Day 7, Thu 21 Aug Leave Cheshire, negotiate torrential rainstorm on the M6 and arrive in the Lakes in time for lunch and rendezvous with the good doctors C and their deux fils J&Z in timeshare complex in Elterwater. Weather dries up and small boys are persuaded to go for a stroll along the river to Skelwith Bridge and back. Les petits much more enthused by prospect of late afternoon splash in the pool. Day of moderate wining & dining is completed by dinner in the café and retreat to the calm of our hotel.
Day 8, Fri 22 Aug Meet up with la famille Clerc again in the morning and all set off for a wander around Grizedale forest. After lunch, wave goodbye to les docteurs et leur fils, and then undertake a more strenous stomp with a circular route from and to Elterwater, via Little Langdale, Colwith Force and Skelwith Bridge. Retire to hotel, exhausted, with one soleless boot, after huge lamb dinner in the pub.
Day 9, Sat 23 Aug Drive into Ambleside to buy new boots, then embark on another circular walk from Elterwater, this time over the top to Grasmere, and back via Loughrigg Tarn. In the afternoon base of operations shifts to Waterhead to take part in annual gathering of the Sandford sisters clan. The majority of the 20 odd family members arrive during the course of the afternoon and evening. Day 10, Sun 24 Aug Le beau-frère et la belle-soeur make a rare appearance, enticed by the loose 40th birthday celebration of trois des cousins. Stroll into Ambleside is interrupted by demand to play a 2-a-side football game with 3 of the under-10s. Weather stays just about clement enough for a BBQ dinner, cooked under umbrella, and birthday cake.
Day 11, Mon 25 Aug Starts raining, though initially not hard enough to discourage biking expedition to Grizedale forest. Leaving the hardcore mountain bikers to attack the 'North Face', the rest of us enjoy an easier seven mile rollercoaster in the drizzle. The septuagenarian in the party enjoys it so much that he persuades 'the youngsters' to do it all over again. The party of four, combined age almost 200, breezes past a twenty year old throwing up at the top of a stiff climb. Age sometimes has little to do with fitness. Spend less strenuous afternoon watching the drizzle, shopping in Windermere and an evening enjoying roast lamb dinner.
Day 12, Tue 26 Aug Still raining, yours truly mopes indoors with heavy cold, gift from nièce numèro deux. Le beau-frère et la belle-soeur return to Wales to relieve parents of dog-sitting duties while la bienheureuse et la belle-mère go for an amble in the drizzle.
Day 13, Wed 27 Aug Weather and cold dry up enough to allow flying 600 mile round trip to London, via Cambridge, to witness les cannoniers comfortably qualify for the group stages of the Champions League. Back in the wet lakesles cousins enjoy a well watered night out sans enfants.
Day 14, Thu 28 Aug Drive back to Lakes, picking up une nièce et deux neveux en route, to find that it has stopped raining at last. La soeur eventually arrives from Bradford, and the afternoon is spent kayaking and jumping off the jetty into a frigid Lake Windermere. Evening spent celebrating the triple fortieth.
Day 15, Fri 29 Aug The weather remains dry but we don't. An hour of canoeing on the lake is ended by a raiding party of petits pirates, egged on by les frères H, and la bienheureuse and I are unceremoniously capsized and dumped in the lake. The latter part of the afternoon is taken up by a football match, with the Sandford clan providing a few representatives amongst a multitude from the other large quaysiders family gathering. Discover the embarrassment of being beaten in a tackle and then taunted about it by a 15 year-old girl, and that my body thinks I'm too old for football. Fish and chips for dinner then wave goodbye to la soeur, la nièce et les neveux as they head back down to opposite sides of the Pennines.
Day 16, Sat 30 Aug Apartment cleared by 9.30am, family goodbyes are waved and we set off on the drive down towards Cambridge. Arrive mid-afternoon chez le grand M et lady K, for a pleasant afternoon and evening in Hilton. Clear plate of delicious, but enormous lasagne, then somehow manage to swallow apple pie as well.
Day 17, Sun 31 Aug Homeward bound. Leave misty Cambridgeshire and arrive in hot, sunny Lyon. Violent thunderstorm in the evening. Welcome back to France.
Day 1, Fri 15 Aug Begin 2 week holiday in Blighty, part one of which requires meticulous planning. Catch afternoon flight to Stansted in a replacement aircraft, the smaller size of which forces Easyjet to offer lucrative bribe to passengers to take evening flight instead. Reluctantly decide dinner with friends is worth more than 500 euros. Play dodge the traffic warden in Stansted drop-off zone and eventually elude him long enough to effect successful rendezvous with J&C. The four of us travel to deepest Berkshire and spend lovely evening chez les Den-Es, worth all of half a grand and more. Eat & drink too much.
Day 2, Sat 16 Aug Olympics and late breakfast, followed by expedition to the new home of football on the part of les deux Gooners, shopping expedition into Reading on the part of les trois filles, with the Den-E-boy left at home with the Den-E-baby. Both expeditions successful, despite a stationary traffic queue on the Westway flyover and a temporary splitting of forces en route to Norf London. Another pleasant evening at a traditional English restaurant, sampling local curry. Eat too much.
Day 3, Sun 17 Aug Chauffeured back to Cambridge by J&C, and spend a lazy sunday afternoon in sunshine which prompts the decision to have a semi-BBQ - food cooked outside, eaten inside due to temperature dropping in parallel with sun. Eat & drink too much.
