Toddler behaviour, part n: swings between sweet nature and irritable, stubborn bad moods seem to be par for the course at the moment, though it should be admitted that the upswings are generally longer lasting. Another weekend trip to the pool passed off sans tantrum, and capped a pleasant weekend that started as is now usual with papa et fille enjoying a 'motricité' session at the crèche. Songs, games, and circuit training for under threes add up to a fun-filled hour for toddler and parent.
The major behavioural downswing came yesterday morning, midway through a two-day spell without mama. A nappy change just after lunch resulted in a major tantrum which only ended when papa pretended, without having to put on too much of an act, to cry as loudly as his daughter. We'll put it down to missing mama (in Paris on her final work trip, by train, before confinement) and some ongoing digestive problems. Said nappy change was required after a concerted and eventually successful effort to force a bowel movement. Constipation is unsettling enough for an adult, so can't imagine how it makes a two year old feel. Fingers crossed things loosen up soon...
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est work. Afficher tous les articles
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est work. Afficher tous les articles
21 mars 2013
12 février 2013
Chink of light
While it was optimistic to expect all coughs and sniffles to have gone within a week, in the case of papa et la petite at least, there seems to be light visible at the end of the tunnel. For la travailleuse however, another cold has added to the persistent cough. Not serious enough to stop her travelling to Helsinki this week though, hopefully the last work trip for several months. Father and daughter just about survived two days and nights without her last week, but only just. Seems 72 hours without mama is the absolute limit for a nearly two year old toddler...
On a brighter note, sunlight reappeared in the apartment last week, the first indoor sighting since early November. Maybe the sombre, unhealthy days of winter really are numbered. Then again, maybe not. A couple of minor snowfalls last week would seem to suggest otherwise anyway, even if the bigger dump forecast over the weekend instead turned to rain. Temperatures are still well below the seasonal average though.
In the wider world, almost half the primary school teachers in Lyon and elsewhere are on strike today, as protest against the reform of the school week proposed for the start of the next academic year. For the last twenty or thirty years, French primary school pupils and teachers have had Wednesdays off. Up until a few years ago, they went to school on Saturday mornings instead, but that was done away with under the last government.
There is general agreement that this led to too intense a school day for the children (French primary school children have 6 hours of lessons a day, the highest in Europe, when psychological studies show they are generally attentive for a maximum of 4.5 hours day). What there is less agreement about is how to redistribute the hours in the school week. The government is proposing Wednesday morning lessons, with a longer lunch break the other days of the week and non-academic activities in the afternoons. Parents and teachers alike aren't too keen of the idea of a change in the routine they've got used to over the last twenty years. The argument continues…
On a brighter note, sunlight reappeared in the apartment last week, the first indoor sighting since early November. Maybe the sombre, unhealthy days of winter really are numbered. Then again, maybe not. A couple of minor snowfalls last week would seem to suggest otherwise anyway, even if the bigger dump forecast over the weekend instead turned to rain. Temperatures are still well below the seasonal average though.
In the wider world, almost half the primary school teachers in Lyon and elsewhere are on strike today, as protest against the reform of the school week proposed for the start of the next academic year. For the last twenty or thirty years, French primary school pupils and teachers have had Wednesdays off. Up until a few years ago, they went to school on Saturday mornings instead, but that was done away with under the last government.
There is general agreement that this led to too intense a school day for the children (French primary school children have 6 hours of lessons a day, the highest in Europe, when psychological studies show they are generally attentive for a maximum of 4.5 hours day). What there is less agreement about is how to redistribute the hours in the school week. The government is proposing Wednesday morning lessons, with a longer lunch break the other days of the week and non-academic activities in the afternoons. Parents and teachers alike aren't too keen of the idea of a change in the routine they've got used to over the last twenty years. The argument continues…
05 février 2013
Coughing comeback
And so it continues. Just as one illness is on its way out, so another takes its place. La petite's cold improved, then got worse, la bienheureuse's cough was almost gone before returning with a vengeance, and papa had just about recovered from his previous ailment when yet another cold came along and aggravated the cough again. Splutter, three ailments in two months from a man who claims three in ten previous years. All now slowly recovering, fingers crossed and nostrils blocked…
Of course, air travel is never good for the health, so perhaps I was tempting fate by indulging in a cross-Channel trip last week to ease my lifelong football fever. And the health of the Premier League heroes continues to ebb and flow, with yet another half and half performance against the red Scousers. Still, t'was an entertaining game and a pleasant evening otherwise, a pre-match pub dinner with la petite beaucoup et le grand chef followed by a post-match pint or two with the McBhoy, who also provided convenient overnight lodgings a mere ten minute walk from the ground.
Meanwhile, la femme enceinte is also risking the perils of planes, with the first work trip of the new year - a short hop to company headquarters in Germany this week, albeit a two-nighter, before a longer trip next week to the land of a thousand frozen lakes. Maybe by then, we'll all be healthy...
Of course, air travel is never good for the health, so perhaps I was tempting fate by indulging in a cross-Channel trip last week to ease my lifelong football fever. And the health of the Premier League heroes continues to ebb and flow, with yet another half and half performance against the red Scousers. Still, t'was an entertaining game and a pleasant evening otherwise, a pre-match pub dinner with la petite beaucoup et le grand chef followed by a post-match pint or two with the McBhoy, who also provided convenient overnight lodgings a mere ten minute walk from the ground.
Meanwhile, la femme enceinte is also risking the perils of planes, with the first work trip of the new year - a short hop to company headquarters in Germany this week, albeit a two-nighter, before a longer trip next week to the land of a thousand frozen lakes. Maybe by then, we'll all be healthy...
14 septembre 2012
Crèche course
Travel note 14: La petite coquinette does not like being strapped in on parents' knees. Even more screaming and struggling in the flight home than the outward journey.
