Travel weary

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…

Hot and cold

Well, summer arrived briefly (27C in the middle of last week, which encouraged a rather pleasant picnic dinner in the park one evening), then abruptly departed (a damp and chilly 9C on Sunday), and today spring seems to be trying to make a belated entry. The weather yoyo has seemingly mirrored other aspects of life over the last week or so. Potty training briefly gained momentum, but has since taken a back seat (so to speak) for a while. First success two weeks ago was followed by further encouragement when la petite coquinette was suddenly amenable to wearing 'big girl's knickers'. However, she was still only informing us about 'pipi' either when it was an event either in progress or already over. Which naturally led to four or five changes of underwear a day and, when it came to going to crèche, it seemed easier and kinder to put her back in nappies. And with a 6 hour cross-Channel train journey coming up this weekend, in nappies she'll stay for a while…

And after several weeks free of the wretched winter illness, last week le rhume struck the youngest member of the family once more, though fortunately a fairly benign strain which did little to put her off her stride. Meanwhile, the move to to a normal bed has been an almost unqualified success. Recently she's even been sleeping (or at least staying quiet) until eight and beyond. Only minor blip came one morning last week when we were roused by a rather plaintive whimpering rather than the more strident demands for attention that are more the norm. La bienheureuse went into la petite chambre to find the little dear curled up under the chair next to the bed. How long she'd been there or how she'd ended up there, only she knows. Our grasp of the syntax, vocabulary and grammar of toddler Franglais isn't yet sufficiently strong to decipher what she may have tried to tell us…

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...

Hard and easy

Toddler behaviour, part n: swings between sweet nature and irritable, stubborn bad moods seem to be par for the course at the moment, though it should be admitted that the upswings are generally longer lasting. Another weekend trip to the pool passed off sans tantrum, and capped a pleasant weekend that started as is now usual with papa et fille enjoying a 'motricité' session at the crèche. Songs, games, and circuit training for under threes add up to a fun-filled hour for toddler and parent.

The major behavioural downswing came yesterday morning, midway through a two-day spell without mama. A nappy change just after lunch resulted in a major tantrum which only ended when papa pretended, without having to put on too much of an act, to cry as loudly as his daughter. We'll put it down to missing mama (in Paris on her final work trip, by train, before confinement) and some ongoing digestive problems. Said nappy change was required after a concerted and eventually successful effort to force a bowel movement. Constipation is unsettling enough for an adult, so can't imagine how it makes a two year old feel. Fingers crossed things loosen up soon...

Brighter outlook

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

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

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

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

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

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...

Chink of light

While it was optimistic to expect all coughs and sniffles to have gone within a week, in the case of papa et la petite at least, there seems to be light visible at the end of the tunnel. For la travailleuse however, another cold has added to the persistent cough. Not serious enough to stop her travelling to Helsinki this week though, hopefully the last work trip for several months. Father and daughter just about survived two days and nights without her last week, but only just. Seems 72 hours without mama is the absolute limit for a nearly two year old toddler...

On a brighter note, sunlight reappeared in the apartment last week, the first indoor sighting since early November. Maybe the sombre, unhealthy days of winter really are numbered. Then again, maybe not. A couple of minor snowfalls last week would seem to suggest otherwise anyway, even if the bigger dump forecast over the weekend instead turned to rain. Temperatures are still well below the seasonal average though.

In the wider world, almost half the primary school teachers in Lyon and elsewhere are on strike today, as protest against the reform of the school week proposed for the start of the next academic year. For the last twenty or thirty years, French primary school pupils and teachers have had Wednesdays off. Up until a few years ago, they went to school on Saturday mornings instead, but that was done away with under the last government.

There is general agreement that this led to too intense a school day for the children (French primary school children have 6 hours of lessons a day, the  highest in Europe, when psychological studies show they are generally attentive for a maximum of 4.5 hours day). What there is less agreement about is how to redistribute the hours in the school week. The government is proposing Wednesday morning lessons, with a longer lunch break the other days of the week and non-academic activities in the afternoons. Parents and teachers alike aren't too keen of the idea of a change in the routine they've got used to over the last twenty years. The argument continues…

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...

