Mountain high

As the temperature climbed last week, reaching 34C on Friday, we decided to stick to our original plan of a weekend in the mountains despite a less than optimistic forecast. And so, in the afternoon, we headed east, air-conditioning on max, and arrived at Meribel shortly after five pm. After settling into our accommodation for the weekend, courtesy of une amie de la bienheureuse, we headed straight for a cooling dip in the small pool that is part of the apartment complex. Very nice it was too.

Thunder rumbled ominously overnight and Saturday morning dawned cool and damp. At least I think it did - hard to tell with shutters closed and a toddler who remarkably slept until after eight in the morning. Luxurious lie-in. Thereafter the rain cleared and the pattern for the rest of the weekend was set: gradually clearing skies, morning sortie, lunch, attempt to give a nap to the youngest member of the family, swim in the pool, dinner, bed.

The first morning we hiked up from La Chaudanne to Mottaret, roughly following what in winter is the Truite piste. Nice easy green run down on snow, bit of a slog up on foot, particularly carrying a 11 kilo wriggling bundle on your back. We hadn't necessarily intended to go all the way to Mottaret but chose to follow a newly constructed path along the Doron stream and there was no way off it before we reached the top. All good exercise, and we recovered with a very pleasant outdoor lunch at one of the cafés in Mottaret. La petite coquinette then unsurprisingly fell asleep on her mother's back on the way down, albeit for only ten minutes, but that was enough to persuade her that any further nap that day was unnecessary. She did however, stay happily enough in bed for 40 minutes while mama read and papa napped in the sunshine on the terrace outside.

On Sunday, it was cooler still, but with the sun coming and going it was nice enough to contemplate another walk in the mountains. Actually, we chose one that was more or less flat, a pleasant stroll along the banks of Lac Tueda, with another nice café lunch, though the cold breeze forced us indoors on this occasion with traditional mountain fare, tartiflette, on the menu. Another brief nap on the way home, this time in the car, put paid to any ideas these concerned parents might have had about their daughter getting enough sleep. Another sleepless half hour in bed this time ended in vociferous complaint.

Uninterrupted sunshine was forecast for Monday and we were having such a good time the next that we decided to stay an extra night. We thus fitted in another walk the following morning, driving up to Altiport for a slow wander in the woods  (little legs don't always follow straight lines) around the 'sentier des animaux'. And then alas, it was time to head back down to the stifling heat of Lyon. La petite was a little less cooperative in the car this time - slept the first 45 minutes and then screamed for the next half hour necessitating an emergency refreshment stop. Car journeys still aren't her favourite way of passing the time...

Burning bus, blazing sun

The week before was one of anticipation - of the return of the annual ski trip, and the forthcoming life-changing arrival. The latter necessitated another antenatal session and a rendezvous with an anaesthetist. All seems to be proceeding fine, with the wriggling, kicking and hiccupping little bump full of life. A larger bump proved rather more problematic, with a search for a helmet to fit my abnormally-sized and shaped head ending empty-headed.

From Friday onwards, skiing dominated events. The annual trip to Meribel was reinstated after last year's short hiatus. With minor personnel changes it followed a time-honoured course established over previous years, and went something like this:

Saturday
Le grand frère arrives on an early flight, I pick him up from the airport and then force march him to Les Halles to purchase cheese provisions for the week. Boeuf Bourguignon prepared and put in the oven before sacrificing my internet-stream-side seat at the sacred ground to set off to the airport once more to collect the DenEboy. The men in red and white manage a comfortable win in my absence. Back home we all await the arrival of J&C. And wait, and wait. Lost in Lyon. Again. They eventually get here with the help of some real-time telephone guidance, and a predictably convivial evening follows. Main topic of conversation: girls' names. Strange but true.

Sunday
We're up by nine am, le père potentiel suffering the mild after-effects of champagne, Côtes du Rhône and dodgy whisky. Organiser and head chef are away by ten, leaving the rest of us to install roof box, load up and follow about an hour later. Hopes of getting in a half-day skiing are dashed by a malfunctioning entry keypad and a coach on fire. The former causes the vanguard to await the arrival of an electrician, who is held up along with the rest of us in a 10km traffic queue behind the burning bus between Albertville and Moutiers. After 90 minutes spent going nowhere, we eventually arrive in Meribel village sometime after 3pm. A relaxing afternoon follows, and in the evening the gastronomic festival kicks off with a special from le grand chef - salmon and horseradish hors d'oeuvres, courgette and parmesan soup, with baked salmon and creamed parsnip to follow. All washed down with champagne and an eminently palatable vin blanc de pays de Provence. Le grand chef introduces l'architecte to the Tourterelle digestif tradition - a few generous snifters of Cognac.
Monday
The newcomers are scared into rising early by alcohol-fuelled talk of hitting the slopes at nine - a ploy by the old hands, which ensures croissants on the breakfast table by the time the majority make an eventual appearance. We're all finally sitting on the first lift by ten. A gentle morning skiing en masse follows - Jerusalem, Choucas and Le Grand Duc (scene of the first wipeout of the week - honours to le grand frère). Expensive pizzas for lunch in the Chaudanne, after which les skieuses head off for their first Super Suzie session of the week, leaving les garçons to sample the snow and the Combe de Saulire in Courchevel. Meanwhile la femme enceinte has been neglecting the strict observation of restful confinement by baking the traditional gâteaux choco-banane for our return and cooking lovely lamb tajine for dinner, complemented by un bon Côtes du Rhône and a sampling of the generous cheese board.