Travel note 15: don't be tempted to try and evade airport parking charges when car is left in an overflow field with a mere wooden barrier that was open when we parked. Arrive in said field to find said barrier firmly padlocked shut. Fortunately a hasty round trip back to the terminal to validate parking ticket doesn't take too long. We arrive home exhausted with a toddler who has had a mere 40 minutes sleep during the day. She's in bed a full two hours before her habitual holiday bedtime, and parents follow soon afterwards.
The next day it was in at the deep end in the return to normal life. Both parents accompanied la petite to her new crèche on the first morning of a three day adaptation. We all stayed ninety minutes, then la petite and papa went home for lunch while la travailleuse went in to work briefly before jetting off for a meeting in Barcelona. In the afternoon, another short spell at the crèche, but this time papa left his little baby on her own for half an hour.
Thursday we were both back for another two part session at the crèche, only this time I left my little darling fending for herself in the big bad world of collective childcare for a total of more than two hours. Each time I left her screaming - screaming with delight, that is, while throwing herself energetically around exercise mats. Seems she has taken to the crèche like a duck to water. Conversely, once she was home alone with only papa for company she was in a distinctly grumpy mood. I thus looked forward to the return of la bienheureuse that evening with more than the usual anticipation. Alas, her flight took off, turned round, and landed back in Barcelona. Faulty undercarriage. Another night in Catalonia beckoned. Humph.
A short night, that is. Early flight the next morning meant a 4.30am alarm call. Meanwhile, la petite and papa enjoyed a full night's sleep only for the former to get out of bed on the wrong side. Worst morning strop ever - refused milk, didn't want to be picked up, didn't want to play with her toys or cuddle doudou, yelled and cried non-stop for half an hour. Obviously missing mama and staging a protest about all the travelling and change in the last few weeks. Finally I was reduced to the TV drug - putting on her favourite DVD of children's music at last calmed her just in time for the return of la voyageuse.
Of course the little dear was fine while she was at the crèche that morning in her final adaptation session, this time staying the whole morning and sharing lunch with her new friends. The downside of spending time with other children her own age became apparent over the weekend: yet another cold. Still, it wasn't bad enough on Sunday to discourage us from setting out in the car to go swimming. Only we didn't - arrived to find the pool closed for cleaning. No matter, the warm sunshine encouraged us to stop off in the Grand Parc de Miribel-Jonage where la petite paddled and splashed in the lake. Her parents having neglected to swap clothes for swimming costume, she got so wet she had to travel home in only a nappy. With temperatures approaching 30C, she didn't get too chilled. We hope. The cold was worse the next day mind you…
First full week at the crèche followed. Well, full week of two full days a week. Tuesday it was déjà vu - la petite at the crèche, for the whole day this time, la bienheureuse travelling for work again, Bratislava this time. Home on his own, papa sighed and suppressed the longing by getting on with some chores. Wednesday evening mama returned home on schedule and took the next day off to recover. She took her little girl in to the crèche in the morning and then we both spent the rest of the day clearing junk out of the garage in preparation for another new arrival...
Travel note 15: don't be tempted to try and evade airport parking charges when car is left in an overflow field with a mere wooden barrier that was open when we parked. Arrive in said field to find said barrier firmly padlocked shut. Fortunately a hasty round trip back to the terminal to validate parking ticket doesn't take too long. We arrive home exhausted with a toddler who has had a mere 40 minutes sleep during the day. She's in bed a full two hours before her habitual holiday bedtime, and parents follow soon afterwards.
The next day it was in at the deep end in the return to normal life. Both parents accompanied la petite to her new crèche on the first morning of a three day adaptation. We all stayed ninety minutes, then la petite and papa went home for lunch while la travailleuse went in to work briefly before jetting off for a meeting in Barcelona. In the afternoon, another short spell at the crèche, but this time papa left his little baby on her own for half an hour.
Thursday we were both back for another two part session at the crèche, only this time I left my little darling fending for herself in the big bad world of collective childcare for a total of more than two hours. Each time I left her screaming - screaming with delight, that is, while throwing herself energetically around exercise mats. Seems she has taken to the crèche like a duck to water. Conversely, once she was home alone with only papa for company she was in a distinctly grumpy mood. I thus looked forward to the return of la bienheureuse that evening with more than the usual anticipation. Alas, her flight took off, turned round, and landed back in Barcelona. Faulty undercarriage. Another night in Catalonia beckoned. Humph.
A short night, that is. Early flight the next morning meant a 4.30am alarm call. Meanwhile, la petite and papa enjoyed a full night's sleep only for the former to get out of bed on the wrong side. Worst morning strop ever - refused milk, didn't want to be picked up, didn't want to play with her toys or cuddle doudou, yelled and cried non-stop for half an hour. Obviously missing mama and staging a protest about all the travelling and change in the last few weeks. Finally I was reduced to the TV drug - putting on her favourite DVD of children's music at last calmed her just in time for the return of la voyageuse.
Of course the little dear was fine while she was at the crèche that morning in her final adaptation session, this time staying the whole morning and sharing lunch with her new friends. The downside of spending time with other children her own age became apparent over the weekend: yet another cold. Still, it wasn't bad enough on Sunday to discourage us from setting out in the car to go swimming. Only we didn't - arrived to find the pool closed for cleaning. No matter, the warm sunshine encouraged us to stop off in the Grand Parc de Miribel-Jonage where la petite paddled and splashed in the lake. Her parents having neglected to swap clothes for swimming costume, she got so wet she had to travel home in only a nappy. With temperatures approaching 30C, she didn't get too chilled. We hope. The cold was worse the next day mind you…
First full week at the crèche followed. Well, full week of two full days a week. Tuesday it was déjà vu - la petite at the crèche, for the whole day this time, la bienheureuse travelling for work again, Bratislava this time. Home on his own, papa sighed and suppressed the longing by getting on with some chores. Wednesday evening mama returned home on schedule and took the next day off to recover. She took her little girl in to the crèche in the morning and then we both spent the rest of the day clearing junk out of the garage in preparation for another new arrival...
