Breakthrough

The spring that never was - the sun at last comes out, temperatures at last climb into the twenties and, somehow, all seems a little more right with the world. After throwing the mother of all paddies over papa denying her the right to perform gymnastics with a pair of nail scissors in her hand, la petite coquinette has been (almost) a model of good behaviour since. Of course part of that may be due to the fact that we had visitors last week.

The good Doctors C and the two now-not-so-mini Jezoids arrived on Monday on the early morning flight from Gatwick for a 5 day Lyon city break. They thus arrived chez nous in time for lunch before heading off to their hotel, allowing la petite a chance to nap and recover from the excitement of having two young lads to keep her amused. A short walk round the zoo convinced the visiting parents that an early night was necessary for them all to recover from the early start. And with la petite at crèche the following day, it was early evening before she renewed acquaintance with the two Jezlas.

In the meantime the tourists braved Lyon in the morning rain to visit the Roman amphitheatre before the weather improved enough in the afternoon for a play in the park. Dinner for seven back at ours followed, and it was thus well after nine by the time peace descended on the apartment once more and la petite was at last asleep having overcome a doudou lost in bed crisis. Her new, big bed that is. Another small rung on the ladder of toddler development was otherwise successfully climbed without drama (so far) last weekend, when a trip to Ikea to purchase a rug finally led to a rearrangement of la petite chambre and a move from cot to bed.

A group outing was on the agenda for Wednesday, with a trip to the park and lunch in the sunshine in one of the buvettes. La petite famille then headed home to allow a nap for la petite and la bienheureuse to beat the 2pm deadline. Our visitors stayed to enjoy more time in the park playgrounds and a boating trip on the lake before joining us for dinner once more.

Thursday was crèche day for la petite and meanwhile her parents were treated to lunch by the good Drs C. The expectant mother then headed home in time for two to await the visit that, of course, never came, while papa accompanied the Lyon tourists on a mini-tour of the old town. Up via funicular to Fourvière basilica, where a whinging cease-fire deal was reached between father and sons to allow a short visit inside the religious edifice, before we trudged down the hill for a look around la Musée Miniature et Cinéma. The young visitors were more interested in the original cinema props than the models that originally made the museum's name, but we still spent nearly two hours wandering through the exhibits. It was thus five rather foot-sore tourists who trudged back across two rivers for a final diner en (deux) familles.

The travellers were back in time for Friday lunch, before heading off to the airport to catch their flight home. They were thus privileged to witness the partial beginnings of another breakthrough in la petite coquinette's growth. Having resisted for some time virtually all attempts at potty-training, on Friday morning, as she wandered toute nue through the apartment (prior to our guests arriving I hasten to add), she suddenly decided it was time for a first proper pipi in the potty. And several more since. The process remains a bit hit and miss, since she still refuses to wear normal panties and once a nappy is on, well… a nappy is designed to be peed in, isn't it…? Mais bon, ça commence enfin…

Déjà vu

It sounded strangely familiar. A call, days before she was due to visit, from la soeur, warning that she might not make it, due to a missing passport this time rather than a merely out of date one. Fortunately all was well following a couple of expensive hasty dashes to the Liverpool passport office, despite some less than precise parental birth and marriage details. The fates hadn't finished toying with travel plans yet though. A forecast of heavy early morning snow in the frozen wastes of northern England forced a drive south late in the evening before her flight. But it was all worth it as she arrived on time in Lyon in 18 degree sunshine.

That was an isolated day of good weather though. Spring steadfastly refuses to arrive. There was however enough watery sunshine to allow the odd outing or two, including a trip to the park and ride on le petit train again. Not that much extra amusement needed to be provided, as aunt and niece generally found enough entertainment in each other's company. Not sure what la tante thought of the entertainment on offer one afternoon though, when it was a small bear cub with a sore head that woke up from her afternoon crèche rather than a happy, smiling toddler…

The day la petite was at the crèche, papa took his little sister for a first look at the new shopping complex at the Confluence. The year-old development has been criticised for being out of the way and poorly served by public transport, and veers between being very busy on Saturdays and during school holidays to empty during the week. It was indeed virtually deserted on a cold and breezy spring Tuesday, but getting there was easy enough on the tram, and we took the river shuttle back into the town centre, which was a pleasant way to travel. The top floor of the centre is also devoted to restaurants, with wooden decking and terraces, which I imagine would be very pleasant in the summer.