Tuesday
Early rising for those keen to improve their skiing, somewhat later start for the more lackadaisical. The latter find good snow on the red fox, but that one final run turns to near disaster, with a tumble and a dislocated shoulder for the le grand gooner. Fortunately he manages to pop it quickly back in, and soldiers manfully on through the pain for the rest of the week. We head over to Courchevel and meet up with les filles post lesson at 1650. Lunch taken and it's back onto the gentle 1650 pistes before those pesky Marmottes do their best to disrupt the journey home. Meanwhile la bienheureuse has been taking some exercise of her own at the swimming pool. For dinner la petite chefeuse rustles up tasty sausage casserole, champagne and Coteaux de Tricastin are quickly knocked back and then les gooners head to the pub to catch the second half of a famous semi-final comeback. Return to Wembley at last.
Wednesday
No pedagogic delights for les filles today, so it's a mass outing to the slopes below Dents de Burgin, where everybody practises their squidgy chocolate toes and squat-loo turns. Then all back to the chalet to give la future maman some company at lunch. And that's it for the day for some, the lure of sunshine on the front terrace proving stronger than artificial snow. Ma bien-aimée accompanies la grosse tête into Meribel in search once more of an oversized helmet, while the rest of the boys hit the slopes once more. Protection for an abnormal brain found at last. While le grand chef cooks up an old favourite for dinner, the remaining old rockers head to the packed pub to enjoy a brief Bring Your Sisters session. Back at the dinner table, venison stew is savoured with another old favourite, a veille vignes Vacqueyras from Le Couroulu.

Thursday
Morning lessons once more, the eager beavers are up and out early for their rendezvous with Super Suzie. The laggards follow some time later and head to Les Menuires and La Masse to find the best snow of the week and lunch in the company of sundry like-minded personnes agées. The Tourterelle tyros are on cuisine duty in the evening and after la belle Debutante whips up a rich fruitcake while the stone man rustles up a corking Coq au Vin, complemented by un jolie Petit Chablis. They then introduce the rest of us to a frustrating after dinner game: Newmarket. Just like betting on horse racing: all luck and no skill. At least, smartyboots claims that as the reason for ending up bankrupt while smartyskis and la petite beaucoup walk away with the biggest pots of pasta.
Friday
Gruelling all-dayer for the Suzie pupils. The boys are bemused to discover that the sun has disappeared but, undeterred, head for the crowded heights of Val Thorens and la Cime de Caron. Nice, breezy run down, but once is deemed enough for the day, and we all do our bit by accompanying a troupe of mini-skiers on a lift on the way home. At Mont de la Chambre we go our separate ways; le grand chef goes off towards Les Menuires to practise his counter-rotation; the tired architect heads for home; the DenE and BJ boys attack lunch and then Mont Vallon before one quick run down Combe Saulire to say they'd skied 3 valleys in a day. Meanwhile la bienheureuse treats herself to a facial before purchasing provisions and preparing fantastic fruit salad. The newly helmeted chef allows his brother to perform the potato peeling donkey work, leaving only the easy job of putting together the traditional tartiflette. Côtes du Rhône, Vacqueyras and Cognac finish the evening off nicely for most, though les debutants and the DenEboy still have enough energy for a quick pub sortie, quick being the operative word. Seems Bring Your Sisters' late evening set caters more for the younger crowd: stripteases and ankle-deep broken glass de rigueur.
Saturday
Last day, let's all ski together. All apart from l'expert, who tires of waiting for the rest of us to get moving and heads for his own favourite black runs. The less ambitious go up Col de la Loze, down into La Tania, back up and down into 1850. Then lunch at the Courchneige, well worth the hour spent searching for it. In the afternoon a final foray into 1650 before heading home without the DenEboy ever catching us up. Leftover venison, sausages and tartiflette for dinner. Tasty as ever, and the final bottles of champagne and Coteaux de Tricastin polished off too. Wine quantity perfectly judged, wine quality judged perfect.

Sunday
The Cambridge flyers are up and away by six am, so quietly that no-one hears them go. Le grand chef et la petite organisateuse are next to head home, leaving le grand frère and the mogul-lover to hit the slopes for a farewell morning's skiing, while the bump and old bighead enjoy a pleasant walk up through the ice, snow and trees to the altiport. We take the lift back down, a novel experience for both of us, and then eat lunch at the Lodge while watching the Gunners struggle to shake off the tenacious Terriers. All's well that ends well, the 5th round beckons, the boys return, and the four of us pile into la veille voiture for the trip home. Tired but satisfied, we reach Lyon at 5.30 and collapse into bed not long afterwards. Another terrific Tourterelle trip comes to an end…

Late snow

The arrival yesterday of summertime went unnoticed for two reasons: firstly we were in the mountains for our first and only skiing trip of the season, where several hours of heavy snow mocked the idea that winter was over; secondly, being in holiday mode, we both completely forgot that the clocks were going back, so spent the whole of yesterday blithely ignorant of the fact that it was an hour later than we thought it was until we got home and switched on the TV to watch the eight o'clock news that had already been and gone.

Nonetheless, we had a very enjoyable, if mixed weather-wise, couple of days. A work colleague of la bienheureuse kindly lent us her apartment for the weekend, and after picking la salariée up from the airport on Friday evening we made it up to the corner of England that is Meribel by 10pm. The following morning dawned bright and sunny, and so it continued until lunchtime, which, with a decent fall of snow the previous day, made for very pleasant skiing conditions, even if ma bien-aimée was restricted somewhat by her perennially dodgy knee. At lunch the snow started falling. And kept falling, into the evening, and into the night. It was still falling as we ventured a few yards up the road from the apartment complex for a very tasty meal and a nice bottle of Mondeuse, and was still falling as we slipped back to bed.

