be risked in the Tunnel…
So we eventually arrive in Ebbsfleet nearly two hours later than scheduled, find the car hire desk, complete the formalities and the car seat for la petite is produced. Only it's the wrong size, suitable for a child twice her age. The Avis girl rings round nearby branches and eventually a replacement is fetched from Maidstone by a driver and arrives nearly an hour later. All of which means we end up on the M25 in rush hour instead of at two in the afternoon. An exhausted toddler is asleep within minutes and only wakes up when traffic grinds to a halt for the first time, somewhat surprisingly, an hour later just south of the M3. Having been a little angel all day, she decides it's time to let loose, and screams accompany our crawl along Blighty's blighted motorways for the next half hour.
However, she gradually cheers up roughly in proportion to the car's speed and we arrive at our hotel over three hours later than planned, frazzled and frayed round the edges but in one piece. Mass dinner with the thus far assembled family follows and we finally get to our room ready to fall into bed just before nine in the evening. Ready but not willing in one case - all the excitement of the day has been too much for la petite voyageuse, and she promptly goes hyper and takes a full two hours to fall asleep, which she finally does sharing the double bed with maman while papa attempts to kip on the single bed.
Nine hours later we are all awake again, the parents having also been awake at regular and frequent intervals in the interim. Mother and child end the night sleeping across the bed, the latter having turned a full 90 degrees in her sleep and almost succeeding in pushing the former off the edge.
The big day is not due to start until mid-afternoon, so we keep la petite amused with a trip to nearby Wellington country park where a kindly employee lets us into the children's play area for a free half hour to avoid paying the steep £9 entry fee. Snack lunch in the cafeteria follows and then we head back to the hotel to attempt to get la petite coquinette to have a siesta before the festivities begin. Success is eventually achieved by dint of papa sharing the bed in front of children's TV while mama goes to mamy's room to put on her party frock.
We find the venue, a former manor house which is now owned by a charitable educational trust, with only minor navigational difficulties, and choose seats in the back row for the humanist ceremony in the packed Tithe Barn. La petite more or less behaves, with only one short walk outside with papa required to stave off boredom. Thence to the main house for the reception and drinks to toast the bride & groom. The weather is kind enough - cool but pleasantly sunny - to allow the younger guests to run around outside while those so inclined imbibe the alcohol on offer.
The wedding feast begins late in the afternoon, bangers & mash, home baked cakes and bacon butties on the menu, all washed down with wine and followed by wedding cheese cake, literally. Speeches are made, (un)fortunately missed by papa & la petite due to an urgent call to the nappy change facilities, the ceilidh begins, and la petite famille, enlarged by one, eventually decides to head back to the hotel at about nine-thirty. This time we get properly lost and have to stop at a petrol station to ask directions. The attendant has no idea how to find the hotel, but fortunately his next client is a local, and we are eventually back by ten. Thence follows another lengthy two hour 'getting la petite to sleep' session. At least this time she eventually drops off in her own bed.
The next morning it's time to say our goodbyes, and the various aunts, two generations of cousins, siblings and in-laws one by one take their leave, leaving us to make the short drive to nearby Ascot where the marathon running civil servant and the armchair rugby man await their first meeting with la petite. Drs N & C, Ealing branch of the UKC connection, were also there and we all enjoy a sumptuous home-cooked and home-butchered roast pork lunch and walk it off in the afternoon with a walk round the chilly, wind-swept race course.
After the climax to the Football League season is suffered by some, we wave goodbye and head back for our last night of hotel purgatory. A quick dinner in the adjoining pub allows us to make an early, 8pm, start to bedtime, but the process still takes two hours and ends this time with la petite asleep on the floor. The whys and wherefores are better left unsaid…
Next stop on the itinerary is Bexleyheath. We arrive chez the two doctors and the Jezoids just before lunch the next day. After the Jezoid aîné survives a severe winding from a fall off the monkey bars while showing off, I head off into the big smoke for a final pilgrimage of the season. I meet le grand gooner and the margarita man in the pub before watching with gritted teeth an honourable but unsatisfactory draw with the newly crowned champions.
I return to our base for the night find la petite already in bed, having had a two hour siesta in the afternoon, and she soon drops off with little fuss. A welcome return to near normality. The lady and the boys of the house are up and out on school day before their visitors are up, and we are left with to enjoy a leisurely morning preparing for the journey home. Short drive to Ebbsfleet, where Avis at least have the good grace to waive the car seat hire charges, Eurostar arrives on time, transfer to TGV in Lille progresses smoothly, and we arrive back in Lyon at seven in the evening. There the travel hoodoo strikes again. It's raining, rush hour and not one bus turns up in the half hour we spend waiting. We eventually decide to walk home, a two kilometre slog with suitcase, bags and two year-old toddler not made any easier by the fact that the cursed outward journey had also put paid to the child carrier, bent out of shape somewhere along the line. At last the blessed sanctuary of home is attained and, after a quick snack dinner, we fall into bed. La petite is asleep within minutes. Hallelujah…
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est football - arsenal. Afficher tous les articles
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est football - arsenal. Afficher tous les articles
30 avril 2013
04 avril 2013
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...
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...
21 février 2013
Fogged up
Winter weariness continues, seasonal sickness recurs yet again. La bienheureuse returned from frozen Finland with lungs and sinuses all clogged up. A visit to the doctor resulted in a referral to hospital for tests. Four hours spent at Croix Rousse urgences having a swab shoved up a nostril, seemingly as far as the brain, and various needles jabbed into the arms for blood tests resulted in an all-clear for flu but confirmation of bacterial infection.
Thus, another course of antibiotics is in progress. Meanwhile, la petite has picked up yet another cold and, just as papa thought he could see good health in sight, he too succumbed anew. Cough, cough. We yearn for the sun and warmth of spring.
The old fool didn't help his health by indulging an addiction with another trip across the Channel. Quel cauchemar. Monday evening the phone rings and British Airways inform me my flight at the nice relaxed time of eleven thirty in the morning has been cancelled because of bad weather. Alternatives offered: 7am or six in the evening, the latter too late to get me to the match on time.
Thus, I was up (after a night of little sleep) and making my bleary-eyed way through fog-bound Lyon to the airport at 5am in the morning. Fog at Heathrow was ostensibly the reason of the cancellation of the original flight. Surely in this day and age planes can take off and land in fog? Of course they can. An overheard conversation with the pilot of the 7am flight revealed that the later, less full flight, was probably just cancelled to avoid the knock-on delays that fog can, however, cause. Thanks, BA, think I'll stick to budget airlines next time.
Sure enough, fog blanketed London, but only the north and east. Heathrow itself was completely clear, and I thus found myself in sunny central London by 10am with a whole day to waste. And waste it I did, watching Bond fall from the sky, spending vouchers on childrens' books, having a leisurely lunch and then an extended pre-match dinner in the pub with le grand gooner. And then wasted the next two hours watching the misfiring Gunners being taught a lesson by a well-oiled Bavarian machine. The football season is all but over. Would that the winter season would end so abruptly.
And to cap it all, the flight home was full of enemy Spuds, coming over for tonight's match against OL. Though perhaps I ought to use the word enemy more advisedly. Enemy in the 'friendly' sporting rivalry sense. English fans were apparently attacked last night in a couple of pubs in Vieux Lyon that I've frequented on more than one occasion myself. Reports suggest that they were deliberately targeted by an extreme right group rather than opposition fans. I was thinking of going to watch the match - think I might watch it on TV instead. Too cold to watch football live anyway...
Thus, another course of antibiotics is in progress. Meanwhile, la petite has picked up yet another cold and, just as papa thought he could see good health in sight, he too succumbed anew. Cough, cough. We yearn for the sun and warmth of spring.
The old fool didn't help his health by indulging an addiction with another trip across the Channel. Quel cauchemar. Monday evening the phone rings and British Airways inform me my flight at the nice relaxed time of eleven thirty in the morning has been cancelled because of bad weather. Alternatives offered: 7am or six in the evening, the latter too late to get me to the match on time.
Thus, I was up (after a night of little sleep) and making my bleary-eyed way through fog-bound Lyon to the airport at 5am in the morning. Fog at Heathrow was ostensibly the reason of the cancellation of the original flight. Surely in this day and age planes can take off and land in fog? Of course they can. An overheard conversation with the pilot of the 7am flight revealed that the later, less full flight, was probably just cancelled to avoid the knock-on delays that fog can, however, cause. Thanks, BA, think I'll stick to budget airlines next time.
Sure enough, fog blanketed London, but only the north and east. Heathrow itself was completely clear, and I thus found myself in sunny central London by 10am with a whole day to waste. And waste it I did, watching Bond fall from the sky, spending vouchers on childrens' books, having a leisurely lunch and then an extended pre-match dinner in the pub with le grand gooner. And then wasted the next two hours watching the misfiring Gunners being taught a lesson by a well-oiled Bavarian machine. The football season is all but over. Would that the winter season would end so abruptly.
And to cap it all, the flight home was full of enemy Spuds, coming over for tonight's match against OL. Though perhaps I ought to use the word enemy more advisedly. Enemy in the 'friendly' sporting rivalry sense. English fans were apparently attacked last night in a couple of pubs in Vieux Lyon that I've frequented on more than one occasion myself. Reports suggest that they were deliberately targeted by an extreme right group rather than opposition fans. I was thinking of going to watch the match - think I might watch it on TV instead. Too cold to watch football live anyway...
05 février 2013
Coughing comeback
And so it continues. Just as one illness is on its way out, so another takes its place. La petite's cold improved, then got worse, la bienheureuse's cough was almost gone before returning with a vengeance, and papa had just about recovered from his previous ailment when yet another cold came along and aggravated the cough again. Splutter, three ailments in two months from a man who claims three in ten previous years. All now slowly recovering, fingers crossed and nostrils blocked…
Of course, air travel is never good for the health, so perhaps I was tempting fate by indulging in a cross-Channel trip last week to ease my lifelong football fever. And the health of the Premier League heroes continues to ebb and flow, with yet another half and half performance against the red Scousers. Still, t'was an entertaining game and a pleasant evening otherwise, a pre-match pub dinner with la petite beaucoup et le grand chef followed by a post-match pint or two with the McBhoy, who also provided convenient overnight lodgings a mere ten minute walk from the ground.
Meanwhile, la femme enceinte is also risking the perils of planes, with the first work trip of the new year - a short hop to company headquarters in Germany this week, albeit a two-nighter, before a longer trip next week to the land of a thousand frozen lakes. Maybe by then, we'll all be healthy...
