Three and easy

Splendid weekend, more like April than mid-January. Dawn to dusk sunshine and temperatures in the mid-teens dragged us out on Saturday afternoon for a walk in the park, where giraffes gambolled in the belief that spring had arrived. The weekend also marked the official start of le congé maternité de la bienheureuse. Not quite the end of work though, because the infernal computer came home with her to allow peace of mind and a few bits and pieces to be finished off.

Saturday was also first day back for French football after the winter break. Feeding both English and French habits proved a logistical problem, with the Gooners in the early evening slot and les Gones playing at 9pm. La bienheureuse has ceded her seat at Gerland to a work colleague for the rest of the season but accompanied me to the pub in the hope of eating dinner while we watched part one of the evening's drama. Vain hope, with the pub full of first Saturday sales shoppers and the crucial match only on the upstairs screen where food is banned. An attempt to persuade the manager to put it on downstairs failed, so she went home and put her feet up while I watched the Irons easily hammered and then hotfooted it to Gerland. End result, two comfortable 3-0 wins, with the transformation of a former whipping boy from the local enemy into a top Gone hero complete.

Baked consolation

Never was my favourite month, nasty November. It was dry on Saturday, allowing us a stroll in the park, but the dull light didn't allow full appreciation of the colours of autumn. Sunday it rained all day, I splashed through the streets of Lyon to the pub to watch a typical November performance from my favourite team. At least the rain hid my tears.

Consolation as ever was found at home. La bienheureuse spent a large part of the weekend baking. Chocolate & beetroot cake, red cabbage & bacon soup, home made bread, onion & goat cheese quiche. And baked beans on toast for lunch. Comfort food for a moody month.

Hotheads and Pissheads

First game, first trip of the season to the pub. Frustrating afternoon in Scouseland for the not so glorious yellows. Lovely though it was to see the opposition keeper throwing the ball into his own net for a change, it was two points lost rather than one gained. And just to add to the enjoyment I had to put up with a drunk, who invited himself into the spare chair next to me and proceeded to bend my ear about everything and nothing, including the opinion that Mancunians and Liverpudlians were 'voyous', and a bizarre obsession with how close each London club was to the Thames. Still, at least his allegiance switched from Scouser to Gooner in the space of twenty minutes. Perhaps it was my glowering that did the trick...

Elsewhere, the epilogue to les Bleus World Cup debacle is taking place this afternoon in Paris. Result: 15 match ban for the hotheaded catalyst, and 5, 3 and 1 match bans for the strike ringleaders. May that be the last of it.

Apart from the afternoon in the pub, the only activity of note over the weekend: a stroll along the river for lunch on Saturday, and a sortie to Les Halles by la bienheureuse in the midst of a cooking frenzy on a cool and rainy Sunday. The resulting fish pie, crumble and carrot cake are going down very nicely. Must try and do some more exercise…

Dark football nights

And so OL's day of history foundered on the rugged rock of a German team that was just too strong, too well organised and too good. When we arrived at Gerland on Tuesday 20 minutes before kickoff the mood was optimistic, the crowd in good voice. After surviving an early scare in the first two minutes, OL came on strong, ten men running, chasing, harrying. It lasted 15 minutes. The Bavarians were already back in control when they scored the goal the whole of Lyon dreaded. If it wasn't all over then, it was soon after half time, when Lyon's Brazilian captain was booked for what looked like a perfectly good tackle. Unwisely he offered some sarcastic applause to the ref, who pondered a moment and then produced a second yellow card swiftly followed by a red. No sense of humour, these arbitres.

So we woke yesterday to a sunny day but gloomy city. La bienheureuse had taken time off from a big meeting at work to go to the match and returned to the fray yesterday, while I finally won a battle with a recalcitrant online banking system despite the racket from the renovation work in the building next door. Sounds more like a complete demolition that at times threatens to take down our building as well.

In the evening, I wandered into town to watch the second semi-final at our favourite watering hole in the company of a colleague of la bienheureuse, while the lady herself was indulging in a post-work gourmet trail through Vieux Lyon, sampling food and wine before finishing the evening with more food and wine in a restaurant. Meanwhile, in the pub, we supped Irish beer and watched a demonstration of attack and defence on TV. An Italian team coached by a Portuguese master of the dark arts of defending against the Catalan kings of attacking - 75% possession, 550 odd passes against 67, 15 shots against 1, eleven men against ten: no contest. Another triumph for anti-football.

And on another anti-football theme, seven 'fans' groups in France have just been disbanded in an attempt to resolve the hooliganism issue. Five are from Paris, one from Nice, and the last is Lyonnais. Any bets on how long it takes for them to reform under another name…?

Rain and pain

A weekend to forget. Saturday was pleasant enough, out for a stroll with la bienheureuse, bought Corsican maps for the upcoming big five zero trip. Then cooked a rather excellent, improvised roast duckling while ma bien-aimée wandered the Christmas market looking for gift inspiration. Nice bottle of wine in the evening.

Gloomy Sunday. Grey day, la bienheureuse was forced to do some work dumped on her at short notice by the ever thoughtful EU authorities, then we ventured out for an afternoon and evening of football. Painful couple of hours in the pub watching blue robots on steroids grind luckless football flair into the mud under the pouring London skies. When we escaped from hell, just to rub our noses in it, it was pouring with rain outside as well. We trekked to Gerland, found shelter for a while in the Ninkasi for pre-match food, then splashed into the ground to watch OL be outplayed by a lively Stade Rennais but escape with a draw. A wag in the crowd summed the Lyon team up perfectly - "good keeper, one good striker, rubbish in between."

Today I attempt to lose myself in work and forget football. Fat chance...