11 juin 2012
Dampened expectations
The first round of the parliamentary elections in France yesterday were inevitably somewhat overshadowed by the presidential election that preceded them a month ago. It wasn't until about 10 days ago that the media started paying much attention at all to them, and that was mainly focused on the more high-profile constituencies such as the extreme right-far left punch-up between Le Pen & Melenchon. And it seems enthusiasm for the vote was duly dampened, perhaps in part by the wet weather yesterday, because the turnout was the lowest ever in the republican era.
The new president seems likely to be given a workable parliamentary majority, even if it is only with the support of the far left. Thanks to the election system, the Front de Gauche are ironically predicted to gain a dozen or so seats, at least four times as many as the Front National despite only getting half the number of votes and Melenchon losing the mediatised battle with Le Pen. Long may it continue…
Chez these particular disenfranchised foreigners, the election more or less passed us by. Other matters demand greater attention:
the weather - the arrival of summer ten days ago turned out to be a mere rumour. Since that blazing hot Saturday, temperatures have dropped below seasonal norms and the rain has been more or less ever present. Taking la petite out for her daily constitutional has become an exercise in dodging the showers. Yesterday we got it wrong. A trip by bike to the local garden centre for lunch and an emergency purchase of wellies for la travailleuse's sugar beet field trip to eastern Germany this week seemed a good idea until we left the shop to find the rain coming down. No waterproofs either. Fortunately it eased enough for us to get home without getting too wet.
toddler health: another routine visit to the paediatrician last week produced familiar results - tears and struggles before the jab but not after, a clean bill of health, another 3cm, another kilo, and a recommendation from the good doctor that la petite take up judo after her demonstration of muscle strength. He also warned of minor after-effects from the MMR vaccine, which possibly explain why la petite succumbed to yet another cold a few days later.
toddler adventure: the cold doesn't stop the little stunt artist from frequent demonstrations of her new found climbing skills. Latest favourite mountains to conquer are the arms of the sofas, from which it's great fun to fall backwards onto the soft sofa cushions. Continual admonishments from mama & papa as they nervously eye the more dangerous fall in the other direction have little effect.
The new president seems likely to be given a workable parliamentary majority, even if it is only with the support of the far left. Thanks to the election system, the Front de Gauche are ironically predicted to gain a dozen or so seats, at least four times as many as the Front National despite only getting half the number of votes and Melenchon losing the mediatised battle with Le Pen. Long may it continue…
Chez these particular disenfranchised foreigners, the election more or less passed us by. Other matters demand greater attention:
the weather - the arrival of summer ten days ago turned out to be a mere rumour. Since that blazing hot Saturday, temperatures have dropped below seasonal norms and the rain has been more or less ever present. Taking la petite out for her daily constitutional has become an exercise in dodging the showers. Yesterday we got it wrong. A trip by bike to the local garden centre for lunch and an emergency purchase of wellies for la travailleuse's sugar beet field trip to eastern Germany this week seemed a good idea until we left the shop to find the rain coming down. No waterproofs either. Fortunately it eased enough for us to get home without getting too wet.
toddler health: another routine visit to the paediatrician last week produced familiar results - tears and struggles before the jab but not after, a clean bill of health, another 3cm, another kilo, and a recommendation from the good doctor that la petite take up judo after her demonstration of muscle strength. He also warned of minor after-effects from the MMR vaccine, which possibly explain why la petite succumbed to yet another cold a few days later.
toddler adventure: the cold doesn't stop the little stunt artist from frequent demonstrations of her new found climbing skills. Latest favourite mountains to conquer are the arms of the sofas, from which it's great fun to fall backwards onto the soft sofa cushions. Continual admonishments from mama & papa as they nervously eye the more dangerous fall in the other direction have little effect.
10 juillet 2011
Travel travails
Baby's travel experience so far amounts to afternoon pram promenades along the river and four car journeys. First car trip: short ride home from hospital - five day old baby sleeps all the way. Second excursion: return trip to the airport to pick up grandmère - 3 week old baby sleeps through puncture incident, all the way to the airport, and part of the way back. So far so good, babies always sleep in the car don't they?
Not this one.
Car trip number 3: short ride to the garden centre and back. La petite, aged almost 3 months, starts screaming inconsolably before we're two minutes down the road. Resorting to the dreaded dummy, which we'd rather stupidly left in the boot necessitating an emergency stop, finally calms her.
Travel tale number 4: a couple of days before celebrating 4 months in this world, we treat la petite coquinette to another car ride and another trip to the airport to pick up Mamy. She remains wide awake all the way out, and wide awake and screaming all the way back. Dummies, toys, singing, pulling faces, making funny noises, gagging, none of it works, and the non-functioning climatisation doesn't help either. And in five weeks we look forward to 12 hours in the car on a trip back to Blighty. That'll be fun…
Otherwise it's been a quiet week. La grandmère has got to know her newly alert and demanding grandchild, and her feeding quirks. La bienheureuse left her trois bien-aimés at home on Tuesday night to fly to Germany for a work meeting the next day. First night away from baby, first time papa has had to put la petite coquinette to bed since a not-so-successful attempt three weeks ago. He approached the task with some trepidation, but never fear. The two angels' bedtime routine works like a charm. She may not sleep in cars but she sleeps all night.
It wasn't so quiet earlier yesterday evening. The Punjabi princess was back in Lyon for a visit and graced us with her presence. Looking forward to her own happy event in a few months, she was eager to meet notre petite for the first time. And was treated to a big smile, swiftly followed by a loud wail of distress. And for the next ninety minutes, our visitor was treated to baby behaviour at its worst. Certainly our baby's behaviour at its worst. Not quite sure what brought that on - probably a mixture of over-excitement and over-tiredness. Fortunately, once la petite was put to bed silence and normality returned - silence in a manner of speaking: dinner with three women is never a particularly quiet affair, not these particular women anyway.