Of course, air travel is never good for the health, so perhaps I was tempting fate by indulging in a cross-Channel trip last week to ease my lifelong football fever. And the health of the Premier League heroes continues to ebb and flow, with yet another half and half performance against the red Scousers. Still, t'was an entertaining game and a pleasant evening otherwise, a pre-match pub dinner with la petite beaucoup et le grand chef followed by a post-match pint or two with the McBhoy, who also provided convenient overnight lodgings a mere ten minute walk from the ground.
Meanwhile, la femme enceinte is also risking the perils of planes, with the first work trip of the new year - a short hop to company headquarters in Germany this week, albeit a two-nighter, before a longer trip next week to the land of a thousand frozen lakes. Maybe by then, we'll all be healthy...
29 janvier 2013
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…
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…
15 janvier 2013
Cross dressing
And so, gradually we settle back into the routine of everyday life in chilly Lyon. La petite resumes her two day routine at the crèche with a trace of shyness but enjoys her fun-filled days there as usual. However, getting her dressed in the morning becomes something of a daily pitched battle, perhaps her way of protesting at getting abruptly abandoned after almost three weeks in the near full-time company of both parents.
Away from the morning wrestling and bargaining sessions, things trundle along just fine. The lurgies of the past few weeks seem to have finally been beaten, a lingering cough or two apart. Indeed the only health scare occurred on la travailleuse's first commute back to work, when a packed metro induced a fainting fit and heavy fall. Not uncommon for a woman in her condition apparently, and fortunately no damage done and no recurrence since.
Grey clouds in the sky, but the only dark cloud on my personal horizon is of the trivial sporting nature. I enjoy, in certain senses of the word, another cross-channel trip over the weekend, outward via train. Near St Pancras I meet up with le grand gooner chef for a very pleasant Sunday roast and beer or three in the pub before we head to the game against the oil-doped Mancunian citizens. A self-inflicted wound and a disappointing game later we spend a quiet night with tea and toast in Cambridge before I catch the plane home the next day to seek consolation in the family bosom.
Away from the morning wrestling and bargaining sessions, things trundle along just fine. The lurgies of the past few weeks seem to have finally been beaten, a lingering cough or two apart. Indeed the only health scare occurred on la travailleuse's first commute back to work, when a packed metro induced a fainting fit and heavy fall. Not uncommon for a woman in her condition apparently, and fortunately no damage done and no recurrence since.
Grey clouds in the sky, but the only dark cloud on my personal horizon is of the trivial sporting nature. I enjoy, in certain senses of the word, another cross-channel trip over the weekend, outward via train. Near St Pancras I meet up with le grand gooner chef for a very pleasant Sunday roast and beer or three in the pub before we head to the game against the oil-doped Mancunian citizens. A self-inflicted wound and a disappointing game later we spend a quiet night with tea and toast in Cambridge before I catch the plane home the next day to seek consolation in the family bosom.
04 janvier 2013
Feasts and family
As it turned out, the two day journey from Lyon to Cheshire wasn't as bad as feared. La travailleuse took half a day off work (intended to be a full day, but an unreasonable deadline at work put paid to that idea) to do most of the packing, leaving me to load the new voiture and finally figure out, with help from la bienheureuse, how to fit the roof bars securely (blame a head befuddled by illness and fatigue). Bars for a roof box that in the end we decided to travel without, partly thanks to efficient packing, but mostly because the new, higher car with roof box attached won't fit into the garage or even through the door into the courtyard which houses the garage. Gnash, gnash...
And so, the Friday before Noël we set off soon after 9.30am on the long drive north. Eight and a half hours and two refreshment breaks later we arrived at our overnight stop in the wonderfully named Loon Plage near Dunkirk after a journey troubled only by minor complaints from the child seat. iPads are wonderful in-car child entertainment devices. Dinner in the hotel and a relatively quiet night, at least in the case of the youngest occupant of the room, followed. Her parents, both still suffering heavy colds, intermittently slept and snored well throughout the night, though apparently never at the same time.
A five minute drive to the ferry terminal the following morning allowed us to check in more than an hour before the 10am sailing, though there was a bit of unseemly haste later after a relaxed drink in the café was rudely interrupted when la bienheureuse went back to the car to find it was only one of three left in the boarding queue. The two hour crossing was smooth enough and made easier by a soft play area which kept la petite coquinette amused for much the time, and French wheels touched English soil for the first time just after eleven in the morning.
Long drive north number two through persistent rain and a mere two traffic hold-ups (A2 and M25) took almost five hours, but we arrived chez la belle-mère (who had paid for her trip in the reverse direction three weeks earlier by contracting the dreaded virus) only mildly the worse for wear. Exhaustion was staved off until after dinner and then we all collapsed into bed.
Rest and recovery was the main item on the agenda for the next couple of days, apart from two shopping trips for la bienheureuse et la belle-mère, one for a bit of last minute Christmas shopping, the other the weekly provision run.
Come Christmas morning, lingering coughs and snot-clogged sinus pains apart, the adults in the family seemed to be on the slow road to health, and la petite was already there. After a morning spent opening presents it was off across the border to spend Christmas day chez le beau-frère in deepest north Wales. A cosy time was had by all, Christmas lunch was delicious and enormous, once again the in-laws were far too generous and received the dubious present of the nasty virus in return.
On Boxing Day, the slow gathering of the opposite side of the clan commenced, with le grand frère arriving late in the afternoon. The next day le petit frère and la cuñada dos arrived in the afternoon, after a game of hide and seek with me in their hotel in Chester for a few minutes, and la soeur completed the party the same afternoon. Despite suffering from a the after-effects of a heavy cold herself, la belle-mère heroically aided her French visitors' recuperation by doing almost all of the cooking and cleaning. Delicious roast ham was on the Boxing Day dinner menu, and followed by luscious roast lamb on Thursday.
The cook was given the morning off on Friday for the mass visit of the East Cheshire branch of the family, leaving me free reign of the kitchen to put together the now traditional family Christmas tartiflette for thirteen. Nieces and nephews keep growing and changing, but a good time was had by all, particularly the baby of the family who had sundry aunts, uncles and cousins to keep her amused and give her yet more presents. Enough to make us wonder if the roof-box might after all have been needed.
The next day, the visitors left one by one and the football obsessive also took temporary leave for a day trip to the smoke to watch the trigger happy gunners and geordies take unequal shares of a ten goal thriller. Well worth the long day and late night return. Meanwhile, the three girls took advantage of the absence of guests with a trip to the soft play centre at a nearby ice cream farm.
After another pleasant day in North Wales on Sunday, and another trip to the ice cream farm on Monday, all too soon it was the eve of the new year. We compromised on need for sleep and sense of duty by seeing in the French new year with a small coupe de champagne before going to bed. And on New Years day, it was time to start the long journey home. With a hint of a tear in the eye and car stuffed with baggage and gifts we took our leave of la belle-mère and headed south to our first stop near Cambridge, where we spent a pleasant day and two evenings chez Professor Margarita with his poorly spaniel.
Then we hit the road once more. Dover, cross-channel ferry, Dunkirk and three hours on French autoroutes passed in a blur before we made an overnight stop near Chalons in Champagne country. Thence it was a mere four hour cruise down the autoroute before we were back home in not-so-sunny Lyon. The end of a very pleasant, only-slightly-marred-by-ill-health festive holiday.
And so, the Friday before Noël we set off soon after 9.30am on the long drive north. Eight and a half hours and two refreshment breaks later we arrived at our overnight stop in the wonderfully named Loon Plage near Dunkirk after a journey troubled only by minor complaints from the child seat. iPads are wonderful in-car child entertainment devices. Dinner in the hotel and a relatively quiet night, at least in the case of the youngest occupant of the room, followed. Her parents, both still suffering heavy colds, intermittently slept and snored well throughout the night, though apparently never at the same time.
A five minute drive to the ferry terminal the following morning allowed us to check in more than an hour before the 10am sailing, though there was a bit of unseemly haste later after a relaxed drink in the café was rudely interrupted when la bienheureuse went back to the car to find it was only one of three left in the boarding queue. The two hour crossing was smooth enough and made easier by a soft play area which kept la petite coquinette amused for much the time, and French wheels touched English soil for the first time just after eleven in the morning.
Long drive north number two through persistent rain and a mere two traffic hold-ups (A2 and M25) took almost five hours, but we arrived chez la belle-mère (who had paid for her trip in the reverse direction three weeks earlier by contracting the dreaded virus) only mildly the worse for wear. Exhaustion was staved off until after dinner and then we all collapsed into bed.
Rest and recovery was the main item on the agenda for the next couple of days, apart from two shopping trips for la bienheureuse et la belle-mère, one for a bit of last minute Christmas shopping, the other the weekly provision run.
Come Christmas morning, lingering coughs and snot-clogged sinus pains apart, the adults in the family seemed to be on the slow road to health, and la petite was already there. After a morning spent opening presents it was off across the border to spend Christmas day chez le beau-frère in deepest north Wales. A cosy time was had by all, Christmas lunch was delicious and enormous, once again the in-laws were far too generous and received the dubious present of the nasty virus in return.
On Boxing Day, the slow gathering of the opposite side of the clan commenced, with le grand frère arriving late in the afternoon. The next day le petit frère and la cuñada dos arrived in the afternoon, after a game of hide and seek with me in their hotel in Chester for a few minutes, and la soeur completed the party the same afternoon. Despite suffering from a the after-effects of a heavy cold herself, la belle-mère heroically aided her French visitors' recuperation by doing almost all of the cooking and cleaning. Delicious roast ham was on the Boxing Day dinner menu, and followed by luscious roast lamb on Thursday.
The cook was given the morning off on Friday for the mass visit of the East Cheshire branch of the family, leaving me free reign of the kitchen to put together the now traditional family Christmas tartiflette for thirteen. Nieces and nephews keep growing and changing, but a good time was had by all, particularly the baby of the family who had sundry aunts, uncles and cousins to keep her amused and give her yet more presents. Enough to make us wonder if the roof-box might after all have been needed.
The next day, the visitors left one by one and the football obsessive also took temporary leave for a day trip to the smoke to watch the trigger happy gunners and geordies take unequal shares of a ten goal thriller. Well worth the long day and late night return. Meanwhile, the three girls took advantage of the absence of guests with a trip to the soft play centre at a nearby ice cream farm.
