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...
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est wine. Afficher tous les articles
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est wine. Afficher tous les articles
15 novembre 2012
25 septembre 2012
Sun, sea and sand 2012
So it was, in our brand new voiture, that we set off on the annual week's holiday on the Côte d'Azur. Loaded almost to the gunnels, the new car swept silently down the autoroute like a dream, la petite more or less behaved herself and enjoyed the view from her new, higher perch, and we arrived in La Favière late on Sunday afternoon. After a quick drink at the corner café in the 28C sunshine, we successfully retrieved the keys to the apartment from the safe box outside the immobilier, and settled into our old/new home for the week. Three hours later, NI Soggydiver and new Scottish consort arrived and we all enjoyed beer and takeaway pizza for dinner as we watched the sun go down from the terrace.
Lazy Monday morning, though a somewhat earlier start than hoped for due to a toddler waking up and excitedly finding her parents in the same room, and slightly marred by the downstairs neighbour complaining about the noise. Shut that young child up…
And so to the first dive of the week and the discovery of the Bormes boys new headquarters. La bienheureuse generously volunteered for baby-sitting and beach life-guard duty leaving me to enjoy a trip in the afternoon sunshine to Pointe de la Galère with our two buddies. Pleasant enough pootle, though current and depth restrictions limited us to the less interesting west side of the point. In the evening, a return to a favourite haunt, la Brasserie du Port. Soupe de Poisson and Mousse au Chocolat naturally on the menu and, despite her parents' apprehensions, la petite coquinette displayed almost perfect table manners, albeit aided and abetted by a portable DVD player. Once again la bienheureuse chose the short straw and took baby home to bed, though the rest of us weren't too far behind. Wine, beer and a few traditional games of peanut-head followed. A girls off-night at the card table.
An early start the next morning because it was decided to do the morning dive. La mère plongeuse eventually overcame the apprehension at her first dive in over two years and accompanied the Soggy diver on the trip to Pointe de Montremian. The ski slope delivered its usual lovely dive though a National Instructor's current phobia put paid to the plan to swim out to the pinnacle. Meanwhile, la petite napped, papa lazed, and the RNLI cox explored Le Lavandou. Late afternoon was spent at the seaside, where la petite travailleuse busied herself in an ultimately fruitless attempt to transfer all the sand from the beach to the sea.
Dinner in that night, and we settled for two reliable old favourites - poulet au lait & tarte tatin. Or not-so-reliable old favourites. Though both dishes turned out to be tasty enough, a lack of suitable utensils and ingredients meant the chicken wasn't quite up to usual standards (bad chefs always blame their equipment), and an exploding masquerading-as-Pyrex dish put paid to the caramelisation process for the dessert.
We chose Wednesday for a day off diving. The East Lothian contingent decided on a day checking out the plastic surgery on display at St Tropez while les lyonnais spent the morning wine shopping. Or rather spent the morning on a scenic but hairy drive up and over the Col du Canadel in the hope that la petite would nap on the way to the vineyard. She eventually did, but not before her mother had spent an anxious half hour piloting a new car along a road barely wide enough for one old car, let alone two, with a precipitous drop on one side and a ditch and rock wall on the other. We eventually reached the Domaine de l'Angueiroun with nerves jangling but intact, and enjoyed a wine tasting session which ended with this so-called connoisseur choking (accidentally, I hasten to add) and the purchase of two cases.
After a much needed nap for all of us, ice creams in the village were followed by fun and frolics for the smallest member of the family in the fountains that are set into the floor of the village square. Once the NB lifeboat crew returned from glitz of St Tropez, we all went out for dinner again to the Tropicana Beach. Living the high life.
A lazy Thursday morning for la petite famille ensued, while the chefs for the day got busy at the supermarket and in the kitchen. The sun shone and the wind howled outside but the afternoon dive still went ahead. Papa and Auntie Sogs learned with a groan that the site was Pointe de la Galère, chosen for its protection from the easterly gale. However, it turned out to be the best dive of the week for me, as I managed to drag my buddies (a random stranger had joined us) over to the east side of the point, which rewarded us with a ring-side view of a large school of patrolling barracuda. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, la petite coquinette was amusing herself and her mother with a game of hide and seek in the living room dresser, and a gin palace amused everyone by coming adrift from its mooring and being battered by the waves on the beach. Rich boys should learn to tie knots.
The results of the morning's labour in the kitchen was seen in the evening - delicious spicy lamb tajine followed by sweet Eton Mess. Lovely. And more beer, wine and games of peanut-head to follow.
On Friday, mama once again generously put toddler time ahead of time and depth, and allowed the other three divers to enjoy a full day out at Port Cros. Which was indeed enjoyable, though still-stiff easterlies restricted diving to the lee-side of la Gabinière and Pointe de la Croix, neither of which are noted as particular gems of the region. Lunch in a Port Cros café in the warm sunshine was very pleasant though.
Meanwhile, back on the mainland, la bienheureuse et la petite set off after lunch to collect the Margarita Man, delayed by bereavement but nonetheless keen to pay a flying visit. The half hour trip each way to the airport didn't allow la petite coquinette an afternoon nap, but the additional entertainment provided by her favourite builder kept her amused and mostly even-tempered until the evening. The core La Fav gang thus reunited, we had dinner at La Rade in the port. Tasty food but slow service meant papa only had one course before it was his turn to take the tired toddler home to bed. The compensation, with no diving the next day, was more beer, wine and peanut-head once the rest of the card school returned.
Our last full day was spent on a brief dip in the pool in the morning - brrr, water colder than the sea - and, after lunch and naps, on a wander along the coastal path towards Le Lavandou and back in the perennial sunshine, followed by more playing in the water jets.
For the last supper it was back to La Brasserie, where a fine week was celebrated with champagne. A rather more leisurely final morning than usual was possible the following day thanks to the Sunday checkout and consequent lack of time constraints. Thus we were all able to have lunch together one last time in the Provençal sunshine before going our separate ways - Nice airport via one final shower for the Scottish party, Lyon via Hyères airport to drop off uncle Margarita for the Lyon lot. And a fast, smooth, quiet drive (albeit on an autoroute busier than expected) got us home by seven, tired but happy after yet another great week on the Côte d'Azur.
Lazy Monday morning, though a somewhat earlier start than hoped for due to a toddler waking up and excitedly finding her parents in the same room, and slightly marred by the downstairs neighbour complaining about the noise. Shut that young child up…
And so to the first dive of the week and the discovery of the Bormes boys new headquarters. La bienheureuse generously volunteered for baby-sitting and beach life-guard duty leaving me to enjoy a trip in the afternoon sunshine to Pointe de la Galère with our two buddies. Pleasant enough pootle, though current and depth restrictions limited us to the less interesting west side of the point. In the evening, a return to a favourite haunt, la Brasserie du Port. Soupe de Poisson and Mousse au Chocolat naturally on the menu and, despite her parents' apprehensions, la petite coquinette displayed almost perfect table manners, albeit aided and abetted by a portable DVD player. Once again la bienheureuse chose the short straw and took baby home to bed, though the rest of us weren't too far behind. Wine, beer and a few traditional games of peanut-head followed. A girls off-night at the card table.
An early start the next morning because it was decided to do the morning dive. La mère plongeuse eventually overcame the apprehension at her first dive in over two years and accompanied the Soggy diver on the trip to Pointe de Montremian. The ski slope delivered its usual lovely dive though a National Instructor's current phobia put paid to the plan to swim out to the pinnacle. Meanwhile, la petite napped, papa lazed, and the RNLI cox explored Le Lavandou. Late afternoon was spent at the seaside, where la petite travailleuse busied herself in an ultimately fruitless attempt to transfer all the sand from the beach to the sea.
Dinner in that night, and we settled for two reliable old favourites - poulet au lait & tarte tatin. Or not-so-reliable old favourites. Though both dishes turned out to be tasty enough, a lack of suitable utensils and ingredients meant the chicken wasn't quite up to usual standards (bad chefs always blame their equipment), and an exploding masquerading-as-Pyrex dish put paid to the caramelisation process for the dessert.
After a much needed nap for all of us, ice creams in the village were followed by fun and frolics for the smallest member of the family in the fountains that are set into the floor of the village square. Once the NB lifeboat crew returned from glitz of St Tropez, we all went out for dinner again to the Tropicana Beach. Living the high life.
