Chilled

"Le Grand Froid" has well and truly set in. Daytime temperatures yesterday didn't get above -4C, and dropped overnight to minus seven. The central heating is working overtime, and a biting northerly windchill factor of minus ten reduced our daily promenade to fifteen minutes from fear of baby getting home with frozen cheeks. And it's forecast to continue for another week. Brr. On the plus side, clear blue sky was sighted today in Lyon for the first time this year. A small corner of the apartment even saw sunshine.

Indoors we met the nanny from downstairs this morning. Nice lady, if a little brutally honest about my French. "It isn't any better after ten years?" So soon la petite coquinette will start learning to speak the local lingo better than her father, and start learning to share toys and playtime with a couple of little copains. And papa will rediscover free time. By which I mean time to write, of course...

Up and down

The downgrade of France's credit rating last week was greeted with bristling defiance in government circles (who are these rating agencies anyway?), and seized as another stick to beat Sarko with by all his opponents in the forthcoming elections. The presidential campaign is starting to heat up with the big day a mere three months away. Socialist candidate François Hollande has been battling dissent and criticism from within his own party and not doing himself any favours with rather woolly policies. Meanwhile Sarko and Le Pen fille have been rivalling each other in trying not to appear to be identifying with national icon Jeanne d'Arc, the girl who beat the English, on the occasion of ther recent 600th anniversary of her birth. Only 90 more days to endure…

Our own little icon continues to develop and grow. Hiding objects and herself under the furniture is now something of a favourite game and getting from all fours into a standing position without any external support is now a given. Morning naps have been jettisoned in favour of ratty lunches and longer afternoon naps, the latter not without occasional vociferous complaint. She might soon have to cope with sharing nap and play time once a week with two other young children soon. Our downstairs neighbours are looking for another family to share their nounou with on Wednesdays. Don't think sharing is in her vocabulary yet. On verra… Meanwhile an early start and late return meant her mother missed two days of the little angel's development last week with another overnight trip to the company motherland, and another one coming up this week.

The weather has been up and down too. Mild and damp, punctuated by a dry cold snap last week, all adding up to a bumper Alpine ski season. I wistfully gaze up while my daughter keeps me occupied at an altitude of about 60 metres. It was relatively mild when we crossed the river yesterday and saw what we thought were a flotilla of canoes coming downstream. Turns out they were accompanying the annual Rhône swim, 8km from Caluire to Gerland. A long swim in single figure water temperatures, even if it was swollen with rain and fast flowing...

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…

Frosty times

The coldest winter for 25 years continues. Today is the 7th day in a row that temperatures have failed to climb above freezing. So, on Saturday evening we bundled up well to make the trip to the draughty concrete arena that is home to Olympique Lyonnais. OL matches this season are a bit like the weather - dull, uncomfortable and chilly. They've managed to grind out a few results since Christmas, but failed to warm the hearts of the fans, who still regularly call for the head of coach Puel. Trepidation will be high on Tuesday, for the visit of the over-paid, over-hyped galacitos of Real Madrid. We await it with interest...

Otherwise the weather over the weekend kept us mostly indoors - la bienheureuse slaved away in the kitchen while I lazed away in front of one screen or another - computer or TV. My excuse was that during the week I finally got down to doing a rewrite of book two for the purposes of resending the sample chapters to the agent who displayed mild interest. Surely two whole afternoons of work, merit a small rest...

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.

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... 

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...

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...

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...

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'...

Between trips...

The middle of a quiet couple of weeks on the home front before we start another two at the weekend. Holiday this time, a week on the Côte d'Azur for the annual La Favière diving and dining extravaganza, followed by une semaine à deux in an isolated gîte deep in the Ardèche. Life can sometimes be tough...

Quiet weekend at home, too, for a change, apart from a couple of excited skype conversations in anticipation of next week. We ventured out on Sunday afternoon/evening to watch Arnie terminated once again, and finished the evening with a meal in the Brasserie de la Cité Internationale. Rather nice pavé de thon and foie de veau, followed by an enormous tarte aux poires. The half hour walk home failed to work off the excess.


On the work front, it's been less quiet, for la bienheureuse at least. Three days working in Prague, with time out for an afternoon sightseeing. This week another 3 days away from home, in Sofia, teaching the Bulgarian authorities the ins and outs of the European Union.