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…

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.

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.

Lights in the dark

La Fête des Lumières, edition 2012 turned out to be one of the better vintages of recent years. Impressive displays in at la Cathédrale St Jean, la Place des Terreaux, la colline de Fourvière and le Théâtre des Celestins were the highlights. The only drawback of it all was that the festival seemed more popular than ever, with streets more crowded than ever. For example, an average of almost 200000 people watched "les Chrysalides de St Jean" each night, which is a lot of bodies to pass through the small square in front of the cathedral. La bienheureuse et la belle-mère were forced to queue for almost an hour to see that particular display. La petite famille's viewing was rather more restricted than usual, due to the demands and sleep needs of a small toddler, exhaustion, illness, and cold, damp weather.

Winter malady first reared its ugly head at the end of last month when la bienheureuse was struck down by a particularly nasty virus. Three weeks later she still hasn't shaken it, which isn't helpful given her condition, and now I've picked it up too. Worst cold in history. The streaming nose was relatively short-lived, but the more viscous snot is still clogging sore sinuses, leading to disturbed nights' sleep and the whole-body aches for a couple of days. La petite has also suffered her worst cold yet, but she at least seems more robust than her parents and it only lasted two weeks. The snotty period was followed by a chesty cough, loss of appetite, mild fever and a completely uncharacteristic listlessness that lasted several days. It was rather distressing to watch a little girl who normally never stops charging about just lying quietly on the floor feeling sorry for herself, and meekly going to bed with barely a whimper.

Still, things are looking up. Two weeks of rest and relaxation in damp Blighty over the Christmas break coming up. Though to get there we've got a 1200km drive with two sick parents and a child who hates car seats to get through first…

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.

Hearing things

Ups and downs. La petite still refuses to submit to prone nappy changes but, after minor protest, will at least sit down for part of the process. Minor progress, and as the cold and catarrh recedes, and teeth break through the gums, so her mood improves. Meanwhile, the heating finally goes on as temperatures drop, and her parents suffer their own form of seasonal-affective disorder. Tiredness and a ringing in one ear and throbbing in the other finally drove me to the doctor last week. Result: a blood test and a referral to an ENT specialist.

The blood test shows slightly high cholesterol, no surprise there, high iron and low salt and vitamin D levels. Hmm... After initially telling me to cut down on salt to reduce somewhat high blood pressure, the doctor reverses the advice, tells me to cut down on fatty foods, eat less red meat and prescribes more sunshine and a vitamin D supplement. The weather follows orders to a limited extent, turning milder and slightly sunnier.

Meanwhile the ear consultant checks my ears and hearing, and pronounces them both okay. He tells me the causes of tinnitus aren't well known and that there is probably little he can do about it. Doesn't stop him prescribing three different medicaments. No wonder the French national health insurance scheme is several billion Euros in the red. Though when I go to the pharmacy to get the prescription filled I discover one of the drugs is not reimbursed, which leads me to do a bit of research.

It turns out that the drug in question (a vasodilator) is on the 'close watch' list of the French medical safety agency after the equivalent European body pronounced it to have debatable benefits and undesirable side-effects, and recommended its withdrawal from prescriptions for ear problems. Oh, and that also happens to be made by the same pharmaceutical company that produced Mediator, the drug developed to treat overweight diabetics that may have caused the deaths of up to 2000 people before it was banned. Didn't stop the consultant prescribing it or the pharmacist selling it to me. Makes you ponder the nature of the links between consultants, pharmacies and drug companies…

Stand-up change

Week two of hum-drum autumn life, and things start getting a little less routine. La petite coquinette apparently enjoys herself while at the crèche, but home alone with papa it's an entirely different story. Grumpiness, tantrums, crying for no apparent reason. We put it down to a combination of teething (canines starting to push through), displeasure at being abandoned by papa every other morning, missing mama (away on another taxing, tiring 2 day trip to Brussels), and feeling not very well because of a lingering cold.