A lazy Thursday morning for la petite famille ensued, while the chefs for the day got busy at the supermarket and in the kitchen. The sun shone and the wind howled outside but the afternoon dive still went ahead. Papa and Auntie Sogs learned with a groan that the site was Pointe de la Galère, chosen for its protection from the easterly gale. However, it turned out to be the best dive of the week for me, as I managed to drag my buddies (a random stranger had joined us) over to the east side of the point, which rewarded us with a ring-side view of a large school of patrolling barracuda. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, la petite coquinette was amusing herself and her mother with a game of hide and seek in the living room dresser, and a gin palace amused everyone by coming adrift from its mooring and being battered by the waves on the beach. Rich boys should learn to tie knots.
On Friday, mama once again generously put toddler time ahead of time and depth, and allowed the other three divers to enjoy a full day out at Port Cros. Which was indeed enjoyable, though still-stiff easterlies restricted diving to the lee-side of la Gabinière and Pointe de la Croix, neither of which are noted as particular gems of the region. Lunch in a Port Cros café in the warm sunshine was very pleasant though.
Meanwhile, back on the mainland, la bienheureuse et la petite set off after lunch to collect the Margarita Man, delayed by bereavement but nonetheless keen to pay a flying visit. The half hour trip each way to the airport didn't allow la petite coquinette an afternoon nap, but the additional entertainment provided by her favourite builder kept her amused and mostly even-tempered until the evening. The core La Fav gang thus reunited, we had dinner at La Rade in the port. Tasty food but slow service meant papa only had one course before it was his turn to take the tired toddler home to bed. The compensation, with no diving the next day, was more beer, wine and peanut-head once the rest of the card school returned.
Our last full day was spent on a brief dip in the pool in the morning - brrr, water colder than the sea - and, after lunch and naps, on a wander along the coastal path towards Le Lavandou and back in the perennial sunshine, followed by more playing in the water jets.
For the last supper it was back to La Brasserie, where a fine week was celebrated with champagne. A rather more leisurely final morning than usual was possible the following day thanks to the Sunday checkout and consequent lack of time constraints. Thus we were all able to have lunch together one last time in the Provençal sunshine before going our separate ways - Nice airport via one final shower for the Scottish party, Lyon via Hyères airport to drop off uncle Margarita for the Lyon lot. And a fast, smooth, quiet drive (albeit on an autoroute busier than expected) got us home by seven, tired but happy after yet another great week on the Côte d'Azur.
01 novembre 2011
Winning wine, warm wind
A warm southerly blew in a mild autumn weekend during which we welcomed more visitors. TwoJay arrived on Friday afternoon for baby viewing and wine tasting purposes. They both quickly made friends with la petite before la bienheureuse got home from work and the epicurean weekend got off to a good start with roast lamb, tarte aux framboises and Chateauneuf-du-Pape. And a little whisky supping for the seasoned and foolhardy later in the evening.
Next morning, once hangovers were sufficiently suppressed with croissants and copious cups of tea, the advance party set off for the main event of the weekend, the Salon des Vins. While JonEboy, Crystal Tipps and stay-at-home papa set about the wine tasting with gusto, la bienheureuse et la petite followed in their own time and had lunch accompanied by clear liquid before any of the red, white or sparkling varieties were tested. In a perfectly conceived and executed operation, papa then handed over the wine tasting and purchasing duties to sa femme and took le bébé home again for her lunchtime nap. Ulterior motive was of course a certain football match on TV. And what a match it was - the Russian mafia funded blue mercenaries blasted into submission by the superior firepower of the red and white Dutch cannon.
Smoked salmon & prawn cream bake followed by filet mignon cooked in milk was on the menu in the evening, followed by la bienheureuse's signature dish. The pork main dish was suitably complemented by La Truffière, and the entrée and dessert by Gewurztraminer. No digestifs and earlier bedtime meant clearer heads the next morning. J+J finished off their trip with a visit to Les Halles, with chocolate and cheese on the shopping list. With luggage allowance filled by wine, there was no room for the latter in the suitcase, but it made a very nice lunch before they headed off to the airport at the end of a very convivial weekend.
The mild weather continues into November, and Toussaint means a four day weekend for la travailleuse, lengthened to five so that she take can advantage of a welcome-baby gift tomorrow with a much-needed massage. Not much extra rest though, as the clock change means a little voice chirps a welcome to the new day an hour earlier each morning…
31 janvier 2011
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…
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.
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.
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.
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.
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…
18 novembre 2010
French lessons
Red letter day in the lyonnais calendrier today - le beaujolais nouveau est arrivé. Similar party mood amongst the French at Wembley last night, where les bleus gave England the blues. Much satisfaction this side of La Manche, and no little consternation about the lack of aggression displayed by the Premier League cloggers. Four fouls in 90 minutes, surely that's not the English way? Coach Blanc's decision to give in and play two creative midfielders paid off handsomely. Now let's see if he's brave enough to stick with the same tactics in a competitive match…
On Tuesday, Monsieur le Président gave one of his marathon interviews on the three main national TV channels. Ninety minutes of lecturing to the public, most of whom seem to have remained unconvinced that he's learnt any lessons from the recent discontent. The TV appearance was ostensibly to explain the government reshuffle over the weekend, which finally put an end to any pretence of a broad centre-right consensus. Out went representatives of the more moderate, minor parties (Borloo, Morin), and those from further left (Kouchner, Amara), in came a clutch of Sarkozy loyalists. Also shown the door was Eric Woerth, victim of the discontent over the pension reforms he guided through parliament, but more particularly of the Bettencourt affair. And further corruption suspicions over the sale of a hippodrome.
There is more trouble looming for Sarko too. A former defence minister, in office at the time of a controversial deal to sell submarines to Pakistan, has admitted that backhanders and bribes were paid to ease the deal through. It seems to be widely believed that a small proportion of the money ended up in the campaign fund of Eduoard Balladour during the presidential campaign in 1995. Said campaign fund was managed by one Nicolas Sarkozy. Relatives of people killed in the 2002 Karachi bus attack are demanding that Sarkozy answer questions, in the belief that the attack was a reprisal for the ending of the kickbacks by Jacques Chirac, elected in the '95 election.
On Tuesday, Monsieur le Président gave one of his marathon interviews on the three main national TV channels. Ninety minutes of lecturing to the public, most of whom seem to have remained unconvinced that he's learnt any lessons from the recent discontent. The TV appearance was ostensibly to explain the government reshuffle over the weekend, which finally put an end to any pretence of a broad centre-right consensus. Out went representatives of the more moderate, minor parties (Borloo, Morin), and those from further left (Kouchner, Amara), in came a clutch of Sarkozy loyalists. Also shown the door was Eric Woerth, victim of the discontent over the pension reforms he guided through parliament, but more particularly of the Bettencourt affair. And further corruption suspicions over the sale of a hippodrome.
There is more trouble looming for Sarko too. A former defence minister, in office at the time of a controversial deal to sell submarines to Pakistan, has admitted that backhanders and bribes were paid to ease the deal through. It seems to be widely believed that a small proportion of the money ended up in the campaign fund of Eduoard Balladour during the presidential campaign in 1995. Said campaign fund was managed by one Nicolas Sarkozy. Relatives of people killed in the 2002 Karachi bus attack are demanding that Sarkozy answer questions, in the belief that the attack was a reprisal for the ending of the kickbacks by Jacques Chirac, elected in the '95 election.