After another pleasant day in North Wales on Sunday, and another trip to the ice cream farm on Monday, all too soon it was the eve of the new year. We compromised on need for sleep and sense of duty by seeing in the French new year with a small coupe de champagne before going to bed. And on New Years day, it was time to start the long journey home. With a hint of a tear in the eye and car stuffed with baggage and gifts we took our leave of la belle-mère and headed south to our first stop near Cambridge, where we spent a pleasant day and two evenings chez Professor Margarita with his poorly spaniel.
Then we hit the road once more. Dover, cross-channel ferry, Dunkirk and three hours on French autoroutes passed in a blur before we made an overnight stop near Chalons in Champagne country. Thence it was a mere four hour cruise down the autoroute before we were back home in not-so-sunny Lyon. The end of a very pleasant, only-slightly-marred-by-ill-health festive holiday.
29 novembre 2012
Northumbrian sands
The days shorten, the thermometer falls, winter approaches. Last week we exchanged the fading light of the Lyonnais autumn for the British version during a long weekend break. The occasion was a birthday celebration for the soggydiver (1st class, national instructor). Given the remoteness of the chosen location and associated lack of convenient flights, in the end we chose to extend the weekend with an initial stop over in Bexleyheath, which we reached via a half-empty British flag carrier flight to Heathrow and a hire car journey round the M25 in the pouring rain. The latter with a tea break in the middle to pick up keys from the mistress of the house at her workplace deep in Kent/Sussex border country.
In the event the keys went unused as our arrival at destination coincided with the return of the male half of the good Doctors C. No sooner had Madam returned with the two Jezlings in tow an hour or so later, than I sneaked away for an evening of guilty worship at the sacred ground. A lift to and from the train station, a 2-0 victory over the French champions and a 13th successive qualification for the knockout phases of the Champions League made missing out on beef stew for dinner and suffering the habitual British railway delays bearable. Tiredness was counterbalanced by loud snoring from both sides. La petite otherwise seemed to sleep well until the usual time, French time at least. She did allow us a fifteen minute lie-in though, before making the delighted discovery that her cot was right next to where her parents lay feigning sleep.
The part-time working mother had the next day off, so in the morning she took us to a garden centre where la petite had much fun in a small soft play area, pushed around a mini shopping trolley and said hello to three real-life Santa's reindeers. After the habitual post-lunch nap, we took her to the shopping centre for new shoes and new clothes - no VAT exemption on children's clothing in France. The mini-Jezoids returned soon afterwards and the house was filled with the sound of battling robots and more or less tuneful clarinet and tenor horn playing. Good old bangers and mash was on the menu for dinner before bed for the kids and champagne for the adults. Thence began a second night of sharing a bedroom with a toddler. This time the snoring wasn't as loud and the wakeup chorus from the cot was half an hour later at just before seven.
Faced by a six hour road trip, we said our goodbyes and took our leave of the former UKC postgraduates by ten on Friday morning. First two hour stint - smooth and quiet, with more gentle snoring from the child seat in the back. Following a Happy Eater lunch somewhere north of Peterborough, the second stretch was almost as smooth, though the chirping from the back grew gradually more plaintiff as the journey wore on. Coffee, apple juice and mince pie at Scotch Corner services brought temporary respite, but by the time we hit Tyneside car-seat stir craziness had well and truly set in, not helped by the total absence of direction signs for Alnmouth as soon as we got off the A1. A phone call to Dr Organiser soon set us on the right road though, and we arrived slightly the worse for wear at our impressive lodgings on the Northumberland coast less than 8 hours after setting off from Kent.
After our hosts we were the first to arrive, soon followed by the DenEboy who had undertaken the 6 hour drive on his own. Spaghetti Bolognese was on the dinner table for six before, later in the evening, numbers were completed by Crystal Tipps and the Caipirinha Kid, who more sensibly let the train take the strain of bearing not limes and cachaça but home-made Marmite sausages and bacon.
It was thus a late night for all, relatively speaking anyway, and therefore a late morning for most. Not surprisingly it was the couples without young children who had the longest lie-ins. La petite got us up closer to normal time, UK time, but only after a night of somewhat disturbed sleep. We managed to keep her amused for a couple of hours until brunch, a slap-up fry-up which was worth the wait. Replete with sausages, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, beans, English muffins and Scottish tattie scones, we then all trooped out for a walk along the beach. It was a lovely stroll - the hazy sunshine and calm sea on a windless morning almost made it feel warm. La petite took a 15 minute power nap on papa's back and then enjoyed digging in the sand and flying between two adults.
Back at the ranch, the morning activity led to another 15 minute power nap, this time for the birthday girl, the smallest tummy in the party had a lunch-time snack and then we all piled into two cars for a trip into Alnwick. A meandering stroll round the town centre was followed by an obligatory visit to Barter Books. La petite famille restricted themselves to a browse in the children's section before heading back to base to try and fit in an afternoon nap. Meanwhile the rest kept calm and carried on browsing for another hour or so.
Chicken Fajitas were on the dinner menu that night, delicious they were too, prepared again by our generous birthday-celebrating host. The rigours of the weekend then gradually took their toll and, one by one, we drifted off to bed. The Cambsac boys were the last up, viewing Rolling Stones retrospectives and then football, though in the case of the DenEboy, up was a relative term. Somehow he woke up when the Canaries came on, then fell asleep straight afterwards when the last, read least eventful, match of the day was shown. Funnily enough the latter was what forced me to be the last man standing.
As the rain poured down outside, a rather restless night of toddler and parent sleep followed, but at least we were allowed a lie-in until almost eight. Brunch was as good as the previous morning, and then it was time for an hour or two of concerted tidying and cleaning before we all packed up and made our separate ways home. The end of a lovely two-day Northumberland break.
Not quite the end of the travelling for us though. Wary of subjecting la petite to another six hours in the car, we chose to break our journey back to Heathrow with an overnight stop in a hotel in Robin Hood country. How right we were - la petite by this time had definitely decided she didn't much appreciate being strapped into a car seat. More rain and habitually heavy M1 traffic didn't make the journey easier, but we got there in one piece, had a quick dinner and then all settled down to sleep.
Tried to settle down to sleep anyway. Quality of sleep over five nights of sharing a bedroom with a toddler gradually deteriorated. Nonetheless we survived until first light, had breakfast and set off on the road south once more. The complaints from the back seat gradually quietened and were superseded by snoring during the final hour. We dropped off the hire car, checked in and were through departures a full 3 hours before our flight was due to depart. Which left plenty of time for a leisurely lunch and browse in the shops, but also left plenty of room for time to drag, particularly as the flight was delayed by half an hour. Back in Lyon, it was pouring with rain and the fridge and cupboards were bare. Welcome home.
In the event the keys went unused as our arrival at destination coincided with the return of the male half of the good Doctors C. No sooner had Madam returned with the two Jezlings in tow an hour or so later, than I sneaked away for an evening of guilty worship at the sacred ground. A lift to and from the train station, a 2-0 victory over the French champions and a 13th successive qualification for the knockout phases of the Champions League made missing out on beef stew for dinner and suffering the habitual British railway delays bearable. Tiredness was counterbalanced by loud snoring from both sides. La petite otherwise seemed to sleep well until the usual time, French time at least. She did allow us a fifteen minute lie-in though, before making the delighted discovery that her cot was right next to where her parents lay feigning sleep.
The part-time working mother had the next day off, so in the morning she took us to a garden centre where la petite had much fun in a small soft play area, pushed around a mini shopping trolley and said hello to three real-life Santa's reindeers. After the habitual post-lunch nap, we took her to the shopping centre for new shoes and new clothes - no VAT exemption on children's clothing in France. The mini-Jezoids returned soon afterwards and the house was filled with the sound of battling robots and more or less tuneful clarinet and tenor horn playing. Good old bangers and mash was on the menu for dinner before bed for the kids and champagne for the adults. Thence began a second night of sharing a bedroom with a toddler. This time the snoring wasn't as loud and the wakeup chorus from the cot was half an hour later at just before seven.
Faced by a six hour road trip, we said our goodbyes and took our leave of the former UKC postgraduates by ten on Friday morning. First two hour stint - smooth and quiet, with more gentle snoring from the child seat in the back. Following a Happy Eater lunch somewhere north of Peterborough, the second stretch was almost as smooth, though the chirping from the back grew gradually more plaintiff as the journey wore on. Coffee, apple juice and mince pie at Scotch Corner services brought temporary respite, but by the time we hit Tyneside car-seat stir craziness had well and truly set in, not helped by the total absence of direction signs for Alnmouth as soon as we got off the A1. A phone call to Dr Organiser soon set us on the right road though, and we arrived slightly the worse for wear at our impressive lodgings on the Northumberland coast less than 8 hours after setting off from Kent.
After our hosts we were the first to arrive, soon followed by the DenEboy who had undertaken the 6 hour drive on his own. Spaghetti Bolognese was on the dinner table for six before, later in the evening, numbers were completed by Crystal Tipps and the Caipirinha Kid, who more sensibly let the train take the strain of bearing not limes and cachaça but home-made Marmite sausages and bacon.
It was thus a late night for all, relatively speaking anyway, and therefore a late morning for most. Not surprisingly it was the couples without young children who had the longest lie-ins. La petite got us up closer to normal time, UK time, but only after a night of somewhat disturbed sleep. We managed to keep her amused for a couple of hours until brunch, a slap-up fry-up which was worth the wait. Replete with sausages, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, beans, English muffins and Scottish tattie scones, we then all trooped out for a walk along the beach. It was a lovely stroll - the hazy sunshine and calm sea on a windless morning almost made it feel warm. La petite took a 15 minute power nap on papa's back and then enjoyed digging in the sand and flying between two adults.
Back at the ranch, the morning activity led to another 15 minute power nap, this time for the birthday girl, the smallest tummy in the party had a lunch-time snack and then we all piled into two cars for a trip into Alnwick. A meandering stroll round the town centre was followed by an obligatory visit to Barter Books. La petite famille restricted themselves to a browse in the children's section before heading back to base to try and fit in an afternoon nap. Meanwhile the rest kept calm and carried on browsing for another hour or so.
Chicken Fajitas were on the dinner menu that night, delicious they were too, prepared again by our generous birthday-celebrating host. The rigours of the weekend then gradually took their toll and, one by one, we drifted off to bed. The Cambsac boys were the last up, viewing Rolling Stones retrospectives and then football, though in the case of the DenEboy, up was a relative term. Somehow he woke up when the Canaries came on, then fell asleep straight afterwards when the last, read least eventful, match of the day was shown. Funnily enough the latter was what forced me to be the last man standing.