All very trying, particularly when she starts making a fuss during nappy changes. First hint is when one of the maternal assistants at the crèche asks me if she is scared of heights because of the problems they've been having changing her couche. Two days later the situation evolves to point blank refusals to lie down. She is quite happy to stand up to be cleaned and have a fresh nappy put on, which is all very well when the old one is just wet, but far from ideal when it's full of foul-smelling stuff and her bum is covered in it. And when there's only one nappy changer there's no way to make her lie down - the shit wouldn't just hit the fan, it would be covering the walls, ceiling, baby and changer too. Lovely, the things parents do for their beloved offspring…

I then discover that they've been doing standing changes at the crèche, for wet nappies at least, almost since she started there, which perhaps explains why she now refuses to lie down at home but not why she's suddenly decided it's an absolute no-no. Hmm, maybe she's ready to start potty training… So, over the weekend, first sign of straining, mama gets out the potty and puts her on it. "Uhuh, not sure about this", thinks la petite, but deigns to sit on it for about 30 seconds before getting up, sphincter firmly closed, and thereafter refusing to go anywhere near it. Toddler psychology, no fathoming it…

British BBQ

The weekend past was taken up with a flying visit across the Channel, Cambridge the destination, a barbecue to celebrate the half-century of la petite beaucoup the prime reason. We left warm, 27C Lyon sunshine behind on Friday afternoon and arrived in Stansted four hours later and twelve degrees cooler. There was at least a glimpse of sunshine as we drove the hire car towards Cambridge, where the welcome was as warm as usual. And habitually convivial, which meant the grey skies that greeted us in the morning matched the grey fuzz clogging up my skull. It was as usual though la bienheureuse who dragged herself out of bed to deal with the chirping coming from the room across the landing at seven o'clock on the dot. Young children obviously automatically recognise time zones.

The clouds soon brought forth rain, rain and more rain. Not the ideal weather for a BBQ, but while our hosts toiled in the kitchen we made a quick trip to the local supermarket to restock on vital British supplies and then kept la petite amused indoors. And then, as if by prior arrangement, as the first guests started arriving in the late afternoon the rain stopped. And then, as if by miracle, as the JeB sausages, lamb and pork sizzled in the grill the sun came out and dried up all the rain. Well, enough of it to make sitting and consuming but a small proportion of the provided feast outside feasible. And a great time was had by all, particularly one particular toddler who had twenty odd adults and a dog to amuse and be amused by.

We spent the next day consuming barbecue leftovers, took la petite coquinette to the local park, and otherwise enjoyed a lazy Sunday afternoon chez des chers amis. The next morning our travel alarm was already in the process of adjusting for the trip home because she woke up half an hour before the traditional hour of seven. Which did at least mean we had an unrushed morning before we bade a fond farewell to the lady of the house and weekend, and set off homeward bound. Apart from longer than usual queues at the airport, we had a smooth trip and were back in warm, sunny Lyon soon after 5pm.

And there the pleasant weekend ended and a nightmare night started. The travel-weary toddler went to bed as usual but was awake 45 minutes later. She was settled back to sleep and woke up again 45 minutes later. She was settled back to sleep again and awoke 45 minutes later. Whereupon she refused to go back to sleep for the next four hours. When finally we did all get back to bed at about three in the morning, the little so-and-so allowed us five hours of uninterrupted rest. I use the word rest advisedly because sleep wasn't easy to come by…

And in the morning, when we were all finally up, the reason for her unrest became clear. A wretched cold, courtesy presumably of cold weather Blighty. Another interrupted night followed, albeit less dramatic, but our own little domestic drama was put into perspective by a real life drama we witnessed on our traditional afternoon outing to the playground yesterday. A group of passersby was gathered around a man lying flat on his back on the footpath along the river. The drama soon became a crisis as two of the helpers started administering artificial resuscitation, heart massage and all. Flashing lights heralded the arrival of the pompiers a few minutes later and they continued the resuscitation for a few minutes before putting the victim into a recovery position. Then a medical emergency team arrived, put on a BP cuff and put in a drip, which I took to mean the unfortunate fellow was alive.