Not this one.
Car trip number 3: short ride to the garden centre and back. La petite, aged almost 3 months, starts screaming inconsolably before we're two minutes down the road. Resorting to the dreaded dummy, which we'd rather stupidly left in the boot necessitating an emergency stop, finally calms her.
Travel tale number 4: a couple of days before celebrating 4 months in this world, we treat la petite coquinette to another car ride and another trip to the airport to pick up Mamy. She remains wide awake all the way out, and wide awake and screaming all the way back. Dummies, toys, singing, pulling faces, making funny noises, gagging, none of it works, and the non-functioning climatisation doesn't help either. And in five weeks we look forward to 12 hours in the car on a trip back to Blighty. That'll be fun…
Otherwise it's been a quiet week. La grandmère has got to know her newly alert and demanding grandchild, and her feeding quirks. La bienheureuse left her trois bien-aimés at home on Tuesday night to fly to Germany for a work meeting the next day. First night away from baby, first time papa has had to put la petite coquinette to bed since a not-so-successful attempt three weeks ago. He approached the task with some trepidation, but never fear. The two angels' bedtime routine works like a charm. She may not sleep in cars but she sleeps all night.
It wasn't so quiet earlier yesterday evening. The Punjabi princess was back in Lyon for a visit and graced us with her presence. Looking forward to her own happy event in a few months, she was eager to meet notre petite for the first time. And was treated to a big smile, swiftly followed by a loud wail of distress. And for the next ninety minutes, our visitor was treated to baby behaviour at its worst. Certainly our baby's behaviour at its worst. Not quite sure what brought that on - probably a mixture of over-excitement and over-tiredness. Fortunately, once la petite was put to bed silence and normality returned - silence in a manner of speaking: dinner with three women is never a particularly quiet affair, not these particular women anyway.
08 juin 2011
New extremes
Monday, day one of the new regime: la bienheureuse back at work after a four month absence, papa and bébé left to amuse each other at home all day. No prizes for guessing who it was toughest for. La petite was a proper little angel on day one: drank all her milk, slept contentedly when she was put to bed, made only minimum demands on dad when she was awake.
Day 2: completely different story. Little terror awake before 6.30am, grouchy and grizzly, demanding attention all day, didn't sleep as long as normal. Only thing she did right was gulp down all her food. Sa bien-aimée was forced to leave work early to effect a rescue. We put it down to something bothering the little mite, probably a bunged up rear end which was eventually uncorked late last night and fully evacuated this morning.
Day 3: day 1 reprised, la petite even more angelic than ever so far. Down for her lunchtime nap as I type. Long may it continue…
Day 2: completely different story. Little terror awake before 6.30am, grouchy and grizzly, demanding attention all day, didn't sleep as long as normal. Only thing she did right was gulp down all her food. Sa bien-aimée was forced to leave work early to effect a rescue. We put it down to something bothering the little mite, probably a bunged up rear end which was eventually uncorked late last night and fully evacuated this morning.
Day 3: day 1 reprised, la petite even more angelic than ever so far. Down for her lunchtime nap as I type. Long may it continue…
16 janvier 2011
Three and easy
Splendid weekend, more like April than mid-January. Dawn to dusk sunshine and temperatures in the mid-teens dragged us out on Saturday afternoon for a walk in the park, where giraffes gambolled in the belief that spring had arrived. The weekend also marked the official start of le congé maternité de la bienheureuse. Not quite the end of work though, because the infernal computer came home with her to allow peace of mind and a few bits and pieces to be finished off.
Saturday was also first day back for French football after the winter break. Feeding both English and French habits proved a logistical problem, with the Gooners in the early evening slot and les Gones playing at 9pm. La bienheureuse has ceded her seat at Gerland to a work colleague for the rest of the season but accompanied me to the pub in the hope of eating dinner while we watched part one of the evening's drama. Vain hope, with the pub full of first Saturday sales shoppers and the crucial match only on the upstairs screen where food is banned. An attempt to persuade the manager to put it on downstairs failed, so she went home and put her feet up while I watched the Irons easily hammered and then hotfooted it to Gerland. End result, two comfortable 3-0 wins, with the transformation of a former whipping boy from the local enemy into a top Gone hero complete.
01 décembre 2010
All white, all right
18 octobre 2010
Cold comfort
Another Saturday, another day of protest, another Tuesday, another day of strikes. The protests continue to gather momentum. This time round, they may affect us personally. My latest pilgrimage to the holy ground has been brought forward a day because the flight tomorrow was cancelled. Meanwhile la bienheureuse headed off on her last business trip of the year this morning. The trip from Vienna to Brussels via CDG airport is the unknown quantity. Will the flight tomorrow go, and will the train to Brussels the following morning go? Who knows? Certainly not PM François Fillon who was on TV last night insisting that there would be no petrol shortages because of the 'illegal' blockades of petrol refineries and storage depots all over France. Bet the thousands of motorists queuing at petrol stations only to find them dry believed him.
Meanwhile, lyonnais protesters of a different kind were partially mollified yesterday. A concerted campaign has been going on to try and force the resignation of OL coach Claude Puel, including banners all over town. However, signs of an improvement in performances in the last couple of weeks were confirmed, result-wise at least, by the 3-1 win over Lille at Gerland last night. An entertaining game, even if Lille largely dominated possession and the result somewhat flattered the home team. We treated ourselves to a pre-match dinner in Ninkasi, but the early arrival to ensure a table meant we ended up in the perishing cold stadium almost an hour before kickoff. A biting northerly wind blew down our necks the whole three hours. Whatever happened to autumn? From Indian summer to Lyon winter in one fell swoop.
