Au revoir Melbourne

The temperature in Lyon today is a full 40 degrees lower than it was in Melbourne the day we returned from tropical Queensland. The following days we witnessed another graphic demonstration of Melbourne's wildly oscillating weather as the thermometer plummeted more than 20 degree. The next few days were decidedly chilly and forced me to dig socks, shoes and the single sweatshirts I'd brought out of the suitcase.

A couple of days after our return to Victoria, we decided to leave our hosts a little time and space of their own, and booked a couple of nights in the Grampians, which happily coincided with sunny and gradually warming weather. So it was that the 2nd Thursday of the new year, la bienheureuse, la belle-mère and I set off on the 3 hour drive and arrived in Halls Gap in time for a late lunch at the Brambuk Cultural Centre. Afterwards we drove up the twisting Mount Victory road for some sightseeing, starting with Mackenzie Falls. Impressive they were too, as was the climb down and back up from the base. On the way back to camp we stopped off at the Reed lookout to take in the views north and south across the northern Grampians, then had an early dinner in Halls Gap, viewed the grazing kangaroos on the sports oval, and finally retired for the night after a couple of commemorative games of Peanuthead.

Friday morning we set out early for a full day's sightseeing. Back up Mt Victory Rd to visit a succession of lookouts for a succession of stunning views. Boroka, for a panoramic view east, Reed again where we made the additional walk to the Balconies, then another stroll round the Zumsteins walk. Then we decided to venture further north for a bumpy ride to Ngamadjidj, one of the Aboriginal art sites in the area. Not quite as impressive as those we saw in Kakadu, but it was an enjoyable drive, enhanced by emu and kangaroo spotting, and finished off with delicious iced coffees and milkshakes. 

Next on the agenda was an evening watching traditional dancing at Bambruk, but we had time to take a round about route there via the Silverband falls and another pleasant walk in the forest. The Aboriginal dancing at the cultural centre turned out to have a large element of audience participation, much to the consternation of certain spectators. The troupe leader asked for volunteers, then when no hands were raised took much pleasure in nominating the victims. He eventually succeeded in getting everybody except some prim Italian ladies into the dance circle. A very enjoyable evening included a lesson on didgeridoo playing and a tasty stew dinner during the refreshment break. 

We decided to take the scenic route home, so early the following day we set off south and a bit west instead of east, and arrived at Cape Nelson lighthouse for a rather tasty lunch at the café. From there we wended our way east and joined the Great Ocean Road at the Warnambool end. Dodging (not entirely successfully) heavy rain showers, we managed to take in most of the viewpoints we didn't get to on our previous jaunt along the Great Ocean Road five years previously. The Bay of Islands, Bay of Martyrs, the Grotto, London Bridge and the Arch all received flying visits, before the approach of dusk forced us inland to take the fast road home.

We arrived back in Melbourne late in the evening where la cadette emerged from her cocoon upstairs in front of the spare TV and video, watching episodes of Friends for the hundredth time, to show us her birthday present. Intensive negotiations with her parents had rather miraculously (for both parties) transformed an iPod Touch into a tailless mouse named Kiko. The new arrival sent the previous centre of his mistress' affections, Snowy the budgerigar, into a hyperactive flurry of attention seeking. Pet birds can be jealous too. 

Our remaining four days down under passed all too quickly (and somewhat painfully in my case, afflicted by yet another back injury), filled with another trip to the cinema (Avatar or The Princess and the Frog according to viewing tastes), a drive south towards the Mornington peninsula to see and make sand sculptures at Frankston, an outing to Docklands for las sobrinas and la bienheureuse to try their hands at high wire walking, bungee trampolining, base jumping, trapeze swinging and jousting. La sobrina senior showed her usual poise and balance by excelling on the high wire, and la bienheureuse entertained with a couple of face plants off the trapeze swing. Great fun was had by all.

Alas Thursday the 21st arrived all too soon and it was time to bid a tearful goodbye. We miss them all dreadfully already. The trip home was long but smooth until we reached the car park at Lyon airport. Holding our breaths as I turned the key in the ignition did the trick, and the engine started more or less first time after surviving four weeks of snow and ice. We were home free. Or so we though. Resurfacing work in the car park meant the route to the exit was less than obvious and I found myself up a dead end. No problem, just reverse back and start again. Bang! Reverse? This old girl was not for reversing. The left rear brake seized up and refused to unlock. Nearly two hours later, with the help of the car park security man and the airport breakdown service, we eventually got on the road and safely made it home. Garage bill on Monday to replace shattered brake pads and ruined disc - 375 euros. An expensive decision to take the car rather than a taxi to the airport...

The best laid plans...

...of mice & men.

The schemes of the former seem to be going rather well. Our guest takes the bait laid outside the trap as a test but ignores all the tasty morsels within.

Our plans yesterday, on the other hand, were doomed from the start. The skiing idea was already thrown into question by la bienheureuse's injury. However, as we'd already paid (albeit a heavily subsidised fee), we decided to go so that I could ski while she spent the day relaxing, doing some gentle swimming, or similar. Thus, the alarm went off at ten to six, we drove to the pick-up point through the rain and awaited the coach, which duly arrived.