As the rain poured down outside, a rather restless night of toddler and parent sleep followed, but at least we were allowed a lie-in until almost eight. Brunch was as good as the previous morning, and then it was time for an hour or two of concerted tidying and cleaning before we all packed up and made our separate ways home. The end of a lovely two-day Northumberland break.
Not quite the end of the travelling for us though. Wary of subjecting la petite to another six hours in the car, we chose to break our journey back to Heathrow with an overnight stop in a hotel in Robin Hood country. How right we were - la petite by this time had definitely decided she didn't much appreciate being strapped into a car seat. More rain and habitually heavy M1 traffic didn't make the journey easier, but we got there in one piece, had a quick dinner and then all settled down to sleep.
Tried to settle down to sleep anyway. Quality of sleep over five nights of sharing a bedroom with a toddler gradually deteriorated. Nonetheless we survived until first light, had breakfast and set off on the road south once more. The complaints from the back seat gradually quietened and were superseded by snoring during the final hour. We dropped off the hire car, checked in and were through departures a full 3 hours before our flight was due to depart. Which left plenty of time for a leisurely lunch and browse in the shops, but also left plenty of room for time to drag, particularly as the flight was delayed by half an hour. Back in Lyon, it was pouring with rain and the fridge and cupboards were bare. Welcome home.
15 novembre 2012
Sniffy, snotty, snooty
The third Thursday in November is a notable day in the Lyonnais calendar - le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé. The first barrels duly floated down the Saône to be opened at midnight in Place Bellecour last night, despite what has been termed a difficult summer for les viticulteurs. Poor weather has apparently halved the grape harvest in the Beaujolais with a subsequent knock-on effect for wine production and could result in around 300 of the 2300 producers going out of business. On top of that they had to put up with Marine Le Pen paying them a publicity-seeking visit. Adding insult to injury, a view shared by the president of the traditional Beaujolais Nouveau fête in Beaujeu, capital of the region - "I hope I don't bump into her…"
Fortunately the bad weather and the presence of the National Front leader haven't soured the quality of this year's vintage, which apparently tastes of banana, strawberry and sweets.
Domestic wine consumption over the weekend was more restrained than normal because I was across the Channel for another overnight pilgrimage to the home of football. Normally the reverse would be true due to my hosts' generous hospitality, but on this occasion the morning flight and two pints of beer to accompany a very tasty pre-game lunch in the Snooty Fox resulted in a mild hangover before the evening was out. The upside was that it was gone by the morning. Overall, a splendid weekend, bar the topsy-turvy result against the Cottagers.
Meanwhile, back in Lyon les deux filles were having a good weekend without me, despite la petite suffering the beginnings of yet another cold. Fortunately it seems to be a less virulent variant, having almost run its course already. Even at its worst on Sunday I was treated to a beaming smile when I was picked up at the airport. Ahh...
Fortunately the bad weather and the presence of the National Front leader haven't soured the quality of this year's vintage, which apparently tastes of banana, strawberry and sweets.
Domestic wine consumption over the weekend was more restrained than normal because I was across the Channel for another overnight pilgrimage to the home of football. Normally the reverse would be true due to my hosts' generous hospitality, but on this occasion the morning flight and two pints of beer to accompany a very tasty pre-game lunch in the Snooty Fox resulted in a mild hangover before the evening was out. The upside was that it was gone by the morning. Overall, a splendid weekend, bar the topsy-turvy result against the Cottagers.
Meanwhile, back in Lyon les deux filles were having a good weekend without me, despite la petite suffering the beginnings of yet another cold. Fortunately it seems to be a less virulent variant, having almost run its course already. Even at its worst on Sunday I was treated to a beaming smile when I was picked up at the airport. Ahh...
08 novembre 2012
All saints action
The first of November happily fell on a Thursday this year, which meant a four day weekend. And, after a bit of dithering we eventually dropped la petite off at the crèche as normal on the bank holiday All Saints day, which meant a rare day together sans enfant. A shortened day that is, because despite arriving later than normal, our little darling was the first one there. And with the regulars doing a training course, unfamiliar replacement staff meant we had to stay an hour before shyness was eventually overcome and other kids began turning up to aid distraction.
Another bonus of the autumn school break was the temporary installation of an indoor kids' play area with bouncy castles, climbing wall, trampolines and the like in a large hall out at the university. Alerted to it by our neighbour, we undertook a trip there via tram on Saturday morning. La petite cascadeuse had great fun in the under-3s soft-play area, but her favourite was the trampolines. After such an energetic morning, the hitherto inexhaustible toddler fell asleep in her parents' arms on the way home.
Such fun was had that papa et la petite made a return trip yesterday while mama was away in Vienna. Somewhat busier than at the weekend, but no less enjoyable, particularly as we managed to get onto the trampolines at the right time, before the queues built up later in the morning. In between, the sporting weekend continued on Sunday with another trip to the swimming pool. The advantage of activity mornings is an almost guaranteed two-hour plus siesta, which on Sunday was useful as la petite didn't have to witness papa getting all upset in front of the TV while 22 men ran around chasing a ball.
The end of les vacances scolaires next Monday could see Lyon gridlocked. The Croix Rousse tunnel, which is one of the main east-west routes through the city closed this week for nine months of upgrade and safety work. Almost fifty thousand vehicles use it each day, a lot of traffic for other, already saturated roads in the city to absorb. Predictions of doom and chaos all round, but so far so good, apparently, with extra metros, park & ride sites, car-sharing schemes and so on all helping take the strain. The real test however comes with the return of the school run next week...
Another bonus of the autumn school break was the temporary installation of an indoor kids' play area with bouncy castles, climbing wall, trampolines and the like in a large hall out at the university. Alerted to it by our neighbour, we undertook a trip there via tram on Saturday morning. La petite cascadeuse had great fun in the under-3s soft-play area, but her favourite was the trampolines. After such an energetic morning, the hitherto inexhaustible toddler fell asleep in her parents' arms on the way home.
Such fun was had that papa et la petite made a return trip yesterday while mama was away in Vienna. Somewhat busier than at the weekend, but no less enjoyable, particularly as we managed to get onto the trampolines at the right time, before the queues built up later in the morning. In between, the sporting weekend continued on Sunday with another trip to the swimming pool. The advantage of activity mornings is an almost guaranteed two-hour plus siesta, which on Sunday was useful as la petite didn't have to witness papa getting all upset in front of the TV while 22 men ran around chasing a ball.
The end of les vacances scolaires next Monday could see Lyon gridlocked. The Croix Rousse tunnel, which is one of the main east-west routes through the city closed this week for nine months of upgrade and safety work. Almost fifty thousand vehicles use it each day, a lot of traffic for other, already saturated roads in the city to absorb. Predictions of doom and chaos all round, but so far so good, apparently, with extra metros, park & ride sites, car-sharing schemes and so on all helping take the strain. The real test however comes with the return of the school run next week...
31 octobre 2012
Correspondent reports
Nappy changing report: further progress, la petite now more or less happily lies down to don new diaper, but still prefers upright bum-cleaning. Latest quirks include excitedly burrowing under the duvet on parents' bed, and jumping off every kerb and low-level window ledge between home and playground or crèche. How to turn two minute walks into half hour marathons.
Health report: youngest member of the family in bouncing good form, older couple suffering from various bugs, latest of the gastric variety. Mine was a mere 6 hour variant, albeit virulent enough to bring back bad pre-colonoscopy laxative memories. La bienheureuse then either caught it off me, reacted to my cooking or caught an entirely different virus, and suffered for rather longer, encompassing an overnight work trip to Basle. All rear ends squeaky clean now though…
Weather report: a brief cold snap two weeks ago was followed by ten days of unseasonably mild weather, though with only rare glimpses of sunshine. Last weekend it all changed - maximum of 7 degrees, a full 17 lower than 7 days previously. Winter's icy tentacles are reaching Lyon...
State of the nation report: not good. Approval ratings for president and prime minister at all time low, economy stagnant, taxes on the rise, discontent rumbling. Not that any other new government could have done any better, but the Socialists don't seem to make things easy for themselves. Latest example of some government spokesman or other shooting themselves in the foot was PM Ayrault apparently saying going back to a 39 hour working week wouldn't be ruled out, going against a Socialist policy set in stone. Cue criticism and clarification from fellow PS members, and immediate "we told you so" shouts from opposition UMP politicians.
There was an interesting article on the BBC news site a couple of weeks ago, comparing the mood in France with that in Britain. Unabated Gallic pessimism vs cautious British optimism, was the gist of the article, despite the two economies being in roughly the same leaking boats. Partly down to the Olympic effect, partly down the national psyche…?
Sporting report: could do better, much better. After an optimistic start to the season, nasty November appeared to arrive in October for the glorious Gunners. Two abject defeats were followed by a hard-won, slightly fortuitous victory against the new-boy Hoops. I'd like to think my presence made the difference, as I made my first solo cross-Channel flight of the season. Habitual convivial hospitality provided by my usual hosts, victory witnessed first hand, splendid couple of days all in all. Meanwhile la bienheureuse et la petite survived without me.
And then there was last night's extraordinary events at what they apparently call the Mad Stad. For good reason too it would seem. Able as I was to witness it live on TV (having spent - wasted as I thought at the time - 11 euros to subscribe to a new sports channel in order to watch the Champions League match against Schalke, defeat no 2 noted above), I ended the evening unsure whether to laugh or cry. Entertainment it was, top class football it certainly wasn't. Perhaps I should rationalise it by saying it was the reserves after all, though I did wonder for while whether they'd gone to Hackney Marshes last Sunday and found 11 lookalikes...
On the Lyon playing field, OL have also had a slightly mixed start to the season, this time entirely unwitnessed by your local correspondent. For the first time in 9 years, I don't have an abonnement. Story of renewal deadline coinciding with UK holiday, less motivation, less time due to toddler demands, etc, etc.. At least I can still follow them on TV now and then.
Health report: youngest member of the family in bouncing good form, older couple suffering from various bugs, latest of the gastric variety. Mine was a mere 6 hour variant, albeit virulent enough to bring back bad pre-colonoscopy laxative memories. La bienheureuse then either caught it off me, reacted to my cooking or caught an entirely different virus, and suffered for rather longer, encompassing an overnight work trip to Basle. All rear ends squeaky clean now though…
Weather report: a brief cold snap two weeks ago was followed by ten days of unseasonably mild weather, though with only rare glimpses of sunshine. Last weekend it all changed - maximum of 7 degrees, a full 17 lower than 7 days previously. Winter's icy tentacles are reaching Lyon...