Meanwhile, lyonnais protesters of a different kind were partially mollified yesterday. A concerted campaign has been going on to try and force the resignation of OL coach Claude Puel, including banners all over town. However, signs of an improvement in performances in the last couple of weeks were confirmed, result-wise at least, by the 3-1 win over Lille at Gerland last night. An entertaining game, even if Lille largely dominated possession and the result somewhat flattered the home team. We treated ourselves to a pre-match dinner in Ninkasi, but the early arrival to ensure a table meant we ended up in the perishing cold stadium almost an hour before kickoff. A biting northerly wind blew down our necks the whole three hours. Whatever happened to autumn? From Indian summer to Lyon winter in one fell swoop.
04 octobre 2010
Post-holiday blues
It's been a fairly gentle descent from holiday highs to the mundanities of everyday life. La bienheureuse had a further couple of days off at home before coming back down to earth and work with a bump (annual budget to finalise by the end of the week) while I twiddled and fiddled, spending much longer than necessary sorting through thousands of holiday photos. Lyon was in the grip of autumnal weather last week, which suddenly turned into an all-too-brief Indian summer over the weekend. Bright sunshine and temperatures in the mid-twenties meant the shorts were given a reprieve.
Not that we did a lot to take advantage of the lovely weather, apart from a stroll around town and a drink on the banks of the Saône on Saturday afternoon. The sky was blue enough to tempt me up to Fourvière, where it was one of those rare days when Mont Blanc was visible 160km distant. Also visible was the demonstration in Place Bellecour, the climax of the 3rd day of action against the pension reforms in France. Not sure why it was fixed for a Saturday - perhaps less disruption by the strikes was balanced by higher turnout on the marches.
Sunday was rather less noteworthy. It was even warmer but the only sortie of the day was to the Wallace for another bad case of déjà-vu, watching the blue brutes mug the red and white heroes to steal an undeserved victory. Sigh. And today it's pouring with rain.
Sunday was rather less noteworthy. It was even warmer but the only sortie of the day was to the Wallace for another bad case of déjà-vu, watching the blue brutes mug the red and white heroes to steal an undeserved victory. Sigh. And today it's pouring with rain.
02 août 2010
Gold and dangerous
It's been quite instructive watching the athletics on TV over the last week. With the French team hugely exceeding expectations, commentators, competitors, pundits, and politicians alike have been cock-a-hoop, their jingoistic pride in the national team inflated by a sense of redemption after the World Cup debacle. It's reached a point where the constant harping on about the fantastic team spirit in the French camp and the lauding of the down-to-earth, approachable athletes in comparison to the egotistical footballers has become downright nauseating. Normally I tend to regard any sports event not involving 11 men in red and white kicking a football with a somewhat detached air, but over the last couple of days I've found myself cheering on the Brits with uncharacteristic nationalistic fervour. French television has a lot to answer for…
The rejoicing over sporting success has contrasted rather sharply with the polemic on the political and social field recently. The recent attacks on police by the travelling community in northern-western France, and by disaffected youths in Grenoble provoked Monsieur le Président into another rabble-rousing speech this week, in which he declared war on delinquents, and announced plans to strip criminals 'of foreign origin' of French nationality. The implicit linking of delinquency to immigration has understandably unleashed a storm of debate, not least because under the sacrosanct principles of the French constitution, a French citizen is a French citizen, regardless. And quite how he defines someone 'of foreign origin' is unclear. Most of his targets in the banlieues were born in France and Sarko himself is the son of an immigrant. It's somewhat ironic that most of the athletic heroes in Barcelona would be fingered as 'of foreign origin' if they had been throwing rocks at in the recent violent confrontations.
Meanwhile, life on the home front remains quiet, apart from the deafening sound of thunder and pouring rain outside the window as I type and a pleasant midweek barbecue chez une collègue-amie de la bienheureuse. Custom made caipirinha and boudin noir on the BBQ, and a small Armagnac to finish. Lovely. Fortunately ma bien-aimée drove home.
Since I ferried la belle-mère to the airport last Tuesday (on time despite a massive traffic jam en route - summer in Lyon is open season for road works), I've been getting down to work again, strangely heartened by a couple of rejections I've received recently from literary agents. Encouraging words are inevitably concluded with the final letdown, but encouraging words nonetheless. Common themes - well-written, good story, doesn't get going quickly enough. Another rewrite (of the first three chapters, at least) beckons…
The rejoicing over sporting success has contrasted rather sharply with the polemic on the political and social field recently. The recent attacks on police by the travelling community in northern-western France, and by disaffected youths in Grenoble provoked Monsieur le Président into another rabble-rousing speech this week, in which he declared war on delinquents, and announced plans to strip criminals 'of foreign origin' of French nationality. The implicit linking of delinquency to immigration has understandably unleashed a storm of debate, not least because under the sacrosanct principles of the French constitution, a French citizen is a French citizen, regardless. And quite how he defines someone 'of foreign origin' is unclear. Most of his targets in the banlieues were born in France and Sarko himself is the son of an immigrant. It's somewhat ironic that most of the athletic heroes in Barcelona would be fingered as 'of foreign origin' if they had been throwing rocks at in the recent violent confrontations.
Meanwhile, life on the home front remains quiet, apart from the deafening sound of thunder and pouring rain outside the window as I type and a pleasant midweek barbecue chez une collègue-amie de la bienheureuse. Custom made caipirinha and boudin noir on the BBQ, and a small Armagnac to finish. Lovely. Fortunately ma bien-aimée drove home.
Since I ferried la belle-mère to the airport last Tuesday (on time despite a massive traffic jam en route - summer in Lyon is open season for road works), I've been getting down to work again, strangely heartened by a couple of rejections I've received recently from literary agents. Encouraging words are inevitably concluded with the final letdown, but encouraging words nonetheless. Common themes - well-written, good story, doesn't get going quickly enough. Another rewrite (of the first three chapters, at least) beckons…
16 avril 2010
Ash Thursday
Busy, stressful week for la bienheureuse, less busy, distressing week for me. La salariée was organising a meeting in Lyon Tuesday and Wednesday, flew off to Germany Wednesday evening for another meeting, then spent yesterday evening fleeing the ash. Her original flight direct from Düsseldorf to Lyon was canceled, probably because Air France decided not sending the outbound plane was a better option than risking it being stuck in Germany. Options for la bienheureuse and colleagues then were getting a train (risky because of an ongoing rail strike in France), driving (an 8 hour trip), or waiting to see whether the on/off flights to Paris would eventually go. Luck was on their side, because two Paris flights eventually went shortly before German airspace closed, and they got on the last flight from Paris to Lyon before CDG airport closed. In the end, she was home only 3 hours late.