By the morning the snow had stopped, and a good six inches lay on the ground outside the apartment window. Alas, la bienheureuse decided her knee wasn't up to more skiing, but consoled herself with the purchase of a pair of raquettes à neige and a walk in the snow round Lac de Tueda, and allowed me to sally forth solo in eager anticipation of a day's skiing on lots of fresh, lovely snow. So eagerly did I take advantage that by lunchtime my thigh muscles had virtually seized up. That was partly due to the hour or so that I didn't enjoy, at Mont Vallon, where the flat light and wall to wall whiteness offered absolutely no contrast. I had no idea what I was skiing on and consequently any technique I might possess went out of the window. Bumps, fresh snow, flat snow, steep slope, shallow slope, it all looked the same to me. I was thus exhausted when we met up for a late lunch, a very late lunch, but a very tasty lunch. Afterwards, I bravely managed to fit in a couple of more runs down from Saulire. The snow came down again in the afternoon but conditions higher up, between two layers of cloud, remained excellent.

Down in the resort it was rain rather than snow but, by the time I'd helped la travailleuse finish cleaning, tidying and shutting up the apartment in readiness for the return of its proprietors next weekend, it had eased off so it was an undemanding and uneventful drive home. This morning, my body is screaming in protest at the excesses of the weekend, but the sunshine and spring weather are back. Unfortunately it looks unlikely to last long...

Ill winds

It was rather windy in Lyon on Saturday evening, blowing enough to buffet us on the walk to the metro station, and enough to spoil the spectacle of the match (viewed through generously tinted spectacles, anyway), which OL eventually won comfortably enough, even if they had to rely on a slightly bizarre injury time own-goal to confirm it. However, the stormy weather was obviously nowhere near as violent as it was further west. La tempête Xynthia is being blamed for 50 deaths, the worse tally in France for 30 years, most of them drownings as the winds combined with a high tide to flood coastal areas.

When we got home from the match I was jubilant to discover that the pure football red and white angels had at last slain the anti-footballing beasts in their own Potteries home. It all turned rather sour later though, with the news of another horribly broken leg. St Arsène is right to cry foul - three in less than four years is a direct consequence of the over-physical approach that most inferior teams take in order to 'stop Arsenal playing', and of the fact that such an ethos is condoned, nay applauded, by most of the English media. I might also suggest that causing two broken legs in less than three years is no coincidence for the aggressor in question either...

The wind still blew but the skies cleared yesterday. The warm sunshine was almost spring-like as we took advantage with a short stroll along the river. The variable weather was one of the reasons we decided to abandon a proposed weekend in the mountains. Having done no skiing whatsoever this year, it was a hard decision, swung in the end by the fact that I came down with a cold. Another first for life in Lyon - I claim it's the first time I've caught a cold in France. May it be the last for at least another eight years...

Instead of skiing, we settled for a weekend of recuperation (ie lazing around) on my part, and a whirl of cleaning and cooking de la part de la bienheureuse. Cauliflower soup, apple and blackcurrant crumble, tiramisu and an almost tidy bedroom to look forward to for the remainder of the week...

Black motoring days

This weekend marks the mid-point of the French winter school holidays, and that means tomorrow is one of the busiest days of the year on the roads as one third of the country goes back to school, another third goes on holiday, and the final third are in the middle of their two weeks off. Fittingly, as hordes of holiday makers head onto and off the slopes, in the region around the Alps Saturday is classed as black in a similar fashion to the way ski pistes are classified - green for no problem, black for scary...

It's not been a good week to be a motorist in general. Yesterday the government announced more measures to improve road safety - principally more cameras, which will be harder to spot than current models, and the introduction of average speed cameras in key places like tunnels. Since automatic speed cameras were introduced in France seven years ago, the number of deaths on French roads has dropped by more than 40%, though last year an average of 12 people per day still died. The aim of the new measures is to reduce annual road deaths to below 3000 by 2012.

Another bit of news yesterday that is likely to cause grief for motorists in France, was the threat to go on indefinite strike by petrol refinery workers, in support of the strike at six Total refineries, including the one just south of Lyon, and over worries about the future of the industry in France. There are apparently just 10 to 20 days worth of petrol stocked in France...

Slush fun

Easter in the Alps, spring skiing, sunshine. What more could you ask? Slightly cooler temperatures, perhaps. Our couple of nights in La Plagne turned out to be enjoyable, sunny and warm. Very warm. I hesitate to say too warm, but at times it was closer to water skiing than the alpine variety. We drove up on Saturday morning to find blazing sunshine and temperatures in the upper mid-teens. I set off for three hours of skiing on slush while la bienheureuse, nursing a knee, settled for a short walk and late lunch in a café. I found some decent runs higher up and then found my beloved for a drink before the final few splashes down the pistes. In the evening we decided on a pierrade (self-cooked meat selection on a hot stone) dinner in the local restaurant, which turned out to be delicious and enormous.

Sunday, still digesting protein, la bienheureuse decided not to risk her knee in the heavy snow and left me to seek out higher snow on my own. Not an easy task when the glacier was closed due to high winds, but I found one lovely run on snow of the normal, frozen variety. Meanwhile ma bien-aimée set off without planks of wood on her feet, hiking towards higher ground herself. We eventually made rendezvous in a mountain side restaurant, where hardy locals in shirt-sleeves braved the stiff breeze to sunbathe.


An early finish allowed plenty of recovery time (read 'siesta'), a hot bath and a delicious dinner, beautifully cooked (read 'heated in the microwave') by la bienheureuse, in our little studio apartment. The following morning, I gave the slush-skiing a miss and we both went for a lovely little walk through the woods on a snow-covered path and along a pretty mountain stream, followed by another restaurant lunch outdoors in the sunshine.