Meanwhile, my second publication/third work arrived in the post this morning, complete with obligatory first edition printing error - the prologue printed twice. I blame the proof-reader. And the type-setter, editor, and author. Self-castigation is good for the soul. Still, might make this unique first copy valuable one day. Or maybe not...

Peripatetic times

Travel - the theme of the last couple of weeks and the coming month. Between the 2nd week in May and the 2nd in June, la bienheureuse will have spent 15 out of 18 working days abroad - Monheim twice, Brussels, Guildford, Prague and Sofia, a veritable European tour.

My own travel schedule has been more limited and self-imposed - the week just gone in the UK. Late night Saturday flight to Lyon ten days ago for the final game (of any personal interest) of the season. Lovely late spring sunshine on Sunday, and les cannoniers responded with some sunshine football of their own. Then, the UK spring bank holiday spent chez J&C, where le maitre chef continued his outdoor DIY campaign with some water-jetting of the driveway while ms beaucoup et moi hid indoors. Afterwards the sun came out in time for a late lunch in the garden accompanied by a drink, or two.

In an attempt to spread the load, I spent Monday evening chez the Margarita Man. Saumon for dinner and an introduction to his latest squeeze were on the agenda. Tuesday the sun had been replaced by rain and wind squalls, so I settled down to some work, with a break to rescue the garden furniture from the fish pond. I think the carp survived the shock of having their home rudely invaded by a heavy wooden table.

In the evening, I made another selfish move, back to J&C's, where les vrais Gooners watched the under-19s cap an all-conquering season by completing the thrashing of the scousers in the final of the FA Youth Cup. Second trophy in a week. The future is coming...

On Wednesday, another move inspired by a selfish desire to watch football. While la bienheureuse was jetting in to Stansted I caught the train down to deepest Berkshire where the DeB and I watched the Champions League final with differing degrees of satisfaction. La Tizz cooked a delicious dinner and ma bien-aimée arrived in time for a glass of wine.


Thursday, work for us both. La bienheureuse went off to Guildford for a meeting during a power cut, and I ensconced myself with laptop in a corner of the conservatory being distracted by hunting cats and suicidal blackbirds while Madame et les garçons came and went to various daytime rendezvous. Another lovely dinner in the evening, then we bade farewell to our gracious hosts and set off for Guildford again. While la salariée finished her meeting, I did a bit of sightseeing - cathedral, castle, then a blistering five mile stomp along the North Downs way.


An early end to work for the day meant la bienheureuse was able to meet me for an early afternoon drink in ye olde Ship Inn before we set off for Horsham, the final stop of an itinerant week. We eventually found our way to the singular bungalow of Mrs J, where we renewed acquaintances with the missing spice girl, back from NZ to look after her mother's hip. The wine and the girls' chat flowed late into the night.

Saturday, a walk in the park, tapas and a flying visit from the motor man for lunch, shopping for sunglasses and sandals in the afternoon, and a less satisfactory bit of tv football viewing. In the evening, the Doctors C arrived for a bbq on the patio. More wine, more chatter and another late night followed.

Sunday morning a parting of the ways was nearly derailed by a motoring mishap. A successful attempt to jump start a car which hadn't moved for 3 years was followed by a less successful attempt to turn off the alarm, which ended with the keys in the car, the engine still running and the doors locked. Several attempts to break in failed before le beau-père hit on the bright idea of using the right spare key.

Crisis over, we waved goodbye to our prodigal antipodean friend and set off for another rendezvous with the motor man and his lady. On the second attempt we found a nice country pub and enjoyed lunch and beer in the sunshine. Enjoyed it for slightly too long to make the trip and Gatwick experience comfortable, but eventually we made it past check-in and security in time for the flight home, which was of course delayed.

And so, home to a warm and sunny Lyon. La bienheureuse is currently on the Czech republic leg of her European tour while I managed to get book 3 prepared and sent off to the printers (DIY variety) yesterday. Looking forward to a rare weekend at home already...

Seems like summer

Another weekend, another visit to the garden centre. Which may seem a little strange for the inhabitants of an apartment several floors up, but we were so pleased with our forked flowerpot purchase last week, we had to go back for more. Is that late middle-aged bourgeoisie I see catching up fast as I look over my shoulder?
However, as I sit looking out of the window at the 22C sunshine, with the scent of lavender wafting in from our newly acquired mini-gardens, I reflect that maybe middle-age ain't so bad after all...