As for me, I spent a dispiriting Wednesday evening in the pub, watching the red and white heros' luck and remaining season burn to ash. Roll on August...
As for me, I spent a dispiriting Wednesday evening in the pub, watching the red and white heros' luck and remaining season burn to ash. Roll on August...
22 mars 2010
Red card
The French regional elections went much as predicted, the ruling UMP and its allies retaining control of only one of the 22 regions, and only 36% of the vote, against 54% for the left wing alliance. The Front National clawed back the votes Sarko pilfered when he stole some of their clothes in the presidential election and Monsieur le Président is left to lick his wounds and sack a couple of ministers as scapegoats for the debacle. Meanwhile the opposition crows and declares the result a resounding rejection of his politics. Then again, perhaps the big winner was apathy. The turnout barely crept about 50%.
Elsewhere it was a quiet weekend, though we did hear the first thunder of the year in Lyon. The sunshine is back today after a rather grey couple of days, and the mild weather encouraged us into the only real activity of the weekend, a trip to a garden centre. Geranium stocks however were low, so we ended up with more indoor greenery, a couple of lavender plants and a bag of earth.
Such was the excitement of the weekend. Apart of course from the football, where I had to make do with a dodgy internet stream to follow the chosen XI because their game clashed with the egg-chasing internationals, which the pubs and bars bizarrely chose to show in preference. Infidels. Fortunately, a blind ref and only ten men didn't prove too big a handicap.
Quiet week ahead too, with la bienheureuse away in a German amusement park for her first business trip of the new year. The rides, alas, are all still closed for the winter, so it's all work and no play...
Elsewhere it was a quiet weekend, though we did hear the first thunder of the year in Lyon. The sunshine is back today after a rather grey couple of days, and the mild weather encouraged us into the only real activity of the weekend, a trip to a garden centre. Geranium stocks however were low, so we ended up with more indoor greenery, a couple of lavender plants and a bag of earth.
Such was the excitement of the weekend. Apart of course from the football, where I had to make do with a dodgy internet stream to follow the chosen XI because their game clashed with the egg-chasing internationals, which the pubs and bars bizarrely chose to show in preference. Infidels. Fortunately, a blind ref and only ten men didn't prove too big a handicap.
Quiet week ahead too, with la bienheureuse away in a German amusement park for her first business trip of the new year. The rides, alas, are all still closed for the winter, so it's all work and no play...
05 février 2010
A chink of daylight
The cold, gloomy weather has given way to milder, and today much wetter, gloomy weather. However earlier this week I glimpsed light at the end of the winter tunnel. For the first time since early November, sunlight breached the windows of the apartment. Briefly, though a lower gap between two buildings opposite. Spring must be on the way.
On the home front it's been a quiet few days. La bienheureuse has been busy as usual at work, though still suffering jet-lag hangover, or something, finding motivation and getting of bed in the morning difficult at the moment. Likewise chez moi, though the cynical might argue that is a perennial condition. I've been putting off a rewrite and resend of the first 3 chapters of book two by working on another project which for the moment shall remain secret.
Otherwise there's been little to distract. On the public stage it's a quiet time of year. Aside from a two day rail strike, which passed without much comment, and the refusal of French citizenship to a man who required his wife to wear a burqa, the only political entertainment has come from a minor spat between two government ministers. The Garde des Sceaux (justice minister) Michèle Alliot-Marie (known as MAM in the usual French love of acronymic nicknames), and the Interior minster Brice Hortefeux have been exchanging fire over various aspects of law and order, most notably the recent spectator disturbances at League 1 football matches. The political front should liven up soon, with regional elections due next month.
17 décembre 2009
Cold comfort
It was l'anniversaire de ma bien-aimée yesterday, and I treated her in romantic fashion with a trip to Gerland to watch OL's latest struggle. Followed by dinner at the Ninkasi. What more could a girl want?
Actually, the dinner was rather nice. Steak, foie gras and Côte du Rhône. It was a freezing night, with a sparse scattering of snowflakes drifting down the whole evening. In the half-empty stadium the atmosphere was even more frosty. Fed up, the Lyon fans decided to demonstrate their discontent by either not turning up, or not singing or chanting. It was a somewhat bizarre experience, a bit like a pantomime, as la bienheureuse commented. The baddies were roundly booed. Normal, except the three principal bad guys were two particular home players (for no real reason other than that they aren't very good), and the coach.
On the pitch, the players eventually responded by eking out a victory against the team 2nd from bottom, with two late goals. Relief of sorts, first league win in 6, first home league win since September, up to 4th from 9th. Elsewhere Bordeaux stretched their lead at the top to six points...
We got home to find yet another rejection from a literary agent in the post box. However, for once there was some encouraging personal feedback, scribbled on my introductory letter. Started off well - "This is entertaining..." - but then came the criticism - "takes too long to get going though... strange glitches in the writing...", etc, etc. And finally a suggestion to "let me know if you work this up". Whatever that means. The barely legible writing conjures up an image of an old-school agent, sitting in an office piled high with manuscripts and books, fag in mouth, whisky bottle in filing cabinet, clinging stubbornly to pen & paper or a battered old typewriter for communication, rather than one of those new-fangled computer things which everybody else uses to churn out form rejection letters. If only they were all like that...