Thence back to Lyon and work the following morning. Not for long in my case, as I yielded to deep urges on Wednesday and caught a morning flight across the Channel, where I spent a few hours enjoying the sunshine in London, and then two hours enjoying football played as it was meant to be played. Yesterday I returned home to be treated to the first éclairs of the summer. Not cakes of the chocolate and cream variety, but bolts from the sky. Yes, a thunderstorm in April. At least it wasn't accompanied by hail which covered the ground 10cm thick, as occurred in the Cevennes last night...

Sunshine and melting snow?

The abnormally warm weather in Lyon has continued most of this week, though the sun only really reappeared yesterday. It's forecast to continue most of the holiday weekend too, which is mildly concerning as we're off up into the mountains for a couple of days. Fortunately, this winter has been one of the best ever in terms of snow, so there should still be some left when we get there...

Meanwhile, the city is quiet as people head off for their Easter holidays. Elsewhere, today sees the appearance of the 20000th edition of L'Equipe. A daily sports newspaper with high quality journalism is something sadly lacking in Blighty.

A slippery slope

A new experience last week. A visit to an optician, who confirmed what I already knew - I'm getting old. At least my eyes are. In fact he said my eyesight was normal for my age and surprisingly advised that I get a 10 euro pair of reading glasses from a pharmacy, rather than a 200 euro prescription pair from an optician. La bienheureuse still has perfect eyesight. To go with everything else.


The weekend saw us head off into the mountains for the annual ASRA winter sports event. Having been a bit under the weather during the week, and still suffering from a dodgy knee, la bienheureuse decided not to ski, which was unfortunate because the snow was as perfect as the weather. The big race this year was delayed till the afternoon to allow the ESF organisers to attend a morning service in commemoration of a local guide killed in an avalanche earlier in the week. We thus enjoyed a fine barbecue banquet on the piste before attacking the slalom course.

And attack it, I did, determined to improve on last year's time. Emboldened by the good snow, off I went, enthusiasm obscuring the fact that 50 odd skiers before me had scoured and rutted the course. I hit the steep section, la mur, a little too fast, and my arse hit the snow. Managed to get back up fairly quickly, continued without missing a gate, and skied the rest of the course rather well, even if I do say so myself.

Time: faster than a couple of previous attempts but 7 seconds slower than last year's best. Ah well, there's always next time, and consolation was found in the football results later in the evening, even if an exhaustive search of the bars in Montalbert only turned up rugby. Did eventually get a barman to turn over for the last five minutes, and last two goals, once the egg-chasers had finished.

More glorious sunshine on Sunday dragged me onto the slopes early. While la bienheureuse wiled away the morning in cafés, I enjoyed a lovely morning's skiing, finishing at lunchtime so that we could get off early and make it back to Lyon in time to go and watch OL. We shouldn't have bothered. La série noire continues, fourth defeat in a row, a fairly abject one at that. The big crunch later in the evening ended with Marseille beating PSG, meaning that Lyon stay top of the table, but only by one point from both the other big two...

Ski, sun and a star named Coco

Another year, another January, another week of glorious weather and skiing, another seven nights of gourmet self-catering at La Tourterelle...

Sat 24 Jan
The week starts well bar a forgotten coat and house keys on a train at Paddington, and despite the JonE and DenE boys spending too long in the bar at Heathrow. They just manage to board their flight before the doors close, and arrive in Lyon in perfect time for us to pick them up and successfully rendezvous with the Cambridge bus crew for the wine and cheese handover. Le frère arrives in the pouring rain at Part Dieu via Eurostar and TGV, with his other jacket locked in a suitcase with the keys still in London. We queue for a taxi and on arrival chez nous he finds it disconcertingly easy to force the lock.

The wining and dining gets off to an auspicious start with delicious tuna meatballs and a taster or two from the week's carte des vins.

Sun 25 Jan
Once again we manage to cram la petite voiture with five adults, four pairs of ski boots, three pairs of skis and other assorted baggage for a winter's week in the mountains. The precipitation of the previous two days has stopped, the roads are clear of snow for the drive up to Meribel, and we arrive in time for an afternoon's skiing in the sunshine on lovely fresh snow. Les Gooners variously stop early to watch the bore draw with Cardiff.

The Tourterelle onze are more or less reunited in the evening, with Professor Margarita coming in as a late replacement for the la prime J, who wasn't forwarded enough. Le maitre cuisinier gets the gourmandisement going with soupe de chou-fleur and a sublimely palatable Pork in Calvados. The wine cellar and cheese board are attacked with the usual gusto.

Mon 26 Jan
Les deux petite skieuses are up early for their usual pedagogic rendezvous with Super Suzie and Miss J, who this year is staying in a more sedate chalet further up the mountain. The rest of us take rather more time to hit the slopes on a day of mitigated weather, as the French would say. The clouds and the odd flake however don't spoil the enjoyment, and we have some lovely runs in Courchevel 1650 in the morning, before a gradual parting of the ways as we wend our way back to Meribel in the afternoon.

Le gateau choco-banane de la bienheureuse completes a satisfying first day, before the early evening arrival of the real star of the Meribel show, Coco la kino. Physio to la quinze de France, various other rugby teams and Wimbledon tennis players, she becomes our masseuse, osteopathic consultant and body mechanic for the week. JonEboy and the builder-gardener are her first clients. Diagnosis and treatment tally: one mildly twisted knee and poultice, one displaced and replaced shoulder tendon, one torn thumb ligament duly strapped.