First sign of a problem, the tour rep tells everybody there are 4 bodies more than places on the coach. We thought about volunteering to drop out but decided to board anyway in case someone else hadn't turned up. However, on giving our names to the rep, he says "Ah, you're les anglais? You aren't registered because your social club organisers gave us too many names."

It wasn't clear who had decided this, but it seemed we'd been singled out purely for not being French. In truth we weren't that disappointed, having almost decided not to go anyway, but it was still somewhat annoying, to put it mildly, to have been picked on in such a fashion. If there was a problem with numbers, why weren't we told the previous day? The rep did say he could see if there was space on another of the travel company's coaches, but we said sod it, don't bother, went straight home & got back into bed...

The consolation, or so I thought, was that I could go down to the pub in the afternoon, watch the mighty Gunners win, then we could go along to Gerland and watch OL play that evening. Foiled again, firstly when Canal+ decided to switch the match they were showing to the one between two 2nd rate London teams all because the most mercenary French footballer in existence had just signed for one of them. I experienced a slight feeling schadenfreude when he started the match on the bench.

Then of course l'équipe de mon coeur only managed a draw. Not the most enjoyable Saturday in recent memory, though it did end well enough when OL managed a 3-2 win against a team which has apparently been a bit of a bête noir for them.

And today has somewhat redeemed yesterday. Lovely, crisp sunny winter's day here, which allowed us to enjoy a nice walk along the river and in the park. Even the lemurs in the plaine africaine were out squabbling and enjoying the sun.

Elusive rodents and smokeless bars

Mousetrap (humane) duly purchased, but souris still at large. Only sign that he's still about is the disappearance of a small piece of chocolate I put down near the fridge as a test. Cheese, bread & bacon remain unmolested.

We are off skiing tomorrow. At least I am, if the weather allows - forecast is for heavy snow in the mountains tomorrow and there's a southerly gale howling up the Rhone valley today. La bienheureuse will come along for the ride (day trip organised by the social club at work) but be unable to ski due to a twisted ankle sustained during a dangerous transit of Milan airport yesterday.

In her absence on Weds evening, I dragged myself along to the pub to witness the real Arsenal reserves somehow manage to escape with a draw against the local rivals. Not very pleasant viewing, sitting next to a sullen Totts fan, with a chattering group of English exchange students behind. Just the sort of thing we crossed the channel to escape...

A mouse in the house

Our uninvited guest is back. Spotted on Saturday evening, chased under the refridgerator. Closer investigation of said fridge suggested he was living in amongst the motor, or at least doing his business there. 'Nuff said except to add that there was no other sighting of the little pest himself. Mission for today - buy a mousetrap.

Our mission over the weekend was to buy a roofbox. The annual Meribel ski week is at the end of the month and we are expecting 3 guests the preceding and following weekends, who in turn are expecting transport from Lyon to the Alps. 5 adults, at least 3 pairs of skis, 4 pairs of boots, and assorted other luggage into one petite voiture does not go. Hence decision to invest in a roof box. Easier said than done.

15 minutes to choose and buy suitable box and roof bars. 60 minutes to figure out assembly instructions, borrow a screwdriver and mount bars on car. Another 15 minutes to decide that one of the bolts to affix bars to roof didn't fit in allocated hole, and a further 15 minutes to obtain help from shop and attached workshop. Still, it all arrived home still attached to the roof in one piece, so we assume plain sailing from hereon in. Though hopefully not literally sailing, given that it looks a bit like a sail attached to a car...

Sunday we sampled the delights of the newly smoke free eating and watering holes in France, and went to the pub to watch the mighty Gunners reserves eventually overcome plucky Burnley in the FA Cup. The place was unusually empty, whether due to the smoking ban or the popularity of said match, I couldn't possibly say...

A gourmand weekend, the patter of tiny feet

Feels like the festive season has already started, the over-eating side anyway. We currently have a house guest (actually probably two, but more of that later). Ms M is back in Lyon to finalize the sale of her flat, and is taking us out to a rather nice restaurant tonight to say thanks for the minor chore of occasionally going over to check it was ok during the year it has lain empty. And also for selling a couple of appliances on ebay for her. Then Saturday will be dinner chez nous with her and perhaps a couple of others. Pre-christmas dietary regime starts on Sunday. Maybe.

Last week while la bienheureuse was in allemagne, I spent an entertaining evening with another guest. An uninvited one. There I was sitting watching the football when out of the corner of my eye I saw something whiz across the floor. The shadow of the grim reaper? Nope, much smaller than that. Closer investigation eventually revealed a mouse. Un tout petit souris, about the size of my thumb.

Elusive little pest. I spent the next two hours moving furniture, on hands and knees trying to find and corner him. Sans succès. I only managed to set eyes on him twice more, once when I found him behind the settee, and once more after giving up on catching him, when he scooted under the table. I swear the little b*gger gave a little skip as he ran.
"Nyah, catch me if you can!"
Thought I had him cornered then, but could I find any trace of him again? Nope. Nor have I seen any sign of him since. Disappeared from whence he came? Or still cocking a snook at me from his hideout? I know what I think...

Meanwhile, elsewhere in France people fret about social unrest, the state of the economy, low purchasing power, etc, etc. And Monsieur Le Président is making an effort to be seen to be taking things in hand...