Actually, the dinner was rather nice. Steak, foie gras and Côte du Rhône. It was a freezing night, with a sparse scattering of snowflakes drifting down the whole evening. In the half-empty stadium the atmosphere was even more frosty. Fed up, the Lyon fans decided to demonstrate their discontent by either not turning up, or not singing or chanting. It was a somewhat bizarre experience, a bit like a pantomime, as la bienheureuse commented. The baddies were roundly booed. Normal, except the three principal bad guys were two particular home players (for no real reason other than that they aren't very good), and the coach.
On the pitch, the players eventually responded by eking out a victory against the team 2nd from bottom, with two late goals. Relief of sorts, first league win in 6, first home league win since September, up to 4th from 9th. Elsewhere Bordeaux stretched their lead at the top to six points...
We got home to find yet another rejection from a literary agent in the post box. However, for once there was some encouraging personal feedback, scribbled on my introductory letter. Started off well - "This is entertaining..." - but then came the criticism - "takes too long to get going though... strange glitches in the writing...", etc, etc. And finally a suggestion to "let me know if you work this up". Whatever that means. The barely legible writing conjures up an image of an old-school agent, sitting in an office piled high with manuscripts and books, fag in mouth, whisky bottle in filing cabinet, clinging stubbornly to pen & paper or a battered old typewriter for communication, rather than one of those new-fangled computer things which everybody else uses to churn out form rejection letters. If only they were all like that...
16 octobre 2009
A chill wind...
Autumn was brief. A week last Wednesday the maximum temperature in Lyon was 26C. Yesterday there was a morning frost and the thermometer failed to make it into double figures. And there's a biting north wind howling down the river. Brr, even if the sun has shone continuously. The heating finally went on yesterday.
As you can tell from the chat about the weather, it's been a quiet week. La bienheureuse spent three days in Germany, where it was even colder, leaving me to fiddle and faddle as usual at home. My days were an exciting mixture of grocery shopping, completing the latest rewrite, and spending time up a ladder doing a bit of ceiling cleaning.
In the wider world, the Sarkozy fils affair rumbles on with little sign of letting up. Sarkozy père gave an interview to Le Figaro saying that it was him, not his son, who was the main target of the snipers. Monsieur Le Président is seen as being under some pressure at the moment. A left-wing politician rather aptly paraphrased his Le Figaro interview as "I, Nicolas Sarkozy, singlehandedly beat the credit crisis, moralized capitalsm, and the whole world is obviously following my example. All these other trifles like mass unemployment, personal debt, huge public deficits, they're the fault of others and the crisis. It's not me who needs to change, it's others."
Meanwhile, this morning farmers blocked the Champs-Elysées and dumped a thousand cubic metres of soil in the centre of Poitiers in protest about their plight; the fugitive accused of a high profile murder is still on the run and thumbing his nose at the police six weeks after escaping from prison; and the Clearstream trial rumbles on...
As you can tell from the chat about the weather, it's been a quiet week. La bienheureuse spent three days in Germany, where it was even colder, leaving me to fiddle and faddle as usual at home. My days were an exciting mixture of grocery shopping, completing the latest rewrite, and spending time up a ladder doing a bit of ceiling cleaning.
In the wider world, the Sarkozy fils affair rumbles on with little sign of letting up. Sarkozy père gave an interview to Le Figaro saying that it was him, not his son, who was the main target of the snipers. Monsieur Le Président is seen as being under some pressure at the moment. A left-wing politician rather aptly paraphrased his Le Figaro interview as "I, Nicolas Sarkozy, singlehandedly beat the credit crisis, moralized capitalsm, and the whole world is obviously following my example. All these other trifles like mass unemployment, personal debt, huge public deficits, they're the fault of others and the crisis. It's not me who needs to change, it's others."
Meanwhile, this morning farmers blocked the Champs-Elysées and dumped a thousand cubic metres of soil in the centre of Poitiers in protest about their plight; the fugitive accused of a high profile murder is still on the run and thumbing his nose at the police six weeks after escaping from prison; and the Clearstream trial rumbles on...
09 octobre 2009
Crime and non-punishment
Plenty of news and noise in France over the last few days. Making the headlines at the moment is Frédéric Mitterrand, the Minister of Culture who made waves a few weeks ago over his denunciation of the arrest of Roman Polanski, and is now struggling to fend off a storm of criticism over a book he wrote ('neither novel nor memoire') four years ago describing his experiences with 'garçons' in Thailand. Last night he was interviewed live on the main French TV news and defended himself in lively, if somewhat rambling and confused fashion. He condemned sexual tourism and paedophilia, which he had never indulged in, but admitted sexual relations in Thailand with 'men of his own age'. He didn't help his own case by continuing to refer to 'boys' though, and the polemic continues this morning.
Earlier in the week Le Monde made waves in the cycling world by publishing extracts from a report by the French agency against drugs in sport (AFLD), which apparently criticised the international cycling union (UCI) for giving Astana (the team of Contador and Armstrong) 'privileged treatment' during the Tour de France, allowing them extra time between the end of a stage and the drugs test, among other things. The implication of the report is that the UCI did what they could to ensure a Tour without positive tests, which the organisers of this year's Tour congratulated themselves for achieving. The AFLD however say they are working on new tests to detect the latest generation of EPO and the whisper is that 20 odd cyclists in this year's Tour are under suspicion...
Meanwhile in Lyon a couple of tragic but slightly curious cases made the national news. The first involved an unsolved murder from 34 years ago, which was apparently cleared up when a suspect confessed. The bizarre thing is that he can't be tried for the crime because the statute of limitations in France is a mere 10 years. The second case was an abandoned new born baby who was subsequently discovered to have a rare genetic disease, so doctors have appealed for the mother to come forward...
It's been a quiet week on the home front, apart from having a commuting English colleague of la bienheureuse (the witness to my earlier in-flight misdemeanors) round to dinner on Wednesday. Ma bien-aimée has a rare week without travel and I've been slogging away at re-write 4 of book 3. Not much incentive to get out of the apartment anyway - the weather has finally broken. It started raining on Weds night and has barely stopped since...