The Margarita man then bravely ignores his injured thumb to create his powerful signature cocktail for the rest of us, excepting the author who is still suffering the after effects of the previous two night's drinking. Everybody manages to stagger to the table to enjoy yet another exquisite effort from le grand chef - salmon and horseradish amuses bouches, gnocchi et jambon entrée, rounded off by coconut and salmon laksa, with a bit of unrelated happy slapping as an amusing entre-plats. The cheeseboard is almost an after thought. After dinner JeB subjects a select but brave few to a core strength test which ends with only three men standing, or rather lying, and accusations of cheat flying from certain non-participants.

Tue 27 Jan
An even later start with the usual breakfast entertainment of tinkling on an out of tune piano, but most manage to hit the slopes by ten thirty and have fun on the east and west slopes of la Tougnette. After les filles head off for afternoon lessons, the rest of us gradually go our separate ways.

While the Sh**head card school gets going between cups of tea and more cake, Coco is back by popular request in the early evening. La bienheureuse is first on the massage table: another displaced tendon and numerous knots in back and shoulders are relaxed before another knee poultice is applied. La petite beaucoup is next and reports no major problems.

JeB's scrumptious cassoulet is next on the menu, and much enjoyed by all, as is the first dessert of the week, another la bienheureuse speciality, tarte tatin. Few have room for cheese, but schnapps and genepi digestifs do the after dinner rounds.


Wed 28 Jan
Le soleil est de retour! Morning lessons again for les deux petites, and the rest of us eventually manage to head off for a bit of glacier skiing, via a missed chocolat chaud rendezvous in Val Thorens. Reunited, we manage one lovely run down before la bienheureuse, JeB and I head home, leaving the others to attack the second glacier.

It's my turn to undergo the Coco treatment in the evening. Diagnosis: knotted shoulders due to the stress of a layabout sponger's life, but my back surprisingly receives a good report - straight spine and no real problems. La petite skieuse is next and in contrast her spine needs straightening and another tendon realigning. Meanwhile sounds emanating from the piano suggests that the DenEboy's practice is paying off in spades, but it turns la reine serène showing off her rather more accomplished skills instead.

It's also the final night's cooking for le grand chef, and we have a guest for dinner, la prime J paying us a visit on her catered chalet's night off. Prof Margarita's understudy sets us up with some marginally less strong cocktails, and as usual JW exceeds himself with a huge and delicious venison dish, preceded by more salmon and horseradish. Midway through the week, wine stocks are surprisingly holding up and we're more or less sticking to our ration of six bottles a night. An after dinner game of cards, with the master-builder teaching the master-chef how to play, ends with the former as Sh**head and the latter asleep.


Thu 29 Jan
A day off school for the Super Suzie acolytes, and another cloudless day, so we all head off towards Tougnette again. After a Coco-aided victory in the battle of the wounded knee the previous day, la bienheureuse is forced to retreat to some more gentle skiing on her own, while the rest of us head towards Mont Vallon. The long run down the mogul-infested east flank is enjoyed by all, despite a rare face plant from the master skier DenEboy. JW and I then have a quick run down the west flank piste while the others rest weary limbs in the café at the bottom. Thence we wend our way Meribel-wards and for old time's sake head up to Saulire for the late run down in the setting sun.

An early evening massage leaves the DeB, chef for the evening, remarkably unstressed and unhurried about getting down to cooking. While le frère takes his turn with Coco, the sous-chef grows more agitated about her master's apparent lack of urgency. With reason. Three hours later the pork stroganoff is finally ready and we sit down to dinner at ten. The wait is worth it though, and the laid-back chef produces a chocolicious bread pudding to follow. Then it's straight to bed, though a few can't resist a cheese and port digestif.

Fri 30 Jan
Greedy for improvement, les skieuses are up early for their big day out with Suzie. La bienheureuse gives her knee a rest from skiing and after les six garçons spend the morning variously on le grand duc, and la facejerusalem, the BJ boys and the JonEboy meet the BJ girl at the top of Saulire for lunch. JeB and la bienheureuse then head home in the bubble car leaving le frère et moi to take a first back of the leg whacking ride up Creux Noirs before wending our way back to Meribel via the Courchevel and La Tania valleys. JW and DeB meanwhile heed the urgings H le rouge has been making all week and enjoy themselves on La Masse. The master chef and I are the only ones to meet up for the late Saulire run home.


Final night of massages for la bienheureuse and the Margarita man, final knee poultice, final thumb strapping, and then it's au revoir to Coco. Our bodies will miss you. On the up side, Friday night is tartiflette night. With all the hard work of potato peeling and onion slicing completed by la bienheureuse, all JeB and I have to do is fry, assemble and stick it all in the oven. Result, one of the most delicious savoyard dishes known to man.

Tartiflette night also means vodka sorbet night, and vodka sorbet night means First Impressions night. Add it all together and you get a lot of drunken revelry and fun. This year it's la petite boss who finds it all a bit too much mid-game and disappears downstairs to be not seen again till morning. JeB and JW do their besht to finish the vodka, but manage to remain shlightly more coherent than last year. The game finishes uncompleted but with the la petite et le grand team declared winners, and the gang of three ending up with the most attributed personality traits. Weird, moi?

Sat 31 Jan
The last full day of the holiday is somewhat foreshortened by a late start. It's after eleven by the time the survivors manage to assemble on the slopes and eventually stumble over to Val Thorens for another run down the glacier. Les deux petites play good samaritan to a fallen kindred spirit on a steep red slope while her husband stands idly by. After a late lunch the DeB and I head home while the remainder make the most of their final day on the slopes.

La reine serène is chef for leftovers night, a misnomer if ever there was one. Delicious grilled nachos are followed by mouth-watering roast vegetables with venison and a savoury selection of grilled sausages. The only leftovers by the end of the night are on the cheese board. Even the wine was perfectly judged this year, the last bottle drunk with the last mouthful of food.