State of the nation report: not good. Approval ratings for president and prime minister at all time low, economy stagnant, taxes on the rise, discontent rumbling. Not that any other new government could have done any better, but the Socialists don't seem to make things easy for themselves. Latest example of some government spokesman or other shooting themselves in the foot was PM Ayrault apparently saying going back to a 39 hour working week wouldn't be ruled out, going against a Socialist policy set in stone. Cue criticism and clarification from fellow PS members, and immediate "we told you so" shouts from opposition UMP politicians.
There was an interesting article on the BBC news site a couple of weeks ago, comparing the mood in France with that in Britain. Unabated Gallic pessimism vs cautious British optimism, was the gist of the article, despite the two economies being in roughly the same leaking boats. Partly down to the Olympic effect, partly down the national psyche…?
Sporting report: could do better, much better. After an optimistic start to the season, nasty November appeared to arrive in October for the glorious Gunners. Two abject defeats were followed by a hard-won, slightly fortuitous victory against the new-boy Hoops. I'd like to think my presence made the difference, as I made my first solo cross-Channel flight of the season. Habitual convivial hospitality provided by my usual hosts, victory witnessed first hand, splendid couple of days all in all. Meanwhile la bienheureuse et la petite survived without me.
And then there was last night's extraordinary events at what they apparently call the Mad Stad. For good reason too it would seem. Able as I was to witness it live on TV (having spent - wasted as I thought at the time - 11 euros to subscribe to a new sports channel in order to watch the Champions League match against Schalke, defeat no 2 noted above), I ended the evening unsure whether to laugh or cry. Entertainment it was, top class football it certainly wasn't. Perhaps I should rationalise it by saying it was the reserves after all, though I did wonder for while whether they'd gone to Hackney Marshes last Sunday and found 11 lookalikes...
On the Lyon playing field, OL have also had a slightly mixed start to the season, this time entirely unwitnessed by your local correspondent. For the first time in 9 years, I don't have an abonnement. Story of renewal deadline coinciding with UK holiday, less motivation, less time due to toddler demands, etc, etc.. At least I can still follow them on TV now and then.
24 août 2012
Tour of England
A tale of travels and travails in Blighty in nine easy steps:
Friday 17th
Decide to drive to the airport, find the long-stay car park full and are directed to a nearby field instead. Flight leaves and arrives at Stansted on time.
Travel note 1 - la petite coquinette does not like being strapped in on parent's knees. Much screaming and struggling.
Travel note 2 - having decided to take our own car seat for the first time, due to the cost of long term hire being more than the cost of a new one, we collect it and our baggage from the carousel and head off to pick up the car hire. It's only once we are in possession of the keys that we realise we're missing something. No, not the baby, but the baby carrier. Fortunately the procedure required to go back into the arrivals hall to collect it is fairly painless.
Travel note 3 - hire car we are allocated is covered in scratches and dents, far more than are listed on the already long damage sheet. Attendant duly notes that there is lots of extra damage and we set off.
Travel note 4 - a rather worrying screeching noise is heard before we get out of the car park. Emanating not from the back seat, rather from the front wheels. The attendant gets in to witness the noise himself and offers us another car.
Travel note 5 - new car is a rather nice to drive German model but on a rare hot day in England we fail to get the air-conditioning to work.
Nonetheless we arrive in chez J&C in Cambridge suffering only minor heat exhaustion and the usual convivial and well-lubricated evening follows.
Saturday 18th
Bumper English breakfast helps alleviate hangovers and the three Gooners leave la bienheureuse et la petite to fend for themselves for the day while we head south to the sacred turf in North London. We enjoy, if that's the right word, a frustratingly goalless afternoon. Back in Cambridge a slightly more restrained convivial evening with dinner outdoors follows.
Sunday 19th
After a morning spent enjoying lovely and unexpectedly warm sunshine in a pretty English garden, we wave goodbye to le grand chef et la petite beaucoup and we are on the road again by mid-afternoon.
Travel note 6 - the air conditioning definitely doesn't work.
Travel note 7 - la petite displays distinctly untypical travel behaviour - she lapses into a strange sort of travel zone, staring blankly out of the window for several minutes before falling asleep.
She stays asleep almost until we arrive in Bromley suffering only minor heat exhaustion and enjoy another convivial evening and outdoor dinner chez le petit frère et la belle-soeur colombienne numèro deux.
Monday 20th
The young professionals head off to work leaving us to spend a day relaxing. At least that was the idea…
Travel note 7 - after several phone calls la bienheureuse manages to get the hire car changed again. According to the RAC broken air-conditioning does not count as a break-down, even in Saharan temperatures.
So off we set to Chatham, the nearest centre with an available car. Hallelujah, the air-con and everything else on hire car number three works. Meanwhile we belatedly get in touch with the Punjabi Princess and arrange to go and see her and the new arrival for lunch. After a very pleasant few hours catching up with old times and swapping baby tales, we head back to our digs in Bromley. Another outdoor dinner follows.
Tuesday 21st
We wave goodbye to le frère et la cuñada and head south-west via a stop for lunch and playtime for la petite at a soft play centre in a Bromley entertainment complex.
Travel note 8 - la petite voyageuse gets into the new travel zone again, but then reverts to type by waking up after forty minutes and throwing a wobbly which necessitates an emergency stop at services on the M4.
The British weather reverts to type and we arrive in Bristol amidst a heavy shower and heavy traffic. Eventually we arrive chez le grand frère to find fifteen-year old paint testers still decorating the walls, and a pleasant indoor dinner follows.
Wednesday 22nd
The four of us get into the car once more and head further south towards deepest Devon.
Travel note 9 - atypical behaviour seems to be becoming typical. La petite lapses into her zone once more, falls asleep and, wonder of wonders, doesn't wake up again until we we are in South Devon a whole two hours later.
Travel note 10 - traffic on the winding road between Totnes and Kingsbridge is as bad as ever, made worse by road works and slow moving farm tractors.
Travel note 11 - eighty year-old aunts can give wonderfully explicit directions, so we arrive safely at the new-ish abode of my only surviving aunt and uncle in the back of the South Devon beyond.
A very pleasant lunch and afternoon follows during the long overdue visit in the mellow Devon sunshine. La cousine decoratrice comes across from Salcombe to say hello and introduce us to two of her five progeny. Late in the afternoon we wave goodbye and head north back up the A38 and M5.
Travel note 12 - another 90 minute plus car sleep. Astonishing.
Thursday 23rd
We wave le grand frère off to work in the morning and not long afterwards leave the bachelor pad ourselves and hit the road once more.
Travel note 13 - the travel zone is not necessarily immediately followed by unconsciousness. The little traveller neglects to go to sleep until we are less than half an hour from Tattenhall.
Nonetheless the journey is relatively painless and we arrive chez la grand-mère suffering only minor travel weariness. In the evening however, after being on her best behaviour the whole week, la petite coquinette rebels against a sea of new and old faces constantly saying hello only to say goodbye a day or two later. She yells and steadfastly refuses to go to sleep for well over an hour. Exhausted, she is finally drops off around ten pm, and her parents fall into bed immediately afterwards.
Friday 24th
We spend a very pleasant day chez le beau-frère, la belle-soeur et les nièces canines in north Wales, despite the weather providing a taste of things to come in the Lakes - showers, not much sunshine and rather colder than the visitors from south-east France are used to. Back in Cheshire bed-time is slightly less taxing.
Friday 17th
Decide to drive to the airport, find the long-stay car park full and are directed to a nearby field instead. Flight leaves and arrives at Stansted on time.
Travel note 1 - la petite coquinette does not like being strapped in on parent's knees. Much screaming and struggling.
Travel note 2 - having decided to take our own car seat for the first time, due to the cost of long term hire being more than the cost of a new one, we collect it and our baggage from the carousel and head off to pick up the car hire. It's only once we are in possession of the keys that we realise we're missing something. No, not the baby, but the baby carrier. Fortunately the procedure required to go back into the arrivals hall to collect it is fairly painless.
Travel note 3 - hire car we are allocated is covered in scratches and dents, far more than are listed on the already long damage sheet. Attendant duly notes that there is lots of extra damage and we set off.
Travel note 4 - a rather worrying screeching noise is heard before we get out of the car park. Emanating not from the back seat, rather from the front wheels. The attendant gets in to witness the noise himself and offers us another car.
Travel note 5 - new car is a rather nice to drive German model but on a rare hot day in England we fail to get the air-conditioning to work.
Nonetheless we arrive in chez J&C in Cambridge suffering only minor heat exhaustion and the usual convivial and well-lubricated evening follows.
Saturday 18th
Bumper English breakfast helps alleviate hangovers and the three Gooners leave la bienheureuse et la petite to fend for themselves for the day while we head south to the sacred turf in North London. We enjoy, if that's the right word, a frustratingly goalless afternoon. Back in Cambridge a slightly more restrained convivial evening with dinner outdoors follows.
Sunday 19th
After a morning spent enjoying lovely and unexpectedly warm sunshine in a pretty English garden, we wave goodbye to le grand chef et la petite beaucoup and we are on the road again by mid-afternoon.
Travel note 6 - the air conditioning definitely doesn't work.
Travel note 7 - la petite displays distinctly untypical travel behaviour - she lapses into a strange sort of travel zone, staring blankly out of the window for several minutes before falling asleep.
She stays asleep almost until we arrive in Bromley suffering only minor heat exhaustion and enjoy another convivial evening and outdoor dinner chez le petit frère et la belle-soeur colombienne numèro deux.
Monday 20th
The young professionals head off to work leaving us to spend a day relaxing. At least that was the idea…
Travel note 7 - after several phone calls la bienheureuse manages to get the hire car changed again. According to the RAC broken air-conditioning does not count as a break-down, even in Saharan temperatures.
So off we set to Chatham, the nearest centre with an available car. Hallelujah, the air-con and everything else on hire car number three works. Meanwhile we belatedly get in touch with the Punjabi Princess and arrange to go and see her and the new arrival for lunch. After a very pleasant few hours catching up with old times and swapping baby tales, we head back to our digs in Bromley. Another outdoor dinner follows.
Tuesday 21st
We wave goodbye to le frère et la cuñada and head south-west via a stop for lunch and playtime for la petite at a soft play centre in a Bromley entertainment complex.
Travel note 8 - la petite voyageuse gets into the new travel zone again, but then reverts to type by waking up after forty minutes and throwing a wobbly which necessitates an emergency stop at services on the M4.