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…

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…

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…

Frozen out

The first snow of the winter fell in Lyon on the first day of the first winter month. A mere centimetre or so, but a sign that winter has arrived. That other harbinger of winter in Lyon, la Fête des Lumières takes place this weekend, an event that has lured la belle-mère across the channel for her habitual visit. Light energy and a small bundle of human energy - enough to keep her entertained almost full time. Any spare time is taken up with acting as temporary kitchen maid and seamstress.

Meanwhile, the predicted traffic armageddon in Lyon due to the closure of the Croix Rousse tunnel never happened, but almost arrived yesterday. The Franco-Italian summit was held in Lyon, leading to an all-day exclusion zone round the Prefecture du Rhône, cancellation of any buses going anywhere nearby, large traffic jams and much complaining by commuters. All with the aim of keeping protests about the proposed Lyon-Turin high-speed rail link at bay. In the end there were fewer than 1000 protestors, and most of the those arrived late in the day having been deliberately held up by police checks on the buses bringing them from Italy. Democracy and freedom of speech, who needs it…

President Hollande might have been spared the anti rail-link demonstrations, but he is still under fire from almost everywhere else. Rising unemployment, French credit-rating downgraded, low growth, etc, etc. Still, the main opposition have managed to bring him temporary respite by going into self-destruct mode. The recent UMP leadership election led to the victory of Jean-François Copé over François Fillon by a mere 98 votes in several hundred thousand. Despite a later recount somehow increasing the lead to nearly a thousand, the UMP seems almost irreconcilably split in two, Copé's hard right faction against the Fillon moderates. Seems likely to be a while before the right organises itself into an effective opposition to the government. Don't be surprised to see Sarko making a comeback in a couple of years, in time for the next presidential elections…

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...

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...

Heating up

And so the Olympics are over, life returns to normal and I get off my TV couch and high horse. If my previous blog entry gave the impression of an anti-British view of the London games in France, I should perhaps correct it. In general they have been well received in France, particularly with a minor French gold rush in the final weekend, culminating in a second successive gold for "les Experts" all-conquering handballers. It was rather France TV's sports presenters who I was ranting about, and they can be characterised as a group of grumpy old men nursing a grudge that it was the BBC rather than France TV who were the host broadcasters for the games…

Meanwhile, the domestic sporting arena has been confined to la petite performing gymnastics on the sofa, and a couple of trips to an aquatic complex that opened relatively recently just outside Lyon. With three indoor and three outdoor pools, including paddling pools, 'fun' pools and plain swimming pools it is the ideal place to take a toddler swimming. We'll cure that aversion to getting water in her eyes yet…

Elsewhere life trundles along much as normal. Another aversion of la petite coquinette, that of being examined by a doctor, is still alive, kicking and screaming you might say. A trip to the paediatrician for another jab and a certificate stating that she is safe to be let loose amongst other children in a crèche resulted in the loudest and strongest screaming and struggling fit yet. She is otherwise in perfect health.

The weather recently has been mostly warm and sunny, and the forecast is for temperatures in the upper 30s from this weekend onwards. Good job we are escaping to cool Britannia...

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...

Mellow yellow

A fortnight has passed and much has happened. La belle-mère arrived for a two week visit, she and la petite-fille spent three days getting reacquainted in hot Lyon and then we all set off in the petite voiture for a week's holiday in the deep sud-ouest;  more specifically the Lot-et-Garonne, a gentle land of green and gold, sunflowers and hazelnuts, ruined castles and hilltop mediaeval villages. We arrived at our base for the week, holiday residences near Monflanquin, after a smooth eight hour journey punctuated by service stops to keep la petite voyageuse from going car-seat crazy. We settled in and the week thereafter followed something of a routine - morning outing, relaxed afternoon, early evening swim, dinner and early to bed.

Sunday: with the aim of purchasing provisions for the first couple of days, we chose a morning trip to Pujols, a mediaeval village classed as l'un des plus beaux villages de France. Perched on a hilltop, with a Sunday market, it was indeed notably pretty. Provisions duly acquired, we sat down for a pizza lunch as the skies cleared, la petite made friends with the children from a large group of Dutch tourists and then displayed her talent for the grand departure by dramatically blowing a kiss at the perfect moment as we left. Mass "aaahhh". A scenic route home allowed a short afternoon nap, and then we sampled the heated outdoor pool in the holiday complex. Very pleasant.