And so we make our way to bed, heavy of heart, heavy of leg, heavy of stomach but light of head and light of spirit. 'Twas a good week, blessed by great snow, good weather, fine food and wine, and amiable company. We will be back next year, credit crunch, falling exchange rates and failing bodies allowing...

Sun 1 Feb
Correction: Saturday wasn't quite the end of the week. The Cambridge minibus crew were up early and away by 8.15am leaving the Lyon clan to finish tidying the chalet and head off for an abbreviated day's skiing. We were back in la capitale des gauls by five-thirty, in time for soup, cheese and wine before le frère et moi headed off to Gerland for a less than inspiring derby draw with les stephanois. Meanwhile the Cambridge crew crossed the channel and hit snow in the Kent lowlands, but still got home.

Mon 2 Feb
Snow and chaos in the UK, calm weather and chaos in Lyon. The JonE and DenE boys decide to go to the airport despite their flight back to Heathrow being cancelled, but wring little from BA other than a promise to 'try' and put them on the same flight the next day. Thus I make a second trip to the airport to collect them again and then direct them to the train station in an attempt to get back via TGV and Eurostar. They eventually just manage to catch the same train as le frère and get as far as Lille. There, JeB keeps his seat on an overcrowded Eurostar while DeB and le frère are forced to get off. However, he who laughs last, laughs loudest. JeB's train is held up in the tunnel and overtaken by the one the other two eventually catch. The boys finally get home to Reading, Bristol and Cambridge at 10pm, midnight and 4am respectively. La bienheureuse and I had an early night.

A naughty weekend

There's an inane ditty currently topping the radio playlists in France at the moment, entitled "Sea, sex and sun". Over the weekend we made our own version - ski, --- and sun, the middle word of course being snow. We are married, after all...

It was naughty because the cost of ski passes, 2 nights in a self-catering apartment and assorted mountain-top meals all added up to a bit too much. But what were we to do? Nearly a metre of snow in the northern French alps over the last fortnight left all that lovely white stuff just calling out, and when la bienheureuse suggested the idea, I was hard-pressed to prevent myself biting her hand off.

And a lovely weekend in Valmorel it was too. Unbroken sunshine and lovely pistes on Saturday, sunshine most of Sunday albeit with slightly more varied snow conditions. Even la bienheureuse's knee more or less held up for a day and a half.

There was one point late on Saturday afternoon when a perfect day was almost spoilt, but even football matches occasionally have a happy ending. Having scouted the bars on Friday evening and identified one with a screen showing sport, it was with some disgust that we discovered a football match of the egg-chasing variety. However, all was not lost. The bar across the street had a TV, blank when we went in, but a polite query of the proprietor produced a result. Not that my good mood lasted for long when the match finally came on screen, 1-0 and a man down in the pissing rain, soon to become 2-0 not long afterwards. An hour later though and all was right with the world once again. At least until the other results from the weekend came in, but I didn't learn those until last night...

Skiing and racketing

The weekend in Montalbert turned out to be very enjoyable, despite the predicted sweltering temperatures on Saturday and despite the lost battle of the wounded knee.

The giant slalom went ahead as planned, but la bienheureuse was forced to withdraw from the competition. She made one trial run on Saturday morning but that was all her knee would allow. It was thus left to me to uphold family honour in the race, and I duly made a negligible impact on the final rankings. In my defence, I'm bound to say that I did in my quickest time yet, shaving a full 6 seconds off last year's run. Short video of the finish below.



Now, if it looks as though I'm not going very fast, then that's because, well, I'm not. However, I can assure you that it felt quite fast enough. In an attempt to prove the point, a rough short calculation follows:

The lift that runs parallel to the course drops 255 metres over a distance of 817m (average slope 34%). True, the course finished perhaps 50m further up the slope than the bottom of the lift, but bear in mind that the slalom course gates zigzag down the slope, so that the distance travelled is much further than the shortest route from top to bottom. Assuming a zigzag with 90 degree angles gives a distance actually covered of about 1075m, divide by my time of 1m20s, and one arrives at an average speed of about 48 km/h, roughly 30mph. Respectable? I'll leave you to decide...

The rest of the weekend was very enjoyable. Warm sunny weather on Saturday, perfect for the mass barbecue on the slopes for lunch. While I enjoyed the lovely snow higher up, la bienheureuse stuck to the gentler pastime (for her knees at least) of walking through the snowy forest around and about. Sunday night it pissed down with rain at the level of the resort, but by early morning it had turned to snow, which boded well for conditions higher up.

And things looked set even fairer when the clouds cleared just as I got out onto the slopes, and for two hours I enjoyed skiing on 20cm of fresh snow in lovely, sunny weather. However, just before midday the clouds rolled in and for the rest of the afternoon it snowed, heavily at times. Still rather enjoyable though. Meanwhile la bienheureuse was trying her hand at rackets, the snow-shoe, walking variety, and she enjoyed a lovely three and a half hour stomp through the snow-covered forest.

Water skiing?

There was a minor shock chez nous this week. A letter, written to the syndic (building managers), appears to have produced results. Following the great flood of 2006, amongst the least of our resulting concerns was the flaking and crumbling of the rendering on the wall outside the our front door. About 15 months ago, once most of the work inside the apartment was over, I reported it.
"Yes, we'll get the insurance expert to do a report and get a quote for repair."

Since then nothing. So, two weeks ago I finally got round to writing and asking when it would be done. Nothing in reply until Monday when I hear noises on our landing, and lo and behold there is someone redoing the rendering. Same day we receive a letter from the syndic saying they are giving the matter their full attention and pointing out that the rendering in the stairwell on the first floor was done over a year ago. Quite what the relevance of the latter was I don't know, as the damage there was due to an entirely different water leak (disturbingly common problem in our building). Anyway, it is now done and that is hopefully the last word on the famous flood...