The British weather reverts to type and we arrive in Bristol amidst a heavy shower and heavy traffic. Eventually we arrive chez le grand frère to find fifteen-year old paint testers still decorating the walls, and a pleasant indoor dinner follows.
Wednesday 22nd
The four of us get into the car once more and head further south towards deepest Devon.
Travel note 9 - atypical behaviour seems to be becoming typical. La petite lapses into her zone once more, falls asleep and, wonder of wonders, doesn't wake up again until we we are in South Devon a whole two hours later.
Travel note 10 - traffic on the winding road between Totnes and Kingsbridge is as bad as ever, made worse by road works and slow moving farm tractors.
Travel note 11 - eighty year-old aunts can give wonderfully explicit directions, so we arrive safely at the new-ish abode of my only surviving aunt and uncle in the back of the South Devon beyond.
A very pleasant lunch and afternoon follows during the long overdue visit in the mellow Devon sunshine. La cousine decoratrice comes across from Salcombe to say hello and introduce us to two of her five progeny. Late in the afternoon we wave goodbye and head north back up the A38 and M5.
Travel note 12 - another 90 minute plus car sleep. Astonishing.
Thursday 23rd
We wave le grand frère off to work in the morning and not long afterwards leave the bachelor pad ourselves and hit the road once more.
Travel note 13 - the travel zone is not necessarily immediately followed by unconsciousness. The little traveller neglects to go to sleep until we are less than half an hour from Tattenhall.
Nonetheless the journey is relatively painless and we arrive chez la grand-mère suffering only minor travel weariness. In the evening however, after being on her best behaviour the whole week, la petite coquinette rebels against a sea of new and old faces constantly saying hello only to say goodbye a day or two later. She yells and steadfastly refuses to go to sleep for well over an hour. Exhausted, she is finally drops off around ten pm, and her parents fall into bed immediately afterwards.
Friday 24th
We spend a very pleasant day chez le beau-frère, la belle-soeur et les nièces canines in north Wales, despite the weather providing a taste of things to come in the Lakes - showers, not much sunshine and rather colder than the visitors from south-east France are used to. Back in Cheshire bed-time is slightly less taxing.
16 mai 2012
Affecting guests
And so, our two guests' visit to Lyon started off with both their hosts somewhat indisposed by illness. La bienheureuse passed the stomach bug on to yours truly only to succumb anew to the recurrent chest and sinus infection and pay another visit to the doctor. Fortunately, the person tia y prima had really come to see was a picture of health and her usual, energetic, entertaining self. Also fortunately, the day after we returned was VE day, a bank holiday in France, allowing a relaxed start to the visit.
The next day, la petite star of the show spent the day downstairs chez les voisins as usual, which meant our visitors had no choice but to do a bit of sight-seeing. I had recovered sufficiently from the gastric affliction to take them on a walking tour of Fourvière, Vieux Lyon and the Presqu'île in beautifully warm sunny weather, while la bienheureuse spent another day recuperating at home. Roast chicken was on the menu for dinner, but was cleared of suspicion for the sleepless night spent by the sweet sobrina on multiple visits to the toilet. The vomiting virus had struck again.
La nièce thus spent most of Thursday in bed while the older generation (la travailleuse taking a couple of days of hastily scheduled leave) entertained and was kept entertained by the youngest. By Friday, the ill had recovered sufficiently to walk out in the 30 degree sunshine to have lunch at a riverside café. At least, two of us had a full lunch while another nibbled and the other chased her daughter up and down the quayside. Another group outing in the late afternoon to the playground brought the last full day of our guests' stay in Lyon to an end.
Following an early lunch we all squeezed into la petite voiture for another trip to the airport for a fond goodbye to la cuñada and sweet sobrina. We returned home while they flew back for another few days and university visits in London before heading home to Australia themselves. It seemed quiet chez nous after ten days spent in the company of others. At least, as quiet as it can be with a 14 month old who is going through a phase of constantly chatting to herself and everyone.
On Sunday, the brief appearance of summer exited stage left and temperatures plummeted a full 15 degrees. I thus had an excuse for spending much of the afternoon slumped in front of the TV, first watching cars go in circles, and then watching the dramatic climax to the English Premier League. A seesaw season thus ended with a sigh of relief on my part as Champions League football was assured for the good next year, while evil money triumphed over the devil at the top. Meanwhile, the penultimate games of the French league season ensured that the title goes down to the wire next weekend, and confirmed Europa rather than Champions League football for OL next year.
I woke on Monday morning a little apprehensive about my daughter spending her first day in more than two weeks with only boring old papa for company. I needn't have worried - she was a petit ange all day, and happily chatted and waved to all and sundry during our first solo bike trip to the park. The decision to venture further afield rather than to the usual playground around the corner meant we missed out on the excitement closer to home, where a car ended up in the window of a nearby boulangerie, fortunately without damage to life or limb. Life in Lyon is never dull.
The next day, la petite star of the show spent the day downstairs chez les voisins as usual, which meant our visitors had no choice but to do a bit of sight-seeing. I had recovered sufficiently from the gastric affliction to take them on a walking tour of Fourvière, Vieux Lyon and the Presqu'île in beautifully warm sunny weather, while la bienheureuse spent another day recuperating at home. Roast chicken was on the menu for dinner, but was cleared of suspicion for the sleepless night spent by the sweet sobrina on multiple visits to the toilet. The vomiting virus had struck again.
La nièce thus spent most of Thursday in bed while the older generation (la travailleuse taking a couple of days of hastily scheduled leave) entertained and was kept entertained by the youngest. By Friday, the ill had recovered sufficiently to walk out in the 30 degree sunshine to have lunch at a riverside café. At least, two of us had a full lunch while another nibbled and the other chased her daughter up and down the quayside. Another group outing in the late afternoon to the playground brought the last full day of our guests' stay in Lyon to an end.
Following an early lunch we all squeezed into la petite voiture for another trip to the airport for a fond goodbye to la cuñada and sweet sobrina. We returned home while they flew back for another few days and university visits in London before heading home to Australia themselves. It seemed quiet chez nous after ten days spent in the company of others. At least, as quiet as it can be with a 14 month old who is going through a phase of constantly chatting to herself and everyone.
On Sunday, the brief appearance of summer exited stage left and temperatures plummeted a full 15 degrees. I thus had an excuse for spending much of the afternoon slumped in front of the TV, first watching cars go in circles, and then watching the dramatic climax to the English Premier League. A seesaw season thus ended with a sigh of relief on my part as Champions League football was assured for the good next year, while evil money triumphed over the devil at the top. Meanwhile, the penultimate games of the French league season ensured that the title goes down to the wire next weekend, and confirmed Europa rather than Champions League football for OL next year.
I woke on Monday morning a little apprehensive about my daughter spending her first day in more than two weeks with only boring old papa for company. I needn't have worried - she was a petit ange all day, and happily chatted and waved to all and sundry during our first solo bike trip to the park. The decision to venture further afield rather than to the usual playground around the corner meant we missed out on the excitement closer to home, where a car ended up in the window of a nearby boulangerie, fortunately without damage to life or limb. Life in Lyon is never dull.
08 mai 2012
Travel sick notes
Ten days of visits and visitors started last Thursday with an afternoon flight to Stansted, la petite coquinette's first experience of being cooped up in a plane since she turned one and started to walk. Not being the type to immediately fall asleep when travelling, she was rather uppity during the 80 minute flight but kept reasonably quiet by dint of a supply of biscuits and flapjack, a helpful neighbour in the aisle seat and a session of toddling up and down the aircraft.
The journey from Stansted to Bexleyheath in a hired people carrier (reason for which will become clear later) via M11 and M25 at rush hour was remarkably quick and smooth, and we arrived chez the Doctors C in the early evening in time for dinner. The mini-jezoids helped entertain and feed la petite and we eventually got her into bed a mere two hours later than normal. A restless night followed. Note to selves: if at all possible, avoid sharing a room with small daughter who fidgets and moves around in her sleep, something that was necessitated on this occasion by our hosts being in the middle of carpet laying.
The following morning we watched the rain coming down to a soundtrack of carpet tacks being banged home upstairs while our daughter entertained the lovely Dr L and worked her way through the stock of toys piled in the dining room. The weather cleared enough in the afternoon to allow a shoe shopping expedition before we waved goodbye and set off for our next destination.
The South Circular was somewhat slower early on a Friday rush hour than the M25 late on a Thursday rush hour, but we arrived in Bromley late in the afternoon to be effusively greeted by la cuñada dos. Le grand frère was also visiting for the weekend and le petit frère arrived home from work soon after our arrival. A convivial evening followed, as did another restless night, same reasons as above.
On Saturday I took temporary leave of absence from the family gathering to attend the last home game of the season ritual at the home of good football. Said good football had apparently deserted its home, at least in the first half, but seemed to have returned just in time to ensure a satisfactory season ending, only for the Canaries to spoil the party by accepting the gift of a late equaliser. I thus returned south of the river in ambivalent mood, which was alleviated by another pleasant evening and subsequent results the following day.
Marking time was the theme of the day on Sunday, as we all waited for the main event, the arrival of las chicas from Down Under via a university visit in Nottingham and a rainstorm in Hong Kong. Waiting time was filled with a cold weather gear trip to the local playground, a bit of shopping and such lazing around as an energetic 14 month old allows five adults. La cuñada y la sobrina uno eventually put in an appearance mid-evening, by which time la petite and her mother were already in bed, the latter somewhat earlier than planned because she was suffering with an extremely dodgy tummy. Whether due to poisoning by her sister-in-law's cooking or a vomiting virus wasn't clear at the time but no simultaneous, and later victims of the same malady seemed to suggest the latter.
While the election of a new president in France passed almost unnoticed in a small part of Bromley, overnight la petite slept more soundly than previously, possibly resting easy in the knowledge that Sarko had become the first French Fifth Republic president to fail to be re-elected but more probably because it was her third night in a row in the same bed. The same couldn't be said of either of her parents for differing reasons, but we were nonetheless up bright and early, soon to be joined by the new guests for their first encounter with their niece and cousin respectively.