15 novembre 2010
Warming pictures
What a difference a week makes. La belle-mère comes to visit bearing gifts, and suddenly things are looking up. Unseasonably warm weather and plenty of sunshine for the long bank holiday weekend, and a warmer glow to the football season too.
mardi 9: l'AG continued. After some confusion over venue and indeed whether the meeting was taking place at all, we troop upstairs, listen to the man from the syndic report on progress made on various issues and eventually decide to give him a second chance. Contract extended for 18 months.
mercredi 10: collect la belle-mère from the airport after a fruitless drive through town in search of a petrol station. Usual one closed down, next one closed temporarily by road works. Which are currently all over Lyon. Sufficient fumes in the tank to make it to the garage at the airport.
jeudi 11: jour ferié, the sun is shining, the day mild and we take advantage with a stroll round the park to test the newly presented toy. The leaves are falling, the colours fading, but plenty of pretty pictures to be had before the clouds roll in.
vendredi 12: bridging day, so la bienheureuse is off work again. The exception to the good weather theme. Overcast but dry, so the ladies go shopping, taking a break to meet meet me for a nice pique nique en ville. Roast lamb and a rather palatable Côtes du Rhône for dinner.
samedi 13: stunning day. 20 degree sunshine in the middle of November can't be bad. We jump in the car and eventually find our way to the domaine de Lacroix-Laval, a large area of parkland just outside Lyon. Another opportunity for more autumn snaps with the new appareil photo reflex. Lovely stroll through the park and grounds of the publicly-owned château, then home for a late lunch and a lazy afternoon. Defrosted fish dinner, tasty fare even so.
dimanche 14: still very mild, but very windy too. The sun is less in evidence but we venture out up to the Croix Rousse for the view and a stroll through the market. Home to wolf down lunch in time for a rather more satisfactory visit to the pub, leaving la bienheureuse et sa mère in the kitchen. Second battling away win of the week. The boys are toughening up. Roast chicken awaits my return, then I fly the coop again in the evening, this time for live football. OL grind out a 1-0 win in the wind.
lundi 15: end of the fine weather interlude. Rain all morning.
mardi 9: l'AG continued. After some confusion over venue and indeed whether the meeting was taking place at all, we troop upstairs, listen to the man from the syndic report on progress made on various issues and eventually decide to give him a second chance. Contract extended for 18 months.
mercredi 10: collect la belle-mère from the airport after a fruitless drive through town in search of a petrol station. Usual one closed down, next one closed temporarily by road works. Which are currently all over Lyon. Sufficient fumes in the tank to make it to the garage at the airport.
jeudi 11: jour ferié, the sun is shining, the day mild and we take advantage with a stroll round the park to test the newly presented toy. The leaves are falling, the colours fading, but plenty of pretty pictures to be had before the clouds roll in.
samedi 13: stunning day. 20 degree sunshine in the middle of November can't be bad. We jump in the car and eventually find our way to the domaine de Lacroix-Laval, a large area of parkland just outside Lyon. Another opportunity for more autumn snaps with the new appareil photo reflex. Lovely stroll through the park and grounds of the publicly-owned château, then home for a late lunch and a lazy afternoon. Defrosted fish dinner, tasty fare even so.
01 novembre 2010
Liquid fall
A bit of research suggests that the closest French approximation to Sod's law, is la loi de l'emmerdement maximum. A good example occurred last week: beautiful sunny weather, albeit rather cold, up until Friday evening. The weekend comes around, and it rains solidly for two days. More rain was forecast for the Toussaints bank holiday today, but it seems they were erring on the pessimistic side, because we had lovely sunshine for our morning constitutional along the banks of the Rhône.
Of course, rainy weekend weather has its benefits: la bienheureuse consoles herself in the kitchen. Delicious walnut carrot cake (thanks DenEboy), tartiflette, parsnip soup and the promise of lamb tajine this evening. And yesterday morning, I had the annual vignerons independants wine fair to console me. Tasked as usual with purchasing provisions for the annual skiing holiday in January, we set off early and arrived before the doors had opened. And spent the next ten minutes queueing in the rain with a couple of hundred other early drinkers. In less than two hours we were in and out, twice, which also meant two soakings while ferrying numerous boxes of wine back to the car.
With la bienheureuse unable this year to partake in the degustation, I adopted targeted tasting tactics, having more or less decided beforehand what we were going to get. Result, nine cases of wine, four of which are reserved for the skiing holiday. That was after going in with the idea of only acquiring two or three cases for personal consumption. I blame the non-drinker for encouraging me. She drove home even though a breath taste before leaving put me under the limit. Not that I felt it…
Saturday followed a familiar course. Pub in the afternoon for me, watching the righteous men of the true faith eventually find a winner against the one-time academy of football. Then straight home and straight back out with la bienheureuse to Gerland, where OL eventually ground out a 2-1 win against Sochaux, which did nothing to appease the fans. Following the failure to beat the bottom team the previous weekend, the "Puel: demission!" demands have got louder again, and on Saturday (after chairman Aulas confirmed coach Puel in his post) they gave up asking politely and demanded that he be sacked instead: "Puel: licenciement!"
The protests of more import, those against the retirement reforms, seem to be petering out, squashed by the coincidence of school holidays and the law being officially passed by parliament. The petrol refineries are back at work, as are the ports, and 80% of trains are running. The day of protest last Thursday saw half the number of protesters than the previous one. There is one final resort due this week, when the constitutional council rules on a challenge by the opposition to the law, and then the final protest is scheduled for next Saturday, a week or so before Sarkozy is due to definitively write the law into the statue books.
With la bienheureuse unable this year to partake in the degustation, I adopted targeted tasting tactics, having more or less decided beforehand what we were going to get. Result, nine cases of wine, four of which are reserved for the skiing holiday. That was after going in with the idea of only acquiring two or three cases for personal consumption. I blame the non-drinker for encouraging me. She drove home even though a breath taste before leaving put me under the limit. Not that I felt it…
Saturday followed a familiar course. Pub in the afternoon for me, watching the righteous men of the true faith eventually find a winner against the one-time academy of football. Then straight home and straight back out with la bienheureuse to Gerland, where OL eventually ground out a 2-1 win against Sochaux, which did nothing to appease the fans. Following the failure to beat the bottom team the previous weekend, the "Puel: demission!" demands have got louder again, and on Saturday (after chairman Aulas confirmed coach Puel in his post) they gave up asking politely and demanded that he be sacked instead: "Puel: licenciement!"
The protests of more import, those against the retirement reforms, seem to be petering out, squashed by the coincidence of school holidays and the law being officially passed by parliament. The petrol refineries are back at work, as are the ports, and 80% of trains are running. The day of protest last Thursday saw half the number of protesters than the previous one. There is one final resort due this week, when the constitutional council rules on a challenge by the opposition to the law, and then the final protest is scheduled for next Saturday, a week or so before Sarkozy is due to definitively write the law into the statue books.
03 mai 2010
Wet whetter weekend
The visit of the Aviatoor and co-pilot to Lyon missed being perfectly timed by three days. Wednesday and Thursday last week: 26-28C sunshine; Saturday and Sunday: cool, damp and overcast. From midsummer to early spring in one fell swoop. Tant pis, we made the best of it all the same.
Our guests arrived late on Friday evening, and the wet theme of the weekend started immediately. G&Ts and a bottle of wine, beds crawled into at 2am. We woke late the following morning to rain drops spattering against the window panes. Undeterred, we ventured out and tramped the damp streets of Lyon, trabouled and climbed our way to the top of Fourvière hill, then braved a scary patronne to wine and dine on cheese, saucisson and cakes for a lunch which finished at teatime.
Thence back home where our visitors snoozed while I hindered la bienheureuse in the kitchen, but redeemed myself by eventually producing acceptable caipirinhas all round. Lovely lamb was followed by cheese and tastier than ever tarte tatin, all washed down with a bottle of vintage Vacqueyras, or three. And champagne. Slightly earlier but somewhat drunker, we fell into bed and dreamed of fat cats and folk singers feasting on three course banquets.
Another late breakfast, another damp morning (just), and another wander through the streets of old Lugdunum. And another ascent of Fourvière hill, but this time heed was paid to my hangover and we took the funicular. We visited the Roman amphitheatre instead of the 19th century basilica and, on a winding route down, we were accompanied by a stray homeless shepherd who had apparently lost his flock of sheep and goats. We took restful repose in the cathedral while we waited for the astronomical clock to strike four, then an even later lunch followed. All too soon it was time to head off to the airport. The Fly Booy and his patient Chérie came but for two enjoyable days, barely enough to whet the Lyonnais appetite…
Our guests arrived late on Friday evening, and the wet theme of the weekend started immediately. G&Ts and a bottle of wine, beds crawled into at 2am. We woke late the following morning to rain drops spattering against the window panes. Undeterred, we ventured out and tramped the damp streets of Lyon, trabouled and climbed our way to the top of Fourvière hill, then braved a scary patronne to wine and dine on cheese, saucisson and cakes for a lunch which finished at teatime.
Thence back home where our visitors snoozed while I hindered la bienheureuse in the kitchen, but redeemed myself by eventually producing acceptable caipirinhas all round. Lovely lamb was followed by cheese and tastier than ever tarte tatin, all washed down with a bottle of vintage Vacqueyras, or three. And champagne. Slightly earlier but somewhat drunker, we fell into bed and dreamed of fat cats and folk singers feasting on three course banquets.
06 avril 2010
Scaling the heights
Seven days that passed in a flurry of football, chocolate eggs, food and wine, the weekend de Pâques and coming back from the dead.