And so la petite and I went home to resume our mundane routine of the mealtime and bedtime battles that have intensified since the return of le rhume...

Dampened expectations

The first round of the parliamentary elections in France yesterday were inevitably somewhat overshadowed by the presidential election that preceded them a month ago. It wasn't until about 10 days ago that the media started paying much attention at all to them, and that was mainly focused on the more high-profile constituencies such as the extreme right-far left punch-up between Le Pen & Melenchon. And it seems enthusiasm for the vote was duly dampened, perhaps in part by the wet weather yesterday, because the turnout was the lowest ever in the republican era. 

The new president seems likely to be given a workable parliamentary majority, even if it is only with the support of the far left. Thanks to the election system, the Front de Gauche are ironically predicted to gain a dozen or so seats, at least four times as many as the Front National despite only getting half the number of votes and Melenchon losing the mediatised battle with Le Pen. Long may it continue…

Chez these particular disenfranchised foreigners, the election more or less passed us by. Other matters demand greater attention:

the weather - the arrival of summer ten days ago turned out to be a mere rumour. Since that blazing hot Saturday, temperatures have dropped below seasonal norms and the rain has been more or less ever present. Taking la petite out for her daily constitutional has become an exercise in dodging the showers. Yesterday we got it wrong. A trip by bike to the local garden centre for lunch and an emergency purchase of wellies for la travailleuse's sugar beet field trip to eastern Germany this week seemed a good idea until we left the shop to find the rain coming down. No waterproofs either. Fortunately it eased enough for us to get home without getting too wet.

toddler health: another routine visit to the paediatrician last week produced familiar results - tears and struggles before the jab but not after, a clean bill of health, another 3cm, another kilo, and a recommendation from the good doctor that la petite take up judo after her demonstration of muscle strength. He also warned of minor after-effects from the MMR vaccine, which possibly explain why la petite succumbed to yet another cold a few days later.

toddler adventure: the cold doesn't stop the little stunt artist from frequent demonstrations of her new found climbing skills. Latest favourite mountains to conquer are the arms of the sofas, from which it's great fun to fall backwards onto the soft sofa cushions. Continual admonishments from mama & papa as they nervously eye the more dangerous fall in the other direction have little effect.

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.

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…

Laboured endings

April is over, thank goodness. April showers made their final bow on Monday with a flourish - prolonged showers that merged into virtual all-day rain that is. In May the sunshine is back, albeit somewhat uncertainly, but we made the most of the dry, milder weather on the second and fourth days of the long weekend by dusting off the bikes and pumping up tyres for the first petites balades à velo for the year. La petite coquinette was a little unsure her new throne with its view of mama's derrière, but was soon smiling once we set off up and down the river. As for April ailments, they seem to be gradually alleviating too. Roll on the summer…

The end of a different type of season is almost in sight too. Olympique Lyonnais will finish a mixed football year with one trophy to show. On Saturday night they laboured to a 1-0 victory in the French Cup Final, to at least partly redeem their abject previous performance at the Stade de France. The heroic feat in defeating the amateurs of Quevilly was deemed worthy of an appearance on the balcony of the Hôtel de Ville on Sunday, where certain players got themselves into trouble by participating in anti-St Etienne chants. The league season meanwhile looks like being somewhat less rewarding, as OL remain 5th (4th if they win a game in hand), outside the Champions League qualification places, 9 points (potentially 6) behind third placed Lille, who beat second placed PSG on Sunday night. Five games to go.

The end of the political season is also close. Sarkozy's current presidential mandate comes to an end next weekend and, at the moment, he looks unlikely to be granted a second. Hollande is still ahead in the polls, and Marine Le Pen announced yesterday that she would vote blank in the next round, 'leaving it to the conscience' of her supporters on how they should vote. The consensus among political commentators seems to be that enough NF voters feel betrayed by Sarko following his election in 2007 to make it unlikely that he'll harvest enough of their support this time round. On verra…