While Strasbourg went up in flames, you may perceive that the week just past was another uneventful one in Lyon. I even managed to more or less finish a second rewrite of the third draft of book 3. Work (and play) on the computer has been aided by a 15 euro investment in extra memory off ebay. Now the ageing machine boots and starts windows in less than five minutes, instead of the ten previously, and certain memory-hungry applications have become infinitely more usable. Marvellous.

Same old, same old...

Five days in Blighty, temporarily abandoning la bienheureuse for the other, more contrary, love of my life. A game typical of the season on Saturday, league opposition camped in their own half, lack of inspiration to break them down, and failure to take the few opportunities that did appear. Last night, more adventurous European opposition, slightly tweaked formation, and much more inspiration. Still the same old failure to put the chances away though. Still, hope springs eternal, injured heroes to return in coming weeks, things can only get better...

Been a slightly different trip to normal. Flew in and out of Gatwick, spent a night either end in London chez the McBhoy, the Peacebird and a whingeing moggy. Entertainment from local drunks in the pub on Friday. The Cambridge interlude followed a familiar story. Minor Meribel reunion in the pub on Saturday, ate too much, drank relatively sensibly but still nursing minor remnant of previous night. Sunday chose what I thought might be the the quieter option, lunch chez le Chef and Mlle Beaucoup where they were entertaining friends. Wrong. Long lunch amply watered by numerous bouteilles de vin finished at around 7.30pm... Strangely, felt fine on Monday. Quiet meal in the curry house that evening with JeB and the Margarita man, followed by a mere half in a dead pub.

A change this trip has been the ability to work while away. No, really. We've invested in a netbook, which has allowed me to carry on rewriting, instead of twiddling thumbs between matches...

Sliding on...

More normal winter temperatures have returned to Lyon. Last Wednesday freezing rain caused chaos in and around the city. As I didn't get out until after 10.30 I was largely oblivious to it, but most of la bienheureuse's colleagues arrived at work late with tales of nightmarish journeys. Otherwise it was a quiet week. La bienheureuse had meetings just outside Lyon on Monday & Tuesday, but fortunately (as she was taking the car) not on Wednesday. Another out of town meeting on Thursday was cancelled because more freezing rain was forecast. As it turned out, it was only freezing fog.

Meanwhile, I shivered and beavered away in my own fashion at home. Having rushed to finish roman numèro trois before Christmas so that la bienheureuse could read it during the holiday, I've decided on another rewrite. Prompted partly by a slightly lukewarm reaction by my beloved, but also by a new twist I've thought of which should improve the book. That's my excuse anyway, though I concede it could just be another form of procrastination before I have to get down to trying to sell both latest masterpieces...

Our weekend was also fairly quiet. La bienheureuse cooked while I mused. In search of inspiration. Not for the book but for an application for the best job in the world, which two young ladies in Australia have been harassing me to apply for. Needless to say, I haven't done so yet. Maybe after the skiing holiday.

We did get out once, on Saturday evening for the ritual trip to the pub. Another late show by much maligned hommes d'Arsène Wenger set us up well for some fast food on the way home. Fast food French style. We went to L'Entrecôte, a restaurant with no menu. Only choices to be made, quelle cuisson for the steak, and Bordeaux or Côte du Rhône for the wine. Excellent it was too, though the frites were a bit greasy...

Finally, a small self-congratulatory hurrah. 100 not out and still blogging. Even if it remains largely unread...

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...

Whistle a tune...

Another quiet few days on the domestic front. La bienheureuse returned tired but unscathed from her encounter with the European bureaucrats in Brussels, I've been plugging laboriously away at my chosen metier by carrying out another minor rewrite.

Elsewhere, while the financial world continues to fall apart, the football world carries on regardless. I passed up the opportunity to watch OL ladies beat Arsenal ladies 3-0 on Tuesday night in favour of watching l'équipe masculine de France play Tunisia in a friendly. Les bleus continued where they left off in the previous couple of games - a minor resurgence in attacking form balanced by a continued disorganisation in defence.