We're off skiing this weekend, the annual company 'sports' weekend at La Plagne. The sporting part consists of a giant slalom on Saturday morning, though the forecast for Saturday (much like today - warm and sunny) suggests we may be water skiing instead, so whether it goes ahead remains to be seen...

Making Merry in Meribel

A short diary of a long week's skiing:

Friday
Collect le frère ainé from the airport. Quiet evening in, simple English fare for dinner, wine consumption restrained, a single bottle.
Saturday
Provisions shopping - fromages & saucisses de Toulouse. Le frère et moi go to the pub to watch the mighty cannoniers comfortably put a dampener on KK's second Tyneside coming, gallantly leaving la bienheureuse to attend complicated rendezvous at the airport - transfer of viticultural supplies to the minibus crew (story of optimum use of transport space), and collection of the two boys, JonE & DenE from the airport. Quiet evening in, roast lamb for dinner, wine consumption rising...
Sunday
Manage with some difficulty to squeeze 5 adults, 3 pairs of skis, 4 pairs of ski boots, and a week's worth of winter luggage into one compact car & roof box. Our overloaded petite voiture heroically labours up the mountain to reach Meribel village in time for an afternoon's skiing. The Tourterelle dix are reunited on the slopes and become onze in the evening. The week's feasting gets off to an excellent start with a delicious lamb casserole by le grand chef JW, and the week's wining gets off to an ominous start with a 9 bottle binge.
Monday
Hangover forced into the background as we set off for the first full day's skiing in stunningly sunny & warm weather. Les 3 filles set off for morning lessons with Super Suzy, while the rest of us attack Meribel's western slopes and discover the joys and lovely snow of the princely Pramint red towards St Martin. The hardcore finish the day with a rendezvous atop Saulire for vin chaud and the long dusk run home on gloriously empty pistes. Le chef excels again at dinner with palate-tickling pork in milk & lemon. Wine consumption moderates slightly.
Tuesday
All 10 skiers set off ensemble in the morning before scattering to all 4 corners of the 3 vallées, girls to lessons, JW & H le rouge et vert to la Masse, and the BJ 5 (JeB & the DeB honorary BJs for the week) exploring the Les Menuires itinéraire du soleil in glorious springlike sunshine. A remix provides another 6 person rendezvous for the final Saulire run of the day, and culinary standards are maintained in the evening by S, la reine sereine, with a mouth-watering chicken tajine. Wine quality & quantity remains high.
Wednesday
The sun disappears but the lessons continue in the morning again for the technique-thirsty threesome, while the rest of us spurn the pedagogic for pure pleasure-seeking, splintering into smaller groups. La bienheureuse, JeB & le frère finish early, leaving the DeB & me to join JW et les filles for lunch and an afternoon attack on La Face. JeB joins the ranks of the master chefs in the evening with a richly tasty cassoulet. Wine consumption controlled, evening rounded off with a weakest link special, with surprise quizmaster Ms Robinson.
Thursday
The sun reappears for the group outing to the 4th valley. We wend our way across Meribel, Les Menuires and Val Thorens to reach Oribel by early afternoon. After the ski down from le sommet des pistes, JW, la petite Beaucoup & H return home to start dinner preparations while the rest of us have lunch and meander homeward at a more leisurely pace, stopping off for refuelling at le Rond Point. Alcohol affects already suspect skiing technique, almost take out la petite skieuse while attempting to video the run back into Meribel, which is accompanied by running, self-chastising commentary by la prime J. A banquet of venison and wine awaits, and a marathon trivial pursuit question & answer session follows. Eventually even H's eyelids grow heavy.
Friday
La bienheureuse decides to rest her unblessed genou blessé for the day while the super Suzy trio have their all day lesson, leaving the remaining male members to play with themselves. In the evening the French residents, ably assisted by JeB, produce the traditional local dish, followed by colonels all round. The lemon sorbet & vodka dessert is designed to cleanse & cut through the stodge of the tartiflette. Works very well, but dangerously leaves a full bottle of iced vodka on the table. The evening rapidly degenerates as a bizarre game evolves, involving assigning character traits to teams of two with much shrieking and laughing. The double J team continues downing double Vs late into the night and incoherence becomes their defining characteristic. The team of vieux hommes eventually wins the marathon game near 2am, shortly after the snow begins to fall outside.
Saturday
More than 10cm of fresh snow awaits but after the previous night's revelries La Tourterelle is slow to rise. First out is the DeB, eager to get his teeth into all that powder. The BJs follow, then le chef and his harem. H injures himself before getting his skis on but soldiers on through most of the day. The soft snow wins the battle of the wounded knee and la bienheureuse only does one run before retiring to accompany la sereine on the gentler pursuit of a walk around Lac de Tueda. JeB conquers his hangover long enough to venture out for a single run too. The survivors enjoy the soft snow pistes and occasional foray into the hors-piste powder, vice versa in the case of the DeB, before les gooners take a break to watch their heroes in the 2nd half of the stroll in the City of Manchester stadium. Our final evening in Meribel village is a more restrained affair, polishing off venison, tartiflette and wine leftovers. Never have leftovers tasted so good.
Sunday
The minibus six are up before the crack of dawn, packing for the 9 hour drive back to Calais. The Lyon five have a day's skiing left and, after goodbyes are waved, venture towards Courchevel, surprisingly sans super keen, super skier DeB who has a sore back. Must have been all those bumps. The sun has returned but brought with it a violent east wind, which howls over the ridges and summits and drives us back to the shelter of the Meribel valley. We finally sardine back into the car and head for home. A great week overall. We will be back next year...