By late morning, la bienheureuse had recovered sufficiently, even if her appetite hadn't, to undertake the trip home without fear of leaving a techicolour yawn en route. So we bade goodbye to la belle-soeur cadette et les deux frères and set off for the airport with the extra seats and luggage space in the Sharan taken up by the Austral-Anglo-Colombian girls. After a reasonably smooth six hour trip (albeit variously smeared with yoghurt and banana - messy business feeding a one year old on an aeroplane) we were home in warm, sunny Lyon. Two hours after we got back it was my turn to start throwing up, and it wasn't travel sickness…
The journey from Stansted to Bexleyheath in a hired people carrier (reason for which will become clear later) via M11 and M25 at rush hour was remarkably quick and smooth, and we arrived chez the Doctors C in the early evening in time for dinner. The mini-jezoids helped entertain and feed la petite and we eventually got her into bed a mere two hours later than normal. A restless night followed. Note to selves: if at all possible, avoid sharing a room with small daughter who fidgets and moves around in her sleep, something that was necessitated on this occasion by our hosts being in the middle of carpet laying.
The following morning we watched the rain coming down to a soundtrack of carpet tacks being banged home upstairs while our daughter entertained the lovely Dr L and worked her way through the stock of toys piled in the dining room. The weather cleared enough in the afternoon to allow a shoe shopping expedition before we waved goodbye and set off for our next destination.
The South Circular was somewhat slower early on a Friday rush hour than the M25 late on a Thursday rush hour, but we arrived in Bromley late in the afternoon to be effusively greeted by la cuñada dos. Le grand frère was also visiting for the weekend and le petit frère arrived home from work soon after our arrival. A convivial evening followed, as did another restless night, same reasons as above.
On Saturday I took temporary leave of absence from the family gathering to attend the last home game of the season ritual at the home of good football. Said good football had apparently deserted its home, at least in the first half, but seemed to have returned just in time to ensure a satisfactory season ending, only for the Canaries to spoil the party by accepting the gift of a late equaliser. I thus returned south of the river in ambivalent mood, which was alleviated by another pleasant evening and subsequent results the following day.
Marking time was the theme of the day on Sunday, as we all waited for the main event, the arrival of las chicas from Down Under via a university visit in Nottingham and a rainstorm in Hong Kong. Waiting time was filled with a cold weather gear trip to the local playground, a bit of shopping and such lazing around as an energetic 14 month old allows five adults. La cuñada y la sobrina uno eventually put in an appearance mid-evening, by which time la petite and her mother were already in bed, the latter somewhat earlier than planned because she was suffering with an extremely dodgy tummy. Whether due to poisoning by her sister-in-law's cooking or a vomiting virus wasn't clear at the time but no simultaneous, and later victims of the same malady seemed to suggest the latter.
While the election of a new president in France passed almost unnoticed in a small part of Bromley, overnight la petite slept more soundly than previously, possibly resting easy in the knowledge that Sarko had become the first French Fifth Republic president to fail to be re-elected but more probably because it was her third night in a row in the same bed. The same couldn't be said of either of her parents for differing reasons, but we were nonetheless up bright and early, soon to be joined by the new guests for their first encounter with their niece and cousin respectively.
By late morning, la bienheureuse had recovered sufficiently, even if her appetite hadn't, to undertake the trip home without fear of leaving a techicolour yawn en route. So we bade goodbye to la belle-soeur cadette et les deux frères and set off for the airport with the extra seats and luggage space in the Sharan taken up by the Austral-Anglo-Colombian girls. After a reasonably smooth six hour trip (albeit variously smeared with yoghurt and banana - messy business feeding a one year old on an aeroplane) we were home in warm, sunny Lyon. Two hours after we got back it was my turn to start throwing up, and it wasn't travel sickness…
17 avril 2012
Crying foul
Foul weather - 4pm Saturday: rain starts spitting down and doesn't stop for 36 hours. Undeterred by the cold and gloomy conditions, we stroll out and blow a monkey on a new bike and child seat. La petite coquinette charms bystanders and looks cute in a helmet.
Foul match - 11.45pm Saturday: 58 fouls - the total number of free kicks at the French League Cup final. To cap it all, I stay up and watch all 120 dire minutes of the worst match in football history, only to see Lyon contrive to lose the Olympique battle of attrition to an extra time Marseille goal.
Foul odour - 4.30am Sunday: little more than four hours after I've gone to bed, we're woken by the sound of crying from the nursery. Not the normal, brief waking whinge la petite sometimes makes, something more prolonged and serious. I draw the short straw and take the first shift at settling her back down. Half an hour and two abortive attempts to put her back in bed later, I finally catch a smelly whiff and cotton on to the reason for her discomfort. After the nappy change, la bienheureuse takes over to allow me to collapse back into bed. Four hours later, the small bundle of energy finally agrees to go back to sleep, and both exhausted parents snatch another hour or two themselves.
Foul mood - 11pm Monday: the rain finally stops sometime in the early hours, but temperatures fail to climb above 6C the rest of the day. And we thought winter had ended 6 weeks ago. The biting Mistral slices through la petite and I when we venture out late afternoon and the rain starts spotting down again. To put the rotten cherry on the 3 day old cake, les cannoniers blow the chance to consolidate 3rd by losing at home to the 4th bottom team. At least the lowly Latics play decent football.
Foul health - 6.30am Tuesday: new wakeup time, on the dot la petite starts yodelling. Her parents groan, both still afflicted by the colds that have lingered for weeks, fouling the nasal, bronchial, tracheal and, in maman's case, aural passages. La bienheureuse still manages to drag herself out of bed to feed the little munchkin, who fortunately seems to have mostly regained her previous good health and humour.
Foul match - 11.45pm Saturday: 58 fouls - the total number of free kicks at the French League Cup final. To cap it all, I stay up and watch all 120 dire minutes of the worst match in football history, only to see Lyon contrive to lose the Olympique battle of attrition to an extra time Marseille goal.
Foul odour - 4.30am Sunday: little more than four hours after I've gone to bed, we're woken by the sound of crying from the nursery. Not the normal, brief waking whinge la petite sometimes makes, something more prolonged and serious. I draw the short straw and take the first shift at settling her back down. Half an hour and two abortive attempts to put her back in bed later, I finally catch a smelly whiff and cotton on to the reason for her discomfort. After the nappy change, la bienheureuse takes over to allow me to collapse back into bed. Four hours later, the small bundle of energy finally agrees to go back to sleep, and both exhausted parents snatch another hour or two themselves.
Foul mood - 11pm Monday: the rain finally stops sometime in the early hours, but temperatures fail to climb above 6C the rest of the day. And we thought winter had ended 6 weeks ago. The biting Mistral slices through la petite and I when we venture out late afternoon and the rain starts spotting down again. To put the rotten cherry on the 3 day old cake, les cannoniers blow the chance to consolidate 3rd by losing at home to the 4th bottom team. At least the lowly Latics play decent football.
Foul health - 6.30am Tuesday: new wakeup time, on the dot la petite starts yodelling. Her parents groan, both still afflicted by the colds that have lingered for weeks, fouling the nasal, bronchial, tracheal and, in maman's case, aural passages. La bienheureuse still manages to drag herself out of bed to feed the little munchkin, who fortunately seems to have mostly regained her previous good health and humour.
09 avril 2012
Upswing, down river
Seems two weeks of toddler grouchiness was probably brought on by feeling under the weather and teething. No different to adults then, apart from tooth problems being caused by them falling out or going rotten rather than growing. Anyway, la petite suddenly went from being a grumpy little monster to a sweet little angel in the space of 24 hours, the same day she was finally clear of illness and a seventh tooth made an appearance. However, cold number two has already started to snuffle its way through the nasal passages, so the good behaviour may not last long…
Out in the wider Lyonnais world, the big event of the Easter weekend was the opening of the new Confluence shopping and entertainment centre, part of the latest grand project in Lyon, the renovation of formerly derelict warehouses and docks at the southern tip of the Presqu'île where the Saône and Rhône rivers merge. We wandered out on Saturday to look at some of the festivities to mark the grand opening, including a float with water jets and mime artists on a giant umbrella on the Rhône, a flotilla of strange water craft (cars, beds, desert islands and giant hexapods topped by animal skulls) on the Saône, and a parade with a stuffed polar bear, marching bands and assorted strange machines in Place Bellecour.
Later in the evening I headed downriver again to Gerland, where OL eked out a turgid 2-1 victory against bottom club Auxerre thanks to two penalties earned and converted by Lisandro. The footballing entertainment on offer the following day was of rather higher quality, at least from the home team. The highly satisfying late victory against the oil-money wasting light blue Mancunians was preceded by a seven hour train journey across France and under the Channel, leaving just enough time for a quick pre-match pint in the pub with fellow gooners, grand et petite, who had just enjoyed an epicurean Easter lunch.
After the match we went our separate ways. I strolled north to chez the McBhoy and la Palombe, my hosts for the night. Turkish dinner was on the Sugar Lounge menu in the evening, followed by Match of the Day, sleep and an unaccustomed lie-in. Then it was time for me to make my way homeward through the London rain via tea-purchasing duties at Tescos, a crowded St Pancras, Eurostar, a time-pressed trip across Paris and a Lyon bound TGV caught with two minutes to spare. But all was well that ended well, and I was home little more than 5 hours after leaving London.
Out in the wider Lyonnais world, the big event of the Easter weekend was the opening of the new Confluence shopping and entertainment centre, part of the latest grand project in Lyon, the renovation of formerly derelict warehouses and docks at the southern tip of the Presqu'île where the Saône and Rhône rivers merge. We wandered out on Saturday to look at some of the festivities to mark the grand opening, including a float with water jets and mime artists on a giant umbrella on the Rhône, a flotilla of strange water craft (cars, beds, desert islands and giant hexapods topped by animal skulls) on the Saône, and a parade with a stuffed polar bear, marching bands and assorted strange machines in Place Bellecour.
After the match we went our separate ways. I strolled north to chez the McBhoy and la Palombe, my hosts for the night. Turkish dinner was on the Sugar Lounge menu in the evening, followed by Match of the Day, sleep and an unaccustomed lie-in. Then it was time for me to make my way homeward through the London rain via tea-purchasing duties at Tescos, a crowded St Pancras, Eurostar, a time-pressed trip across Paris and a Lyon bound TGV caught with two minutes to spare. But all was well that ended well, and I was home little more than 5 hours after leaving London.
31 mars 2012
Creating a stink
Make that three, or even four maladies in the space of less than four weeks. Head cold, followed by eye infection, followed by brief fever and spotty torso for two days, followed by a cough, which has afflicted the whole family. It all adds up to a little girl who is difficult to feed and swings from sweetness and smiles to screaming fit in the space of seconds. Not looking forward to the terrible twos if this is what the ornery ones is like…
She was however, mostly well-behaved for the visit of her aunt earlier in the week. La soeur arrived on Saturday evening to be met at the airport by her belle-soeur and niece while her brother was enjoying a little jaunt across the Channel to witness a stroll in the park against Villa and to enjoy another convivial evening chez la petite beaucoup et le grand gooner chef.