Monday: the Chateau de Gavaudun was the chosen destination for the day's outing. On a warm sunny day we climbed and wriggled through the narrow entrance in a sheer rock face, and admired the views of the ruined castle and beyond from the top of the castle keep. Thence back to base for a late lunch, and late nap for la petite, which lasted three hours. Unheard of…

Tuesday: on the sunniest, hottest day of the week, we drove to le Jardin des Nenuphars, a calm and pretty garden of water-lilies and lotus flowers. The decision to stay for lunch in the outdoor café was the low point of the day. More than two hours later we finally finished the meal. A coach party of pensioners was the likely cause, but la petite didn't care, she just got ratty. However, the return to Monflanquin was notable for a couple of firsts. We took another scenic route home in the hope that la petite coquinette would sleep, a plan that worked better than our wildest dreams. Firstly she slept one when we stopped to look at a windmill on a hill, and then slept almost all the way home, a total of well over an hour. First time she's stayed asleep for more than 40 minutes in the car. A swim in the pool at the end of a hot day was more than welcome.

Wednesday: the weather broke, and heavy showers that came and went all day persuaded us to stay put and watch the rain coming down from the cover of the apartment. La bienheureuse cured a stir-crazy daughter by taking her for a walk in the rain, and then, like true Brits on holiday, we all went for a swim in a deserted pool despite a 10 degree drop in temperatures from the previous day.

Thursday: even cooler and wetter. Undaunted, we set off on the traditional morning outing, choosing a hazelnut farm with a self-styled 'museum' on the theory that we would be under cover. True enough, though we had a short wait outside while the owner came across from the farm to open the doors for us. Being the only visitors we had the benefit of a personal tour and tasting session, and naturally came away weighed down with nut oil, nut biscuits and nutty sweets. A short stop at another farm shop allowed us to stock up on that other local specialty, prunes. As it was even colder we skipped the swim in the pool on our return.

Friday: an improvement in the weather encouraged yet another outing, to another ruined castle. Le Chateau de Bonaguil calls itself the most beautiful fortified castle in France, and most impressive it was too, even if we were there a day early for the mediaeval fête the following weekend. After a picnic lunch in a shady spot above the chateau, we drove back to base and then, while the three generations of females slept or read according to age, the token male was given time off to finally visit Monflanquin, another plus beaux villages de France perched high on a hill. And very pretty it was too, all narrow alleys and picturesque stone buildings with an impressive central square bordered by arcades.

Saturday: homeward bound. A seven hour trip, including only two stops for a more travel-hardy toddler, and we were back in warm, muggy Lyon by five pm. The end of a pleasant and more relaxing than might have been expected week…

The last few days of la belle-mère's visit passed quickly for some. La bienheureuse spent 2 days and a night away in the company mother country while la grand-mère et la petite-fille enjoyed each other's company, apart from an extreme reluctance on the latter's part to go to bed. Perhaps the after-effects of a holiday during which she slept a lot during the day and went to bed late. Perhaps she was missing mama, or perhaps she was missing Wednesdays with her little playmates, as our nanny-sharing arrangement with the neighbours has sadly come to an unexpected and abrupt end.

Sun & water dance

On Saturday, the sun shone, the temperature climbed into the thirties and we spent the afternoon at the Fête de l'Eau, not so much a water party as the Jons village fête. A friend of la bienheureuse was one of the organisers, hence our presence, and we enjoyed delicious paella for lunch in the sweltering heat. Someone had rather thoughtlessly cut down the large trees that had apparently provided shade in previous years, but a giant marquee fortunately sheltered the lunch party from the worst of the sun, even if it also trapped warm air somewhat.

On the agenda after lunch was a guided visit to the Barrage de Jons, one of the dams on the Rhône management system that diverts water to a small hydroelectric station upriver of Lyon. Meanwhile, back at the party, dancing dogs, rides in horse-drawn carriages and various river craft continued through the afternoon. And so did the music, the rhumba band delighting la petite danseuse so much that she climbed up onto the dance floor and led the boogying.

The next day we recovered and the water arrived a day late, lots of it falling from the sky. As if in sympathy, the thermometer mercury tumbled too, a full fifteen degrees. From midsummer to early spring in one fell swoop, and la petite grognarde went a little stir crazy, despite being taken out for a walk in the rain by maman while papa remained dry in front of the TV tennis. Or perhaps she was suffering from the previous day's excitement and lack of sleep. Still, the day spent mostly indoors allowed her to practise her latest skill, climbing. Nothing so easy as the sofa for her. No, something more challenging like the baby walker or the wooden activity box. And once she's reached the top and stood up, the huge self-congratulatory grin - 'look, no hands, how clever am I?' - makes it hard to tell her off with a straight face.