It all started at Gerland last Tuesday. The all French Champions League quarter-final lived up to the hype. After a first 30 minutes in which Bordeaux went behind early, equalised quickly and then played most of the football, Lyon got a second goal on the break and went in 2-1 up at half time. Les girondins were more exposed in the second half, les lyonnais duly scored a third, and the stadium bounced.
The following morning I caught a plane to Gatwick for the most hyped quarter final of all. After a pleasant day wandering round London buying cheese and apple software, some excellent beer and food in the Marquess with le grand chef, the match lived up to expectations. At least one of the teams did. Never before have I seen Arsenal so completely outplayed, and possession so completely dominated by the visiting team. Barcelona truly were the best team in the world. For the first 60 minutes anyway. Somehow it was still 0-0 at half time, so after all their great passing moves in the first half, it was even more galling to see them score twice in the first 15 of the second with simple balls over the top.
Then came the fight back, much to the relief of the sixty thousand. Pace and a goal got Arsenal back in it, and a penalty from our own Catalan king did the rest. Scored with a broken leg, which puts him out of the second leg today, along with Arsenal's four other best players. Objectively we have no chance. But then we had no chance 2-0 down with 20 minutes left of a first leg, which the opposition was totally dominating...
And so to the Easter weekend. I returned to Lyon on Thursday and was back at the airport 24 hours later to pick up the Caipirinha Kid and Crystal Tipps. A couple of glasses of Gewurztraminer and cheese provided sufficient fuel for a wander round Lyon viewing painted walls, crossing footbridges and drinking coffee in the old town. Then it was back home to prepare for dinner with a G&T. Les Oliviers was the excellent choice of venue, and tasty fare, particularly the duckling, was enjoyed by all. Back at home whisky digestifs ensured a mild hangover the following morning.
Thick heads and grey skies weren't going to stop a ritual visit to the mecca of fresh food markets though. Les Halles supplied fish, vegetables and cheese for dinner, and sundry photo opportunities for the new DSLR. Then it was off out into town again, this time the heights of Fourvière the objective, reached via the 798 steps of the Montées de Carmes Déchaussés et Nicolas de Lange. First time I've climbed the hill that way, so I accompanied the others to the top then turned round, leaving them to take an appropriately themed route down via the basilica, Roman amphitheatre, église de St George and cathedral while I took the direct descent into a hell of football watching in the pub lasting 94 minutes, until the great Dane's head relieved the angst.
It was thus safe for the two Js and la bienheureuse to accompany me home, where dinner was cooked, champagne and canapés, cod and olives wrapped in jambon, and two bottles of excellent Gigondas were consumed, and beds were finally fallen into. Strangely, it was with a clear head that we went for a quick stroll round the park the following morning, with frequent pauses for animal photo opportunities. And then it was time to take les invitées back to the airport. We waved goodbye at the end of a spiffing weekend.
Easter Monday passed in a quiet hive of inactivity, apart from a stroll along the river in the afternoon. Today the pub and football on TV awaits again. I maintain an air of realistic fatalism...
It all started at Gerland last Tuesday. The all French Champions League quarter-final lived up to the hype. After a first 30 minutes in which Bordeaux went behind early, equalised quickly and then played most of the football, Lyon got a second goal on the break and went in 2-1 up at half time. Les girondins were more exposed in the second half, les lyonnais duly scored a third, and the stadium bounced.
The following morning I caught a plane to Gatwick for the most hyped quarter final of all. After a pleasant day wandering round London buying cheese and apple software, some excellent beer and food in the Marquess with le grand chef, the match lived up to expectations. At least one of the teams did. Never before have I seen Arsenal so completely outplayed, and possession so completely dominated by the visiting team. Barcelona truly were the best team in the world. For the first 60 minutes anyway. Somehow it was still 0-0 at half time, so after all their great passing moves in the first half, it was even more galling to see them score twice in the first 15 of the second with simple balls over the top.
And so to the Easter weekend. I returned to Lyon on Thursday and was back at the airport 24 hours later to pick up the Caipirinha Kid and Crystal Tipps. A couple of glasses of Gewurztraminer and cheese provided sufficient fuel for a wander round Lyon viewing painted walls, crossing footbridges and drinking coffee in the old town. Then it was back home to prepare for dinner with a G&T. Les Oliviers was the excellent choice of venue, and tasty fare, particularly the duckling, was enjoyed by all. Back at home whisky digestifs ensured a mild hangover the following morning.
Thick heads and grey skies weren't going to stop a ritual visit to the mecca of fresh food markets though. Les Halles supplied fish, vegetables and cheese for dinner, and sundry photo opportunities for the new DSLR. Then it was off out into town again, this time the heights of Fourvière the objective, reached via the 798 steps of the Montées de Carmes Déchaussés et Nicolas de Lange. First time I've climbed the hill that way, so I accompanied the others to the top then turned round, leaving them to take an appropriately themed route down via the basilica, Roman amphitheatre, église de St George and cathedral while I took the direct descent into a hell of football watching in the pub lasting 94 minutes, until the great Dane's head relieved the angst. It was thus safe for the two Js and la bienheureuse to accompany me home, where dinner was cooked, champagne and canapés, cod and olives wrapped in jambon, and two bottles of excellent Gigondas were consumed, and beds were finally fallen into. Strangely, it was with a clear head that we went for a quick stroll round the park the following morning, with frequent pauses for animal photo opportunities. And then it was time to take les invitées back to the airport. We waved goodbye at the end of a spiffing weekend.Easter Monday passed in a quiet hive of inactivity, apart from a stroll along the river in the afternoon. Today the pub and football on TV awaits again. I maintain an air of realistic fatalism...
10 décembre 2009
Lights, laughter and lack of sleep
In a blur of lights, food, wine and lots of fun, the week flew by. Our guests for the 2009 Fête des Lumières were up at 5am on Saturday morning to catch an early flight to Lyon. They were duly met at the airport (nice drive out, Mont Blanc clearly visible), transported home, fed a gourmet picnic lunch with Gewürztraminer, and then it was time for their afternoon nap. Prof Margarita and I huddled round a dodgy internet feed of the Potters getting snookered on the green baize of North London, and then finally it was time to hit the streets and the lights of Lyon.
The Lights this year were designed to be more eco-friendly and intimate, so after our first taste of the impressive projections on the Prefecture du Rhône, we opted for a stroll along the river towards Parc de la Tête d'Or. There were various small installations along the way, the most popular being a video projection with manipulated images of spectators. In the park itself, the trees were bathed in light snow (or snow light) and there was a fairly effective display of neothlithic caves and paintings.
Afterwards we wandered back to the Poivre d'Âne for a late dinner, créme de St Jacques and duck burger among the delights on the menu, washed down with a rather nice St Joseph. Regrettably, I no longer feel able to claim that the famous moelleux au chocolat is the best in the world. And thence back home, for digestives and bedtime around 1.30am. Long day for the travellers...
Lie in on Sunday morning, followed by a trip to Les Halles de Lyon to effect purchases for Sunday dinner and chocolates for Christmas back home. For lunch we had une petite degustation of a Lyonnais specialty, quenelles. Afterwards the Caipirinha Kid and the Margarita man tried to walk it off with a stomp round the zoo and park while I dozed at home with Ms H and la bienheureuse prepared dinner. Early in the evening, we ventured out into the crowded streets. First objective was the display in Place des Terreaux, but with more people than ever, access was restricted so we abandoned the idea of queueing and headed instead for the Saône quayside to watch the fireworks, held over from the abandoned 14 juillet display. The Crack Fox was more of a delight for certain among our number...
Thence back into the throng, via the lights on the façade of the Église St Nizier to the queue for the show in Place Terreaux. The wait was worth it for a display on the Musée des Beaux Arts and the Hôtel de Ville, featuring time and weather, a play on the fact that the French use the same word, temps, for both. From there we dodged our way towards home, via the Christmas market and strike-reduced metro for the boys, where delicious lamb tajine was cooking slowly in the over. A rather fine Coteaux du Tracastin complemented it perfectly, followed by a la bienheureuse special, mmm... Tarte Tatin.
We were all in bed by 12.30 this time, la bienheureuse was up as usual to go to work, while the rest of us arose somewhat more tardily. Then we headed back to Les Halles for a sumptuous fish food platter in one of the restaurants. Oysters, prawns, urchins and king crab. Delicious, and we made it home in time for our guests to share a taxi to the airport with ma bien-aimée. Work trip for her, homeward bound for them.