11 septembre 2009
Agents of news
Its been a busy week for the headline writers in France. Almost too many attention grabbing stories for them to cope with. La rentrée of schools last week was mainly characterised by information about how to cope with le grippe A as they more accurately refer to swine flu here. Then this week it has now officially reached epidemic proportions in France - more than 50,000 new cases per week. Still only 3 deaths so far though.
Elsewhere we've had another escape from prison - this time of the accused in the highly publicised murder of a well known actor's daughter and her friend 5 years ago, plenty of polemic about the proposed carbon tax, a political storm about the interior minister's alleged racist comments during the summer party conference, and more media frenzy about Les Bleus' struggle to qualify for the World Cup and Thierry Henry allegedly (since denied) telling coach Domemech that training was boring and the team had no idea what it was doing. Two draws were a poor return for what were actually two half-decent performances, particularly in the match in Belgrade where France outplayed Serbia for eighty minutes with only ten men.
On the home front, after a lazy weekend (a cycle ride and lunch in the sunshine on the banks of the river the limit of energetic activity) it's also been a relatively busy week. La bienheureuse is in Blighty working too hard trying to finish a Europe-wide blueprint for product registration documents, while I've been fiddling about at home getting the hang of the new toy to get more pitches to agents sent out.
Score so far: five sent three weeks ago, two rejection slips, one form rejection letter, and one rejection letter which at least looks as though it was composed personally:
"while the storyline offers much to entertain, I didn't feel sufficiently in tune with the narrative style to represent your interests...", "...didn't strike the right chord... doesn't mean another agent won't feel differently...", blah, blah, etc, etc.
On second thoughts, it probably is another form letter, just one that's been more carefully and tactfully composed. Undaunted I press on. Another four sent out this week...
29 juillet 2009
Overheating...
It's been a quiet couple of weeks on the home and personal work front. While I've struggled unenthusiastically with synopses and query letters to agents, la bienheureuse has really been overworked. A couple of inactive weekends were thus something of a welcome change.
The hot spell was thankfully broken briefly by a three day cooler period in the middle of last week, but over the weekend the heat and sunshine returned, bringing with them the inevitable forest fires, threatening Marseille and Corsican villages. Two volunteer firemen are among the suspected arsonists.
This week, fires and pyromaniacs were pushed off the front pages by Monsieur le Président's little turn. Never in the history of human health has so much newsprint and TV coverage been generated by one little fainting fit. You'd have thought a man in his fifties, who happens also to be in charge of a country, would have more common sense than to go jogging at lunchtime in the middle of a heatwave. But then, moderation is not a word in Sarko's vocabulary.
Other, somewhat fitter men overworking in the heat of the day were also in the news over the weekend. The three week circus that is the Tour de France reached its climax on Saturday and Sunday. After the first two weeks that had commentators grumbling about the lack of excitement, the final week exploded into action as soon as the race reached the Alps, and the general mood at the end was a mix of self-congratulation and anticipation of the next one. At last we a Tour without positive drug tests. Yet...
The Contador/Armstrong rivalry didn't do any harm either, and there's much excitement about the potential battle next year.
There are still plenty of sceptical voices about. A sports scientist (who also happens to have been Festina's sporting director, so he would know), writing in Libération, calculated that during the ascent towards Verbier last week Contador's VO2 (oxygen consumption) was 99.5 ml/min/kg, a figure the writer classified as humanly impossible. Or to put it in more understandable numbers, he covered 8.5km with an average slope of 7.5% in just under 21 minutes - average speed, more than 24 km/h. Greg Lemond, writing in Le Monde (where else?), said as far as he was aware, no athlete in any sport had ever achieved such a feat. The writer in Libération also calculated the power production of Contador and the Schlecks in the three big climbs towards Grand Bornand at 440 watts. He said it was established that doping could produce 410 watts, 430 watts was 'miraculous', and 450 watts 'mutant'...
The hot spell was thankfully broken briefly by a three day cooler period in the middle of last week, but over the weekend the heat and sunshine returned, bringing with them the inevitable forest fires, threatening Marseille and Corsican villages. Two volunteer firemen are among the suspected arsonists.
This week, fires and pyromaniacs were pushed off the front pages by Monsieur le Président's little turn. Never in the history of human health has so much newsprint and TV coverage been generated by one little fainting fit. You'd have thought a man in his fifties, who happens also to be in charge of a country, would have more common sense than to go jogging at lunchtime in the middle of a heatwave. But then, moderation is not a word in Sarko's vocabulary.
Other, somewhat fitter men overworking in the heat of the day were also in the news over the weekend. The three week circus that is the Tour de France reached its climax on Saturday and Sunday. After the first two weeks that had commentators grumbling about the lack of excitement, the final week exploded into action as soon as the race reached the Alps, and the general mood at the end was a mix of self-congratulation and anticipation of the next one. At last we a Tour without positive drug tests. Yet...
The Contador/Armstrong rivalry didn't do any harm either, and there's much excitement about the potential battle next year.
There are still plenty of sceptical voices about. A sports scientist (who also happens to have been Festina's sporting director, so he would know), writing in Libération, calculated that during the ascent towards Verbier last week Contador's VO2 (oxygen consumption) was 99.5 ml/min/kg, a figure the writer classified as humanly impossible. Or to put it in more understandable numbers, he covered 8.5km with an average slope of 7.5% in just under 21 minutes - average speed, more than 24 km/h. Greg Lemond, writing in Le Monde (where else?), said as far as he was aware, no athlete in any sport had ever achieved such a feat. The writer in Libération also calculated the power production of Contador and the Schlecks in the three big climbs towards Grand Bornand at 440 watts. He said it was established that doping could produce 410 watts, 430 watts was 'miraculous', and 450 watts 'mutant'...
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