The perceived return of a semblance of team spirit and cohesive play has been enough for the Fédération de Football Français to confirm Domenech in his position as coach on Wednesday. However, that decision was overshadowed by the fact that the large Tunisian support (outnumbering the home team fans) in the Stade de France loudly whistled the singing of La Marseillaise (by a singer of Tunisian origin). Much outrage amongst politicians and media the next day led to Sarkozy summoning the president of the FFF to the Palais de l'Elysée for a dressing down.

A subsequent announcement that any similar future incidents would result in the game being abandoned has been somewhat derided in the cold light of day this morning as being in the heat of the moment, with the impracticalities of such a move being pointed out. UEFA have said only they and the referee have the power to abandon a game. Others have questioned the effect of turfing eighty thousand disgruntled fans out on the streets of Paris. Unlikely to be peaceful, I venture...

Le Tour des berges

A remarkably uneventful week, if that's not an oxymoron, in a warm and mostly sunny city. The lyonnais bourgeoisie gradually desert town for their vacances in July, though it's not until the first couple of weeks in August that the population reaches a seasonal nadir.

Not a lot to report on the home front either. Been writing steadily, if not prolifically, over the last few weeks, book number 3 now about 75% finished, la bienheureuse hasn't travelled abroad for 3 whole weeks, and most of the voisins are on holiday. Most exciting event of the weekend was a cycle ride along the river yesterday morning before it got too hot, having had a teetotal Saturday because of the after-effects of a half-bottle of wine each on Friday evening. White wine, too, we are becoming lightweights, alcoholically speaking.

Anyway, we did the full tour - north along the berges du Rhône as far as the bridge over the périphérique, and then all the way back as far south as the Parc du Gerland, then home. Total distance covered, about 22km. Might not sound like much, but to cycle-rusty legs and bums, it was.

Meanwhile, cyclists on a somewhat different level, planet even, came to the end of their 3 week trip round France. Le Tour 2008 is being seen as somewhat transitional, with the battle against the drug cheats seemingly being slowly won, and the old guard, brought up in an era where pharmaceutical aid was rife, superceded by the new, clean generation. So they say... There was plenty of suspense, right up until the penultimate stage, if only because there was no single dominant rider, but it seemed to me somewhat lacking in real drama...

Orange storms, black Saturday

Second big weekend of the summer on the roads coming, the first to be marked black on the French scale of classifying road conditions - green, orange, red, black. In fact it's red elsewhere Friday & Saturday, but black tomorrow in the Rhône valley as half of France streams south to the Mediterranean beaches for their two weeks in the sun.

At least the vacanciers might have cooler conditions tomorrow. There's an orange alert in the Rhône department today, warning of thunderstorms, which should cool things down. La bienheureuse was on an overnight trip to Germany on Tues & Weds, acting as referee between feuding locals, where it was cold & wet, but was greeted on her return by a couple of days of hot and heavy sunshine. Have to say it has so far been a changeable summer...

It has been a quiet, steady writing week on the home front, enlivened by the Tour de France and some fireworks on the political stage. The surprising prominence of Brits in le tour was followed by the first 'medium' mountain stage in the Massif Centrale, while Ségolène and Sarko (or more accurately Sarko's minions) have been reprising their battles of a year ago. Plus ça change...

A taxing meeting

Yesterday, four and a half years after she started working there, I finally got to see inside of the secure building that is the workplace of la bienheureuse. The excuse was a meeting with a lawyer specialising in tax affairs who was giving us a lesson in how to fill in our tax form. Up until now we've had it done for us by accountants provided by the company under the terms of la bienheureuse's transfer to Lyon. This year we're on our own. Not that there appears much to it, particularly if we do it online, but it was nice to get one or two points and questions cleared up. Taxes in France are still paid in arrears, so this is last year's tax we're talking about - more detail on the subject in the adjacent post...

Anyway, very nice it was too. The building la bienheureuse works in, I mean. Pleasant landscaped inner courtyard, bright airy reception area, greenery everywhere. I passed up the opportunity to go upstairs to see the inner sanctuary, la bienheureuse's office, which was deemed 'too untidy' for the meeting with the tax advisor. Maybe next time...

As for my own work, as usual it's a bit of a struggle to buckle down to it. But once this piece is posted, I resolve do so. Once I've been shopping for weekend provisions. Though it's pissing down with rain at the moment, so that might have to wait. Maybe lunch first, then shopping, then work...