It seemed quiet, at home on my own afterwards, but I put on a brave face and a waterproof and headed out in the evening to take in some more lights and take on some more water. The streets were much quieter, thanks in no small part to the fact that it poured with rain the whole evening. It was still worth the effort, because the light and sound tribute to the builders of St Jean cathedral was quite stunning, and there was a diverting, if tiring path up Fourvière hill to the basilica, where there was a display on the front façade for the first time.
La bienheureuse was home exhausted in the evening on Tuesday the 8th, the key day in the Fête des Lumières. We put our bougies on the window ledges but didn't make it out for more fireworks on the footbridge just down the road, opting instead for ham and brazed red cabbage, and Marseille losing out to the showboating Madrid galacticos on TV. I did go out later for one last look and photos of the cathedral show.
The Lights this year were designed to be more eco-friendly and intimate, so after our first taste of the impressive projections on the Prefecture du Rhône, we opted for a stroll along the river towards Parc de la Tête d'Or. There were various small installations along the way, the most popular being a video projection with manipulated images of spectators. In the park itself, the trees were bathed in light snow (or snow light) and there was a fairly effective display of neothlithic caves and paintings.
Afterwards we wandered back to the Poivre d'Âne for a late dinner, créme de St Jacques and duck burger among the delights on the menu, washed down with a rather nice St Joseph. Regrettably, I no longer feel able to claim that the famous moelleux au chocolat is the best in the world. And thence back home, for digestives and bedtime around 1.30am. Long day for the travellers...
Lie in on Sunday morning, followed by a trip to Les Halles de Lyon to effect purchases for Sunday dinner and chocolates for Christmas back home. For lunch we had une petite degustation of a Lyonnais specialty, quenelles. Afterwards the Caipirinha Kid and the Margarita man tried to walk it off with a stomp round the zoo and park while I dozed at home with Ms H and la bienheureuse prepared dinner. Early in the evening, we ventured out into the crowded streets. First objective was the display in Place des Terreaux, but with more people than ever, access was restricted so we abandoned the idea of queueing and headed instead for the Saône quayside to watch the fireworks, held over from the abandoned 14 juillet display. The Crack Fox was more of a delight for certain among our number...
Thence back into the throng, via the lights on the façade of the Église St Nizier to the queue for the show in Place Terreaux. The wait was worth it for a display on the Musée des Beaux Arts and the Hôtel de Ville, featuring time and weather, a play on the fact that the French use the same word, temps, for both. From there we dodged our way towards home, via the Christmas market and strike-reduced metro for the boys, where delicious lamb tajine was cooking slowly in the over. A rather fine Coteaux du Tracastin complemented it perfectly, followed by a la bienheureuse special, mmm... Tarte Tatin.
We were all in bed by 12.30 this time, la bienheureuse was up as usual to go to work, while the rest of us arose somewhat more tardily. Then we headed back to Les Halles for a sumptuous fish food platter in one of the restaurants. Oysters, prawns, urchins and king crab. Delicious, and we made it home in time for our guests to share a taxi to the airport with ma bien-aimée. Work trip for her, homeward bound for them.
It seemed quiet, at home on my own afterwards, but I put on a brave face and a waterproof and headed out in the evening to take in some more lights and take on some more water. The streets were much quieter, thanks in no small part to the fact that it poured with rain the whole evening. It was still worth the effort, because the light and sound tribute to the builders of St Jean cathedral was quite stunning, and there was a diverting, if tiring path up Fourvière hill to the basilica, where there was a display on the front façade for the first time.
La bienheureuse was home exhausted in the evening on Tuesday the 8th, the key day in the Fête des Lumières. We put our bougies on the window ledges but didn't make it out for more fireworks on the footbridge just down the road, opting instead for ham and brazed red cabbage, and Marseille losing out to the showboating Madrid galacticos on TV. I did go out later for one last look and photos of the cathedral show.
20 novembre 2009
Hands, hypocrisy and minor heatwaves
A difficult week for French football, starting with the infamous match last Wednesday. Les Bleus struggled, outplayed and outfought by the Irish, who missed a string of chances, the conversion of any of which would have avoided all the controversy. The match commentators, including St Arsène, were embarrassed, and the overall feeling was one of sheepish relief. Then came the media storm across the Channel and the Irish Sea. It seems the devil incarnate wears blue and answers to the name of Thierry. The clamour for a public hanging is such that a few politicians and ex-footballers have been moved to proclaim their shame about France going to South Africa. Perhaps it's cynical to suggest they are bowing to public opinion rather than any true sentiment.
Fair enough. What Henry did was wrong, the goal should have been disallowed, Ireland were more worthy of the win, but what amazes me is the level of self-righteous, hypocritical indignation in England - I seem to remember barely a mention of Michael Owen diving to win penalties against Argentina in successive world cups, or Rooney diving to win the penalty that ended the 49ers unbeaten run. Cheating is evidently a foreign invention. The English merely play clever...
Football rant over. Nearly. We were contemplating venturing out on Wednesday evening to take in the midnight arrival of this year's Beaujolais Nouveau in Place Bellecour, but tiredness and apathy got the better of us. Just as well, because celebrating Algerians mixed with the Beaujolais celebration and police ended up using tear gas to disperse the over-enthusiastic crowd. Elsewhere in the Lyon conurbation, jeunes Algeriens demonstrated their joy by burning a few cars and ransacking a couple of shops. Maybe it will be a quieter night next year.
If it's not bad taste to gloat about the weather to a British audience, then I will just mention the mini Indian summer we are having at the moment. It's been unseasonably mild for over a week, and today we basked in sunshine and temperatures of over 20 degrees. Winter has temporarily receded.
On the home front it's been a quiet week, apart from a big win on the lottery (winnings of 11 euros already partially reinvested), I've amused myself by making a hole in the toilet ceiling. But that's a story the telling of which can wait until it's fully over...
Fair enough. What Henry did was wrong, the goal should have been disallowed, Ireland were more worthy of the win, but what amazes me is the level of self-righteous, hypocritical indignation in England - I seem to remember barely a mention of Michael Owen diving to win penalties against Argentina in successive world cups, or Rooney diving to win the penalty that ended the 49ers unbeaten run. Cheating is evidently a foreign invention. The English merely play clever...
Football rant over. Nearly. We were contemplating venturing out on Wednesday evening to take in the midnight arrival of this year's Beaujolais Nouveau in Place Bellecour, but tiredness and apathy got the better of us. Just as well, because celebrating Algerians mixed with the Beaujolais celebration and police ended up using tear gas to disperse the over-enthusiastic crowd. Elsewhere in the Lyon conurbation, jeunes Algeriens demonstrated their joy by burning a few cars and ransacking a couple of shops. Maybe it will be a quieter night next year.
If it's not bad taste to gloat about the weather to a British audience, then I will just mention the mini Indian summer we are having at the moment. It's been unseasonably mild for over a week, and today we basked in sunshine and temperatures of over 20 degrees. Winter has temporarily receded.
On the home front it's been a quiet week, apart from a big win on the lottery (winnings of 11 euros already partially reinvested), I've amused myself by making a hole in the toilet ceiling. But that's a story the telling of which can wait until it's fully over...
02 novembre 2009
Wine, women, walking and watching balls
A highly enjoyable four day visit from a soggy shark diver, summarised as follows:
Mercredi: pick up small package of Sands from airport in the afternoon, transport home, put leftover pot roast back in the oven and await the return of la bienheureuse, who has been in Milan for three days. A pleasant evening in the company of two lovely ladies, drinking wine, listening to the chatter.
Jeudi: ma bien-aimée goes off to work, leaving me to entertain the shark lady. Fortunately she hits upon a way of entertaining herself for the day and persuades me to purchase tickets for the tennis. We thus spend a pleasant and interesting day at the Palais de Sports at Gerland, watching men hitting balls over a net on a pink and lilac court. Two and a half matches, a stroll in the sunny park in between, all for a bargain 20 euros. Come half past five though, it was high time to walk 200 yards down the road to the Halle Tony Garnier for pink, white and purple items of a somewhat more alluring nature - the salons des vins.
La bienheureuse arrived shortly after we did, and the next two hours passed in a tastebud tingling blur. Champagnes, whites and rosés, with a few reds thrown in. We came away with 3 bottles of champagne, and a couple of boxes of Vacqueyras and Côtes du Rhône from a favourite vineyard ordered and awaiting collection the following day. The evening was spent recovering, with a spag bol dinner. Needs be as needs must.