A Merry Skiing Week

Back to the realities of life in Lyon today, after a week's skiing in Meribel. An excellent week, as usual. Plenty of fantastic food (too much), plenty of drink (too much, particularly on one lemon sorbet & vodka fuelled evening), and plenty of skiing (perhaps too much on the part of la bienheureuse, whose knee suffered even more than usual).

The latter was perhaps better this year than last, with the existing snow holding up surprisingly well until a decent dump overnight on Friday led to lovely conditions for the last two days. The weather was pretty good overall too. A more detailed review of the week's events perhaps to follow tomorrow...

The calm before the storm...

A wild & windy night in Lyon last night, the wind howling down the boiler ventilation chimney. Otherwise a quiet week, to be followed by an even quieter week. Probably. Then it's Meribel,here we come.

La bienheureuse was in Milan again on Monday & Tuesday, and next week she's away in Germany for 3 nights. Airport safely negotiated without physical damage this time, but her ankle is still somewhat bruised so we'll probably give the day trip to Courchevel this weekend a miss. Saves being barred entry to the bus as well...

Meanwhile, things trundle along calmly chez nous. I have at least got down to a more concerted effort on book 3, the mouse continues to evade capture, the weather gets more unsettled and milder, and the Sarko feuilleton continues.

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...

Bonne Année

A belated happy New Year to one and all. Our festive break back in Blighty was highly enjoyable. 3500km of driving, 4 different beds, 2 football matches and 12 days of overeating & overdrinking - it all passed in a bit of a blur. Perhaps I should have cut down a bit on the last mentioned excess...

We really started the festivities the penultimate weekend before Christmas, celebrating la bienheureuse's birthday with a 2 day break at Meribel. Sunshine, plentiful snow, near empty pistes - hard to beat. There was rather a bitter east wind (la bize) though, and the cold snap continued into the following weekend. For the drive up to Calais on the Friday morning the autoroutes were lined with trees covered in hoar frost. A beautiful winter wonderland without the snow. We had a good journey - empty roads until guess where? The M25 and the Dartford crossing of course. Is there a campaign for tolls in British motorways I can join?

Nonetheless got to Cambridge by early evening, in time for a pleasant evening chez Mr G and his rhyming lady. Equally enjoyable following day, witnessing the red forces of good triumph over the dark side of north London, then a drive up to chez la belle-mère in Cheshire, our base for the Christmas section of the holiday.

Sun 23rd - shopping in Chester completed relatively painlessly, apart from lengthy queue for park & ride bus in pouring rain.

Christmas Day - passed as enjoyably as usual chez le beau-frère, famille et chiens. Ate too much, drank enough, demonstrated average Pick-up-Sticks ability, failed to venture outside.

Boxing Day - visited frère numéro trois, belle-soeur, 2 nièces, 2 neveux, 2 chats & 1 chien. Rats now believed deceased. Spent most of the day Wii-ing. Whacked (accidentally) niece & sofa through over-enthusiasm with Wii-wotsit...

Thu 27th - ambitious family gathering at a pub near Northwich started inauspiciously when 2 brothers, 1 girlfriend and 1 sister were 2 hours late. Traffic jam on M6 and getting lost to blame respectively. Nonetheless a very enjoyable meal & couple of hours, after which those family members sans enfants returned to west Cheshire base, where la belle-mère had generously and foolhardily offered to host a subsequent family meal in the evening. Ate & drank too much again.

Fri 28th - spent morning in Chester with siblings in pouring rain, most of it in a pub, then joined la bienheureuse and her family back chez le beau-frère in N Wales. Ate too much again, failed to venture outside again.

Sat 29th - drove to a rendezvous near Frodsham with brother no 3 to pick up nephew no 1, then drove through pouring rain to watch Everton - Arsenal match. 1-0 down at half time, totally outplayed, nephew displaying scant signs of enjoying the experience - wondered whether this had been such a good idea. However, a couple of long balls and 4 goals can change everything. Nephew perked up, the evil red Mancunian empire suffered defeat to the Irons, the right team on top of the league, and all was well with the world.

Sun 30th - drove up to the northern Lakes, met up with the Wigs at the house of their friends who weren't there, Mr G, the rhyming lady and Harry turned up later, ate too much Cumberland banger & mash, drank too much. Good evening apart from losing at Trivial Pursuit to JeB.

Mon 31st - provisions purchased, walked the length of Thirlmere and back in the lengthening gloom and lowering mist. Harry enjoyed it anyway. Excellent evening meal, ate too much, drank much too much, lost an interminable and unfathomable card game called Phase 10 to the only sober person present. FCD Sogs, we salute you.

Tue 1st Jan - nursed hangover while la bienheureuse drove most of the 500km+ to Bexleyheath. Spent the evening nursing hangover chez les Docteurs C & sons.

Wed 2nd Jan - caught ferry at 10am, drove home. 850km in a day. Autoroutes empty apart from a constant stream of camions from Langres south.

Winter is here

Rather chilly in Lyon at the moment, which, added to the heaviest snowfall in the Alps for 11 years, persuaded us to book an overnight stay in the mountains this weekend. The excuse is to celebrate l'anniversaire de la bienheureuse. First time we'll have been skiing before Christmas & led to me spending a not-so happy hour in the car yesterday, taking the skis to be serviced. Part of my campaign to avoid doing any Christmas shopping, but I almost regretted it. The Lyon streets yesterday were full of daft drivers (in addition to me), road works and double-parked cars. Then had to spend more than 60 euros filling up. Next time I'll get the bus...