A few days earlier a different sort of water was falling from above. La bienheureuse went into la petite chambre and realised there was leak coming from l'appartement au dessus. Visions of the infamous flood of 2006 came flooding back and she dashed upstairs to warn the neighbours. Yes, the same flat and the same neighbours who were the origin of that six month nightmare. 

Meanwhile, I hastened to see how many buckets might be required, only to find that the leak had stopped. The neighbours arrived in a state of some bemusement until Monsieur said to Madame, "Did you just water the plants?". She nodded. A simple case of an overfilled house plant pot; only damage - a couple of small damp patches on the bed cover. Phew!

Key costs

Before three days of almost continuous rain arrived, the last two days of last week were reasonably mild and sunny, which made for a pleasant start to the long Ascension bank holiday weekend. On both days we took advantage of the good weather with afternoon outings on the bicycles. On Thursday we cycled to the Parc de la Tête d'Or, a pleasant little trip, which had an undesirable ending. On returning to the garage the keeper of the keys (he that wears shorts with zip-closing pockets) searched in vain for the key. Only then did he remember that there was a hole in the particular pocket in which the key had been deposited. Oops. In my defence, the garage key is rather large and the hole rather small. Still, it had obviously slipped through somehow, and an hour spent retracing our route scanning the ground carefully was singularly fruitless.

And so the bikes accompanied us back to the apartment and were laboriously lugged up six flights of stairs. The next morning a call to a serrurier produced a reasonably prompt response and by early afternoon the garage was open. The locksmith's method of gaining access: a large screwdriver and a couple of judicious blows with a hammer. Not the most secure of lockups. Total cost of a lost key: 210 euros. Admittedly that included a replacement lock & keys, but apparently Friday counts as the weekend when it's a bridging day, hence weekend callout rates. Hmm…

Anyway, as the weather was still good my disgruntled mood was cured with another pleasant little balade à velo, further upriver this time, as far as the Parc de la Fessine, where la petite adventurière could wander far and wide without need for immediate parental intervention.

Damp squibs

Unlike in England the previous weekend, the football championship in France was rather gratifying won on Sunday by minnows Montpellier, who finished three points clear of the Qatari-funded Parisians. PSG won their final game at Lorient but then had to wait half an hour for Montpellier's match at already-relegated Auxerre to finish, after irate Auxerre fans twice interrupted the match with a barrage of smoke bombs, toilet rolls and tennis balls being thrown onto the pitch. Undeterred, the relatively impoverished men from the Herault held their nerve to win 2-1 despite going behind early in the match. In French football at least, money isn't yet everything...

Meanwhile I was at Gerland in the pouring rain, being kept up to date with events elsewhere by a neighbour with a smart phone, to watch Lyon's final game end in an entertaining 4-3 defeat to Nice. Strange match, perhaps not surprisingly given that OL already knew they could finish no higher and no lower than fourth, and that Nice needed three points to be sure of avoiding relegation. It rather neatly summed up a mixed season - lowest league place for 11 years but a trophy, the French Cup. Nice hit the woodwork three times in the first twenty minutes, only to find OL making the most of their chances and going 2-0 up. An inexperienced central defence then allowed the visitors to equalise and then take the lead in the second half with a rare Lloris error. Stung into action, les gones equalised and threatened the winner only to allow the Nice centre-forward to run through all the way from his own half and score.

Back on the home front, we enjoyed a quiet first weekend in three en famille, even if the weather was mixed in the extreme. Pleasant sunshine early on Saturday afternoon enticed la bienheureuse et la petite out for a shopping trip. New stock of toys duly purchased they made for home at the same time as the heavens opened, throwing down rain, lightning and hail. Rather large hailstones at that, but rather surprisingly a flimsy umbrella protected both mes bien-aimées.

A similar story on Sunday. Warm sunshine in the morning dragged us out to the market before the rain started coming down early in the afternoon. That didn't stop la petite coquinette from fetching shoes, her way of demanding to be taken out, and her mother duly obliged. No stay-at-home girl that little one. And the rain has barely stopped since. Summer is still dragging its heels...

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.

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…

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.

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…