Vendredi: early return visit to the wine fair. Aim: to purchase a further couple of boxes to restock a dwindling white wine cellar. More tasting, more choosing, looking for easy drinking whites. Eventually we chose a Petit Chablis and a Provençal vin de pays. Oh, and a Banyol rosé from the same vineyard. Impulse buy, which meant dragging home a couple of cases more than intended. Fortunately, notre petite invitée gamely coped with three on a trolley, while I managed four.
In the afternoon I dragged her out on a walking tour of the Croix Rousse and Vieux Lyon. Traboules, painted walls and steps aplenty. At the end of the afternoon we refueled with coffee and crêpes before wending our way home. In the evening we were back out again, for a tasty dinner at Le Summertime close to the opera house.
Samedi: more walking, and more watching sports. In the morning, a walk to view the coloured leaves of autumn in the park, and galloping giraffes and sunbathing lemurs in the zoo. Then we adjourned to the pub and wolfed down lunch while watching the red heroes of north London put their lily white neighbours to flight. A perfect day was rounded off with pink champagne, chicken roast in milk and tarte tatin.
Dimanche: caught the tram to the university campus to visit the foire aux chocolats. The largest tiramisu in the world, and chocolate to suit any woman's taste, even one so demanding as that of our lovely guest. Then another long walk home, via lunch in the garden centre, tea and chocolate cake at home, before it was time to take the great white shark lover back to the airport. Soup, mini-quiches and toast for dinner. All wined out.
Mercredi: pick up small package of Sands from airport in the afternoon, transport home, put leftover pot roast back in the oven and await the return of la bienheureuse, who has been in Milan for three days. A pleasant evening in the company of two lovely ladies, drinking wine, listening to the chatter.
Jeudi: ma bien-aimée goes off to work, leaving me to entertain the shark lady. Fortunately she hits upon a way of entertaining herself for the day and persuades me to purchase tickets for the tennis. We thus spend a pleasant and interesting day at the Palais de Sports at Gerland, watching men hitting balls over a net on a pink and lilac court. Two and a half matches, a stroll in the sunny park in between, all for a bargain 20 euros. Come half past five though, it was high time to walk 200 yards down the road to the Halle Tony Garnier for pink, white and purple items of a somewhat more alluring nature - the salons des vins.
La bienheureuse arrived shortly after we did, and the next two hours passed in a tastebud tingling blur. Champagnes, whites and rosés, with a few reds thrown in. We came away with 3 bottles of champagne, and a couple of boxes of Vacqueyras and Côtes du Rhône from a favourite vineyard ordered and awaiting collection the following day. The evening was spent recovering, with a spag bol dinner. Needs be as needs must.
Vendredi: early return visit to the wine fair. Aim: to purchase a further couple of boxes to restock a dwindling white wine cellar. More tasting, more choosing, looking for easy drinking whites. Eventually we chose a Petit Chablis and a Provençal vin de pays. Oh, and a Banyol rosé from the same vineyard. Impulse buy, which meant dragging home a couple of cases more than intended. Fortunately, notre petite invitée gamely coped with three on a trolley, while I managed four.
In the afternoon I dragged her out on a walking tour of the Croix Rousse and Vieux Lyon. Traboules, painted walls and steps aplenty. At the end of the afternoon we refueled with coffee and crêpes before wending our way home. In the evening we were back out again, for a tasty dinner at Le Summertime close to the opera house.
Dimanche: caught the tram to the university campus to visit the foire aux chocolats. The largest tiramisu in the world, and chocolate to suit any woman's taste, even one so demanding as that of our lovely guest. Then another long walk home, via lunch in the garden centre, tea and chocolate cake at home, before it was time to take the great white shark lover back to the airport. Soup, mini-quiches and toast for dinner. All wined out.
23 juin 2009
Sun, sea and scuba
The celebration of underwater sightseeing and above water restaurant visiting that is the annual dive budwigs trip to La Favière turned out to be one of the best ever. Seven days of uninterrupted sunshine, calm seas, superb diving and gourmet dining.
The warm, sunny weather lured the crowds onto the roads and the drive down on Saturday took somewhat longer than usual, but the Lyon contingent arrived in time to take possession of our two apartments and await the arrival via Nice of Dr & Mr Wig and Professor Margarita. Alas, the sixth member of our happy band cried off at the last moment, pleading tiredness and stress brought on by overwork. No matter, we dried our tears, raised a glass to the missing Miss Colonel and tucked into our first dinner and mousse au chocolat of the week at an old favourite, the Brasserie du Port.
Late start to the diving on Sunday, due in part to a mass invasion of Bormes Plongée by two large diving clubs, but after the discovery six years late of the rather excellent swimming pool the gentle first dive on La Fourmigue was welcome, no less enjoyable and notable for a profusion of octopii. Dinner was taken at Cartoon Beach, the 'restaurant on the corner'. Thumbs up for the Marmite du Pecheur from the SdP connoiseur, and thumbs down for a bowl of water from the local stray moggy.
Monday morning, another old favourite, from a different angle - Pointe du Vaisseau: grouper city and nudibranch heaven for our macro expert, mini-diver Sogs. In the afternoon the over-chilled Margarita man and the merely chilled Caipirinha kid skipped the dive and missed a surprisingly excellent plunge on la Pointe de la Galère, previously named as my least favourite site. A couple of perfectly posing scorpion fish and an octopus in full display changed my mind.
In the evening we ventured further afield, a whole half a kilometre along the coast to Le Lavandou, where a new favourite, La Favouille, was found. Soupe de Poisson with a tentative JeB rating of at least 8, a Meli-Melo fruits de mer entrée off the scale, melt in the mouth agneau, and the best mousse au chocolat ever.
Tuesday - armed with a toastier wet suit, Prof M enjoyed a deep morning dive on the Sec de la Gabinière with the rest of us, except 1st class diver S who floated on the surface with a lighter than expected cylinder and not enough lead. Eventually she put on weight, found new buddies and enjoyed a dive on the algae infestged Gab east wall. After the usual gourmet lunch of bread, cheese, paté, saucisson and tinned fish, everyone was newly enthused and enjoyed a dive on a ski slope. Pointe de Montrémian the site, hide and seek in the sea grass the game.
Un nouveau depart in the evening - dinner in. Taking advantage of our uninhabited spare apartment, a rather tasty salad and fritata was cooked up by the resident master chefs, preceded by apertifs and the new cocktail of choice for the discerning drink-diver, caipirinha. Two thirds of a bottle of rum and two bottles of rosé later, we watched the Sands big adventure holiday video - great white shark cage diving amid heckling from the rum sozzled audience.
Wednesday morning, hurrahs all round. First and only wreck dive of the week, but what a wreck. Le Donator, 45 narcotic metres of wonder: coral and gorgonian covered metal, merous playing cache cache, and only a stuck dump valve to spoil JeB's delight. Nothing a bit of clawing at the neck seal can't solve. Afterwards lunch of delicious leftovers, and then no afternoon dive: siestas all round.
Another long trip for dinner, all the way up the hill to Bormes village. Excellent meal, excellent wine, excellent company. Little more to say.
Thursday morning - Pointe de la Croix, notable for a wayward swim over lots of sea grass, lots more groupers and a highly amusing lesson on how not to deploy a delayed SMB by the Professor. 1st lesson: it's useful to have a weight on the end of the line to avoid it floating in tangles about you. Second lesson: watch your depth otherwise you might end up finally getting some air into your buoy just before it reaches the surface. At the same time as you.
The giggles of hilarity subsided just in time for the afternoon dive on a site new to us - la Pointe de Maupertuis on the Ile du Levant. And a beautiful site it was too, a succession of ridges illuminated by the sun, and a couple of giant sea slugs made it one of the best dives of the week. The Gardiner DSMB deployment take two added to the fun too. The weighted line worked well. So well that the weight hit the bottom before the line was even half unreeled. Diver bouyancy was better controlled, but buoy buoyancy less so. A small puff of air eventually got it to the surface and it stayed there. Just.
Another trip to Le Lavandou in the evening. A half hearted attempt to seek out restaurants new ended with us back at Tuesday evening's haunt. Another gourmet dinner followed.
Friday - last day, last dives. The morning, back to the one of the jewels in the crown of Côte d'Azur diving - the east wall of La Gabinière. Rather good it was too, though the profusion of algae covering the rocks and coral somewhat dulled the glitter. The Margarita DSMB deployment drill finally went off smoothly and even ascertained the length of line to be 12 metres exactly. The dive finished with a heroic rescue of Dr Sogs (FCD), swept away on the tide, Spain the next stop, by her hero JeB.