Nice weather in London too, to match the weather in Lyon, where it remained unseasonably warm and sunny for the entirety of the sororal visit. La bienheureuse meanwhile was in the midst of two exhausting weeks of travel to Milan and Monnheim respectively - a total of seven days and four nights away from home, where papa, tante and la petite passed the days playing, promenading in the sunshine and negotiating the obstacle course that the pavements of Lyon became during the two week garbage collectors strike. Large, albeit mostly fairly neat, piles of rubbish collected at various points in the streets, including one directly outside a primary school round the corner. The one outside our building slowly matured in the warm weather but was collected early in the week before the smell drifted as high as the third floor. Not sure how many potential restaurant customers were put off though. The strike eventually crumbled at roughly the same rate as the bin bags and apparently ended yesterday. Judging by the number of rubbish piles still sitting and stewing on the streets round us this morning it will take some time to clear the backlog though…
She was however, mostly well-behaved for the visit of her aunt earlier in the week. La soeur arrived on Saturday evening to be met at the airport by her belle-soeur and niece while her brother was enjoying a little jaunt across the Channel to witness a stroll in the park against Villa and to enjoy another convivial evening chez la petite beaucoup et le grand gooner chef.
Nice weather in London too, to match the weather in Lyon, where it remained unseasonably warm and sunny for the entirety of the sororal visit. La bienheureuse meanwhile was in the midst of two exhausting weeks of travel to Milan and Monnheim respectively - a total of seven days and four nights away from home, where papa, tante and la petite passed the days playing, promenading in the sunshine and negotiating the obstacle course that the pavements of Lyon became during the two week garbage collectors strike. Large, albeit mostly fairly neat, piles of rubbish collected at various points in the streets, including one directly outside a primary school round the corner. The one outside our building slowly matured in the warm weather but was collected early in the week before the smell drifted as high as the third floor. Not sure how many potential restaurant customers were put off though. The strike eventually crumbled at roughly the same rate as the bin bags and apparently ended yesterday. Judging by the number of rubbish piles still sitting and stewing on the streets round us this morning it will take some time to clear the backlog though…
10 mars 2012
Infectious affection
Twelve months can pass very quickly. La petite coquinette is now in her second year of life. It seems just a short while ago that she was making us wait before making an appearance. She celebrated her first birthday with a couple of other firsts - first day (in fact half-day) spent away from both parents, and first cold. The former, in the company of two little neighbours downstairs and their nanny, was the start of a regular one day a week event. She was apparently quite unconcerned about being left in the company of strangers for several hours. Meanwhile the apartment got a much-needed spring clean as her mother distracted herself.
The cold was a less welcome novelty and serves her right for kissing strange boys in the street. Told you she was precocious. Though in fact it was her suitor who made the first move - another toddler, a few months older, judging by his size, spotted her while we were strolling along the river, made a bee line for her and started smothering her with bisous. She was quite unfazed by it all, but then she's used it. That was the third spontaneous show of affection from passers by she's inspired in recent week. A young woman planted a kiss on her brow a few weeks ago, and then a young man chucked her on the cheek a few days ago. I guess we shouldn't be surprised…
I witnessed another show of affection this week when I made another pilgrimage across the Channel to witness the last rites of another Champions League season at the holy ground. Affection is something that hasn't been much in evidence among the fans in recent months, but the performance in so nearly coming back from a four goal deficit was worthy of it. Apart from the disappointment of coming so near and yet so far, it was a pleasant trip, with a pint or two and dinner in the pub with the Margarita man and a chatty young friend. I almost didn't make it either, with technical problems on the tram to the airport and the usual understaffing at the immigration control causing anxiety about catching the flight. The return leg was much smoother and I was home in time to sing happy birthday and share my snotty daughter's cake.
The following day la grand-mère bade us a reluctant goodbye and returned home, having completed her quota of baking and sewing chores and restocked her supply of grandchild memories. And so yesterday la petite enrhumée was left with just papa for entertainment and company during the day. We survived…
The cold was a less welcome novelty and serves her right for kissing strange boys in the street. Told you she was precocious. Though in fact it was her suitor who made the first move - another toddler, a few months older, judging by his size, spotted her while we were strolling along the river, made a bee line for her and started smothering her with bisous. She was quite unfazed by it all, but then she's used it. That was the third spontaneous show of affection from passers by she's inspired in recent week. A young woman planted a kiss on her brow a few weeks ago, and then a young man chucked her on the cheek a few days ago. I guess we shouldn't be surprised…
I witnessed another show of affection this week when I made another pilgrimage across the Channel to witness the last rites of another Champions League season at the holy ground. Affection is something that hasn't been much in evidence among the fans in recent months, but the performance in so nearly coming back from a four goal deficit was worthy of it. Apart from the disappointment of coming so near and yet so far, it was a pleasant trip, with a pint or two and dinner in the pub with the Margarita man and a chatty young friend. I almost didn't make it either, with technical problems on the tram to the airport and the usual understaffing at the immigration control causing anxiety about catching the flight. The return leg was much smoother and I was home in time to sing happy birthday and share my snotty daughter's cake.
The following day la grand-mère bade us a reluctant goodbye and returned home, having completed her quota of baking and sewing chores and restocked her supply of grandchild memories. And so yesterday la petite enrhumée was left with just papa for entertainment and company during the day. We survived…
29 février 2012
Spring in the step
Winter seems a little further away now. Blazing sunshine most of this week and temperatures creeping towards 15C. Lovely sunny day last Sunday too, in all respects. Though I have to admit I wasn't looking much on the sunny side of life at 2pm that day, more like staring into the abyss, with the red and white forces of good football two goals down to the local enemy. A mere hour later however, a five gun salvo had sounded and all was (almost) right with the world. Even if the previous ten days had seemed like a nightmare.
It all made for a very pleasant weekend jaunt across the Channel. Flight Sunday morning was on time, quick pint with le grand gooner before the game, albeit in the company of a fifth columnist who remained remarkably restrained all the way through the remarkable match, even when his side's second, illicitly obtained, goal hit the back of the net. Just desserts in the end for the diving lily-white though.
Afterwards I made my way south of the river to visit le petit frère & la cuñada numèro dos. Kitchen now finished, witness a very tasty lamb shank dinner, but much of the rest of the house still a work in progress. Monday morning I trekked back to Stansted and thence home, while the two not-so-newly weds oversaw a fireplace installation before heading off for a holiday in the Indian Ocean. Their home for the following 10 days, an infamous hotel, scene of a recent murder. Ooerr…
Meanwhile, back in Lyon, la petite, la mère et la grand-mère enjoyed an all girls weekend. La belle-mére arrived a week ago and was eventually picked up from the airport by her daughter, after a minor panic in the morning. La vieille voiture failed to survive two months of winter idle in the garage. Or more specifically the battery did - completely flat. Friendly local garage (2 minute walk away) started it for a mere 50 euro call-out charge, charged up the battery and then informed us the starter motor needed replacing too, suspected of being the cause of the prematurely flat battery. Total cost, more than 300 euros. Hmm, the old banger had better pass that controle technique this week…
Someone not suffering in the slightest from ignition problems is the little munchkin. The hesitant few steps have now developed into full-blown, confident walking, which now takes precedence over crawling most of the time. Astonishing how much babies develop in a mere 12 months, but no doubt all new parents say that…
Would that her parents were as full of energy. La bienheureuse survived her first trip involving two whole nights and days away from her darling(s), including most of Sunday, necessary for a brainstorming meeting with government authorities and competitor companies. Fortunately a strike somewhat perversely meant she got home four hours earlier than expected, early enough for bath and bedtime.
Meanwhile the old man exhausted himself in the pursuit of footballing pleasure over the weekend. The seven goal thriller in London on Sunday was preceded by an eight goal nail biter at Gerland on Saturday evening. The oil-rich mercenaries from Paris visited the plucky gones and walked away with the half share of the spoils, after coming back from two goals down in the last 10 minutes, including a last minute of injury time equaliser. Money can almost buy you everything. Still, fifteen goals in total made it an entertaining weekend.
It all made for a very pleasant weekend jaunt across the Channel. Flight Sunday morning was on time, quick pint with le grand gooner before the game, albeit in the company of a fifth columnist who remained remarkably restrained all the way through the remarkable match, even when his side's second, illicitly obtained, goal hit the back of the net. Just desserts in the end for the diving lily-white though.
Afterwards I made my way south of the river to visit le petit frère & la cuñada numèro dos. Kitchen now finished, witness a very tasty lamb shank dinner, but much of the rest of the house still a work in progress. Monday morning I trekked back to Stansted and thence home, while the two not-so-newly weds oversaw a fireplace installation before heading off for a holiday in the Indian Ocean. Their home for the following 10 days, an infamous hotel, scene of a recent murder. Ooerr…
Meanwhile, back in Lyon, la petite, la mère et la grand-mère enjoyed an all girls weekend. La belle-mére arrived a week ago and was eventually picked up from the airport by her daughter, after a minor panic in the morning. La vieille voiture failed to survive two months of winter idle in the garage. Or more specifically the battery did - completely flat. Friendly local garage (2 minute walk away) started it for a mere 50 euro call-out charge, charged up the battery and then informed us the starter motor needed replacing too, suspected of being the cause of the prematurely flat battery. Total cost, more than 300 euros. Hmm, the old banger had better pass that controle technique this week…
Someone not suffering in the slightest from ignition problems is the little munchkin. The hesitant few steps have now developed into full-blown, confident walking, which now takes precedence over crawling most of the time. Astonishing how much babies develop in a mere 12 months, but no doubt all new parents say that…
Would that her parents were as full of energy. La bienheureuse survived her first trip involving two whole nights and days away from her darling(s), including most of Sunday, necessary for a brainstorming meeting with government authorities and competitor companies. Fortunately a strike somewhat perversely meant she got home four hours earlier than expected, early enough for bath and bedtime.
Meanwhile the old man exhausted himself in the pursuit of footballing pleasure over the weekend. The seven goal thriller in London on Sunday was preceded by an eight goal nail biter at Gerland on Saturday evening. The oil-rich mercenaries from Paris visited the plucky gones and walked away with the half share of the spoils, after coming back from two goals down in the last 10 minutes, including a last minute of injury time equaliser. Money can almost buy you everything. Still, fifteen goals in total made it an entertaining weekend.
17 février 2012
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…
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…
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