The afternoon, and then there were two - the diving die-hards, Dr S and moi-même. The Mistral had whipped up a choppy sea in the intervening few hours, meaning we had to make do with the short return trip to La Fourmigue. Another interesting tour of a rock, an interesting navigational technique to find le Spahis, and finally the diving for the week was over. And a great week's diving it was too.
Final evening, final dinner of the week. Another new restaurant, tasty moules frites Chez Mamie for most, charred magret de canard for the non-seafood eater amoung us. Back home for a farewell game of tête de merde, and it was all over bar the shouting and apartment cleaning the next morning.
We will be back.
The warm, sunny weather lured the crowds onto the roads and the drive down on Saturday took somewhat longer than usual, but the Lyon contingent arrived in time to take possession of our two apartments and await the arrival via Nice of Dr & Mr Wig and Professor Margarita. Alas, the sixth member of our happy band cried off at the last moment, pleading tiredness and stress brought on by overwork. No matter, we dried our tears, raised a glass to the missing Miss Colonel and tucked into our first dinner and mousse au chocolat of the week at an old favourite, the Brasserie du Port.
Late start to the diving on Sunday, due in part to a mass invasion of Bormes Plongée by two large diving clubs, but after the discovery six years late of the rather excellent swimming pool the gentle first dive on La Fourmigue was welcome, no less enjoyable and notable for a profusion of octopii. Dinner was taken at Cartoon Beach, the 'restaurant on the corner'. Thumbs up for the Marmite du Pecheur from the SdP connoiseur, and thumbs down for a bowl of water from the local stray moggy.
Monday morning, another old favourite, from a different angle - Pointe du Vaisseau: grouper city and nudibranch heaven for our macro expert, mini-diver Sogs. In the afternoon the over-chilled Margarita man and the merely chilled Caipirinha kid skipped the dive and missed a surprisingly excellent plunge on la Pointe de la Galère, previously named as my least favourite site. A couple of perfectly posing scorpion fish and an octopus in full display changed my mind.
In the evening we ventured further afield, a whole half a kilometre along the coast to Le Lavandou, where a new favourite, La Favouille, was found. Soupe de Poisson with a tentative JeB rating of at least 8, a Meli-Melo fruits de mer entrée off the scale, melt in the mouth agneau, and the best mousse au chocolat ever.Tuesday - armed with a toastier wet suit, Prof M enjoyed a deep morning dive on the Sec de la Gabinière with the rest of us, except 1st class diver S who floated on the surface with a lighter than expected cylinder and not enough lead. Eventually she put on weight, found new buddies and enjoyed a dive on the algae infestged Gab east wall. After the usual gourmet lunch of bread, cheese, paté, saucisson and tinned fish, everyone was newly enthused and enjoyed a dive on a ski slope. Pointe de Montrémian the site, hide and seek in the sea grass the game.
Un nouveau depart in the evening - dinner in. Taking advantage of our uninhabited spare apartment, a rather tasty salad and fritata was cooked up by the resident master chefs, preceded by apertifs and the new cocktail of choice for the discerning drink-diver, caipirinha. Two thirds of a bottle of rum and two bottles of rosé later, we watched the Sands big adventure holiday video - great white shark cage diving amid heckling from the rum sozzled audience.
Wednesday morning, hurrahs all round. First and only wreck dive of the week, but what a wreck. Le Donator, 45 narcotic metres of wonder: coral and gorgonian covered metal, merous playing cache cache, and only a stuck dump valve to spoil JeB's delight. Nothing a bit of clawing at the neck seal can't solve. Afterwards lunch of delicious leftovers, and then no afternoon dive: siestas all round.
Another long trip for dinner, all the way up the hill to Bormes village. Excellent meal, excellent wine, excellent company. Little more to say.
Thursday morning - Pointe de la Croix, notable for a wayward swim over lots of sea grass, lots more groupers and a highly amusing lesson on how not to deploy a delayed SMB by the Professor. 1st lesson: it's useful to have a weight on the end of the line to avoid it floating in tangles about you. Second lesson: watch your depth otherwise you might end up finally getting some air into your buoy just before it reaches the surface. At the same time as you.
The giggles of hilarity subsided just in time for the afternoon dive on a site new to us - la Pointe de Maupertuis on the Ile du Levant. And a beautiful site it was too, a succession of ridges illuminated by the sun, and a couple of giant sea slugs made it one of the best dives of the week. The Gardiner DSMB deployment take two added to the fun too. The weighted line worked well. So well that the weight hit the bottom before the line was even half unreeled. Diver bouyancy was better controlled, but buoy buoyancy less so. A small puff of air eventually got it to the surface and it stayed there. Just.
Another trip to Le Lavandou in the evening. A half hearted attempt to seek out restaurants new ended with us back at Tuesday evening's haunt. Another gourmet dinner followed.
Friday - last day, last dives. The morning, back to the one of the jewels in the crown of Côte d'Azur diving - the east wall of La Gabinière. Rather good it was too, though the profusion of algae covering the rocks and coral somewhat dulled the glitter. The Margarita DSMB deployment drill finally went off smoothly and even ascertained the length of line to be 12 metres exactly. The dive finished with a heroic rescue of Dr Sogs (FCD), swept away on the tide, Spain the next stop, by her hero JeB.
The afternoon, and then there were two - the diving die-hards, Dr S and moi-même. The Mistral had whipped up a choppy sea in the intervening few hours, meaning we had to make do with the short return trip to La Fourmigue. Another interesting tour of a rock, an interesting navigational technique to find le Spahis, and finally the diving for the week was over. And a great week's diving it was too.
Final evening, final dinner of the week. Another new restaurant, tasty moules frites Chez Mamie for most, charred magret de canard for the non-seafood eater amoung us. Back home for a farewell game of tête de merde, and it was all over bar the shouting and apartment cleaning the next morning.
We will be back.
12 juin 2009
Rosy holidays
La bienheureuse has been in hot and steamy Bulgaria since Wednesday, but she was here to celebrate my birthday earlier in the week, my years on this earth equalling the unbeaten run of the famous Invincibles of 2004. As is only right for an idle layabout, I cooked dinner and the wage-earner bought a rather excellent bottle of Pope's Newcastle. Lovely it was too.
Otherwise, a quiet week, the weather gets warmer and sunnier in thoughtful anticipation of our upcoming holiday, in the French home of rosé wine, where the vignerons should be in a good mood following their victory against the despised blended red & white wine. Not the real stuff at all.
Otherwise, a quiet week, the weather gets warmer and sunnier in thoughtful anticipation of our upcoming holiday, in the French home of rosé wine, where the vignerons should be in a good mood following their victory against the despised blended red & white wine. Not the real stuff at all.
11 juin 2009
Victoires des bleues, vertes et rosés
The European elections in France followed the rightward trend elsewhere in Europe. The lowest ever turnout allowed the UMP to buck the normal trend of governing parties and get the most votes and seats, though 28% is hardly a thumping majority. The Socialists emulated their cousins across the Channel, failing dismally with only 17% and were almost beaten into third place by the suprise package Green alliance.
On another European battle front, France has claimed victory in the rosé wine saga. Outrage was caused here by the EU's initial plan to allow wine that is merely a blend of red and white to be called rosé, but French viticulturists have now seen justice done with the reversal of the decision. "The death of a product with great history and quality has been averted thanks to the intervention of France and Italy, two countries with a common passion for wine and its intrinsic culture."
Quite so.
In an area of modern culture with rather less tradition, the government has recently received another bloody nose. The law criminalising illegal downloading on the internet, passed recently at the second attempt after an amusing ambush by the parliamentary opposition, has been declared unconstitutional by the Conseil constitutionnel, which has the last word on law making in France. The power of a judge to withdraw internet access for those caught making illegal downloads three times is the main point at issue. Contrary to basic human rights, apparently. The saga continues...
On another European battle front, France has claimed victory in the rosé wine saga. Outrage was caused here by the EU's initial plan to allow wine that is merely a blend of red and white to be called rosé, but French viticulturists have now seen justice done with the reversal of the decision. "The death of a product with great history and quality has been averted thanks to the intervention of France and Italy, two countries with a common passion for wine and its intrinsic culture."
Quite so.
In an area of modern culture with rather less tradition, the government has recently received another bloody nose. The law criminalising illegal downloading on the internet, passed recently at the second attempt after an amusing ambush by the parliamentary opposition, has been declared unconstitutional by the Conseil constitutionnel, which has the last word on law making in France. The power of a judge to withdraw internet access for those caught making illegal downloads three times is the main point at issue. Contrary to basic human rights, apparently. The saga continues...
03 février 2009
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.
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.
12 novembre 2008
Wining, ducking and dining
The weekend trip across La Manche turned out to be as enjoyable as expected and more. The excuse for turning it into something of a celebration was l'anniversaire de la bienheureuse, even if it is still more than a month away.
The eating and drinking got off to an auspicious start on Friday evening, with a Cambridge-based group visit to the Rice Boat, a highly recommended Kerala restaurant in Newnham. Excellent curry and too much wine resulted in a hangover on Saturday morning, but that was soon cured by watching the footballing gods restore right to the world with the defeat of the evil red empire by the patched up red and white forces of beautiful football.
Thence to Central London to meet up with more friends, principally from la bienheureuse's time in Canterbury. First stop Vinopolis, with a guided tour given by une belle portugaise followed by an excellent meal at the in-house restaurant Cantina, and more drinks in a riverside pub. Good wine, good food and a gin cocktail - what more perfect night out is there?
A rather more judicious intake of wine resulted in a somewhat clearer head on Sunday for the duck tour. Not the winged, webbed footed variety in park ponds, but an amphibious landing craft painted bright yellow and used as a vehicle for a tour on both land and water. The best bit of course was the splash down the ramp into the river.
After a late lunch on the South Bank, next stop was Bexleyheath for overnight lodging chez les bons docteurs C, entertainment provided by the tireless J-Z double act and sparklers in the rain. Monday, after le fils ainé was gently persuaded to forsake our bed for a trip to school, we spent a typical Sunday morning watching DVDs and the driving rain outside while the JezDoctor worked upstairs. Then it was off to Gatwick for a delayed flight back home.
The eating and drinking got off to an auspicious start on Friday evening, with a Cambridge-based group visit to the Rice Boat, a highly recommended Kerala restaurant in Newnham. Excellent curry and too much wine resulted in a hangover on Saturday morning, but that was soon cured by watching the footballing gods restore right to the world with the defeat of the evil red empire by the patched up red and white forces of beautiful football.
Thence to Central London to meet up with more friends, principally from la bienheureuse's time in Canterbury. First stop Vinopolis, with a guided tour given by une belle portugaise followed by an excellent meal at the in-house restaurant Cantina, and more drinks in a riverside pub. Good wine, good food and a gin cocktail - what more perfect night out is there?
A rather more judicious intake of wine resulted in a somewhat clearer head on Sunday for the duck tour. Not the winged, webbed footed variety in park ponds, but an amphibious landing craft painted bright yellow and used as a vehicle for a tour on both land and water. The best bit of course was the splash down the ramp into the river.
After a late lunch on the South Bank, next stop was Bexleyheath for overnight lodging chez les bons docteurs C, entertainment provided by the tireless J-Z double act and sparklers in the rain. Monday, after le fils ainé was gently persuaded to forsake our bed for a trip to school, we spent a typical Sunday morning watching DVDs and the driving rain outside while the JezDoctor worked upstairs. Then it was off to Gatwick for a delayed flight back home.
06 novembre 2008
Winning and wining
Another day, another routine 2-0 victory for OL last night, against the team they beat with somewhat greater difficulty in an 8 goal thriller in Bucharest two weeks ago. A point in their next game against Fiorentina will be enough for qualification, but a loss would throw it up in the air again.
More football and wine in prospect this weekend, with a trip to Blighty, a game at the new home of football against the evil red empire (can't say I'm entirely looking forward to that), and a couple of evenings out with friends in early celebration of la bienheureuse's completion of four decades. Saturday evening is another wine tasting evening, which may leave a few thick heads for the tour on a duck the next day...
More football and wine in prospect this weekend, with a trip to Blighty, a game at the new home of football against the evil red empire (can't say I'm entirely looking forward to that), and a couple of evenings out with friends in early celebration of la bienheureuse's completion of four decades. Saturday evening is another wine tasting evening, which may leave a few thick heads for the tour on a duck the next day...
03 novembre 2008
Wine, chocolate and a nightmare prolonged
Highly enjoyable weekend, in all ways but one. Friday evening, JeB and the Soggy Doctor are due to arrive late on, mobile phone beeps: text message saying they won't make it till Saturday morning. Turns out to be a complicated story involved a late connecting flight, forgotten passport and needlessly checked-in luggage, none of which on their own would have been a problem, but in combination proved fatal. Seems J&S, BA and flights to Lyon are not a happy mix. Heureusement, they catch the early flight the next morning and are here by ten-thirty, to be whisked straight from the airport to the wine fair.
Four hours of tasting and purchasing later, we arrive back at the flat loaded with 14 cases of wine, nearly half for the annual Meribel ski trip, I hasten to add. There my mood is darkened by events in a far-off stadium, but recovers during the course of a characteristically convivial evening. Canard à la JeB et tarte tatin washed down by a couple of the afternoon's purchases.
The gastronomic weekend continues on Sunday with a stroll through the park to a chocolate festival, which needless to say, includes a stall selling chocolate wine. The Chocoholic amazingly resists making any purchases. Stroll back in lovely autumn sunshine, belying the floods elsewhere in the region, admiring the animals in the zoo en route.
Guests safely deposited at the airport, we just about manage to summon up the energy to trek out to Stade Gerland where OL manage a competent victory to stay 4 points clear at the top. Torrential rain during the game threatens to drench us, but stops in time for the trip home.
And this morning, needless to say again, la bienheureuse is in Germany again while I attempt to stick to a self-imposed deadline to finish roman numéro trois by the time we jet off to tropical waters in two weeks. Hmm, better get down to it...
Four hours of tasting and purchasing later, we arrive back at the flat loaded with 14 cases of wine, nearly half for the annual Meribel ski trip, I hasten to add. There my mood is darkened by events in a far-off stadium, but recovers during the course of a characteristically convivial evening. Canard à la JeB et tarte tatin washed down by a couple of the afternoon's purchases.
The gastronomic weekend continues on Sunday with a stroll through the park to a chocolate festival, which needless to say, includes a stall selling chocolate wine. The Chocoholic amazingly resists making any purchases. Stroll back in lovely autumn sunshine, belying the floods elsewhere in the region, admiring the animals in the zoo en route.
Guests safely deposited at the airport, we just about manage to summon up the energy to trek out to Stade Gerland where OL manage a competent victory to stay 4 points clear at the top. Torrential rain during the game threatens to drench us, but stops in time for the trip home.
And this morning, needless to say again, la bienheureuse is in Germany again while I attempt to stick to a self-imposed deadline to finish roman numéro trois by the time we jet off to tropical waters in two weeks. Hmm, better get down to it...
31 octobre 2008
Five minute nightmare
Well, that was a largely forgettable week. Cold, wet and miserable. Particularly on Wednesday. What was otherwise a good trip over to Blighty (flights on time, survived encounter with the law) was completely spoiled by the cauchemardesque ending to the norf london derby. One of the great premiership games, they're calling it. Great if you're not of the red & white persuasion.
A warning not to loiter with intent around airports. Was waiting for my chauffeur at Stansted on Wednesday evening, at a place not officially designated for picking up, when a car with yellow & blue livery pulls up. Polite policeman rolls down the window, asks what I'm doing, and asks to see ID. Radioing my name through evidently produces the information that I'm not on the most wanted list, and he kindly tells me he hopes I don't have to wait in the cold for my lift much longer. I'd thought I was out of view of any of the sundry CCTV cameras as well...
And so on to this weekend. Hopefully I'll have finished sulking by this evening, when guests JeB and Dr S arrive for the weekend winefest. The annual Salon des Vignerons Indépendants takes place over the next few days. Perfect for sorrows, the drowning of...
A warning not to loiter with intent around airports. Was waiting for my chauffeur at Stansted on Wednesday evening, at a place not officially designated for picking up, when a car with yellow & blue livery pulls up. Polite policeman rolls down the window, asks what I'm doing, and asks to see ID. Radioing my name through evidently produces the information that I'm not on the most wanted list, and he kindly tells me he hopes I don't have to wait in the cold for my lift much longer. I'd thought I was out of view of any of the sundry CCTV cameras as well...
And so on to this weekend. Hopefully I'll have finished sulking by this evening, when guests JeB and Dr S arrive for the weekend winefest. The annual Salon des Vignerons Indépendants takes place over the next few days. Perfect for sorrows, the drowning of...
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