Day 4, Mon 18 Aug Spend morning banking tax rebates and shopping for support material in Cambridge. Eventually track down car hire shop and pick up transport for the remaining holiday. Brave the M25 and Dartford crossing at rush hour and arrive for another pleasant evening chez le petit frère et sa novia. Eat too much.
Day 5, Tue 19 Aug Bromley to Ascot, via Windsor. Rise late, after li'l bro has gone to work, and meander our way westwards. Stop off for lunch and an amiable amble round the Valley Gardens in Windsor Great Park. Continue on to meet the rugger bugger and la Strat in Ascot. Another traditional English meal out, chinese this time, also in the company of N&C. Eat and drink too much. Spot the pattern?
Day 6, Wed 20 Aug Phase 1 of holiday completed, more or less successfully. Head north to Cheshire. Brief stop-off in Gawsworth to visit les nièces et neveux, all in good form, thence to chez la belle-mère for an evening of recuperation. Eat & drink sensibly in anticipation of beginning of phase 2 the following morning...
An eventful weekend. Friday evening we went to a bike shop and purchased helmets and a new saddle. The latter to better suit la bienheureuse'sbum, the former to break the habit of a lifetime, and both because of a planned ride in the Beaujolais countryside the following day.
Lovely day it was too. Not too hot, but plenty of sunshine, and a very pleasant purpose built cycle path along the track of an old railway between Belleville and Beaujeu. The piste was only 11km in a flat, straight line, so midway along we branched out on a slightly more ambitious circuit round the base of Mont Brouilly. Another 16km, with a couple of short but reasonably stiff climbs. With a delectable picnic to start, all in all a not-too strenous and highly enjoyable day with about 35km of exersize.
Back at the car, my propensity for leaving things behind reared its ugly head. I couldn't find my treasured Chuuk hat. Tragedy. Going back through the events of the day, I decided I'd left it on the picnic table three hours earlier. No chance it would still be there. But it was. Lucky me.
On the way home, forgotten item two became evident. Stop for petrol, get out credit cards to pay, and discover French bank card missing. Fortunately (doubly so, because la bienheureuse had left her purse at home), I had enough cash to pay for the petrol. Only thing to fret about was where I'd left my card. More backtracking took us back to the bike shop. After driving straight there, I was somewhat relieved to find the card had been safely put in a drawer until I returned to retrieve it. Lucky me. Doubly lucky because the shop is closed this week, and we're off to Blighty for 2 weeks on Friday.
Sunday was recovery day, from the stress and the not-so strenuous exersize. In the evening I was back in my element, watching football. Yes, the French season has already started, and started the same way as the last seven. Comfortable, if not overly impressive 3-0 win for OL over a Toulouse side which seems likely to be among the favourites for relegation. And next weekend the real football starts...
Hot weather, head for the hills. That was the theory as we booked a weekend in Valmorel. We drove up Friday and arrived in the pouring rain. Just a passing front, fortunately, Saturday was forecast to be warm and sunny. And so it was, from time to time. We awoke however to a misty morning. Every so often it the clouds lifted and tantalisingly promised to clear away, so we stuck to the ambitious plan formulated the previous afternoon - an arduous circuit along the Crève Tête ridge above Valmorel to the east. Perhaps if we'd taken proper account of the difference in height between top and bottom of the walk, we'd have realised it was a little over-ambitious. But we pressed on regardless. Up, and up, and up, and up... 1000 metres up. And about five hours after setting off we made it to the top of the head-buster - Crève Tête, 2342m.
It was tough, but worth it. Magnificent views when the clouds lifted, moody forest scenes when they didn't, and beautiful alpine flowers of every colour & variety everywhere we looked. The video below is a panorama taken at the end of the ridge leading to Crève Tête. And having climbed to the top, it's downhill all the way home.
Exhausted but satisfied we were asleep by nine-thirty. Sunday morning dawned fine and sunny. Faced with a choice of another, less demanding walk, or taking it easy with a swim and a dawdle home in time to watch the Wenger boys on TV, we plumped for the formker. Suckers for punishment. But not stupid, because we caught the Altispace lift and started our walk to the Col de la Madeleine from the top. Lovely weather, comparatively gentle amble, lunch in one of the restaurants at the col, and I persuaded la bienheureuse that a different route might be more scenic.
First mistake. Not that it was more scenic - it was, and we had cowbell music along the way. The mistake was not fully appreciating that the alternative route took us a lot further down. And that meant it was a lot further back up to where we started. Route out: height difference negligible, total up and down - about 150m max, time taken - 2 hours. Route back, height difference the same, total up and down: more than 400 metres, time taken - 3.5 hours. 2nd mistake: a bit of faulty navigation meant we ended slogging up the marshy route of a drag lift. Still, we got there in the end. And the ride back down on the lift was lovely.
There follows a lesson in keeping a city centre apartment cool in the summer without the aid of air conditioning. Or at least, keeping it at bearable temperatures. There is a point to all this, though you have to skip to the bottom to find it.
1. Open all windows at night, to allow as much cool nighttime air in as possible. Doesn't help much if there is no breeze, as has been the case recently. 2. As soon as the sun starts shining in through the windows, close them and and close the shutters or lower the blinds. 3. Keep closed until late afternoon when the sun no longer falls directly onto them. 4. Open the windows again in the evening as soon as the temperature outside is lower than inside. Which at the moment isn't until bedtime.
Anyway, there I was, late afternoon yesterday, slaving away in a sauna-like study in front of a hot computer (heat generated by the friction of fingers as I melt the keyboard in a creative frenzy of writing)... Ok, stretching artistic licence a bit there, but what follows is true...
I was raising the blinds to let in more light when I was greeted by the sight of a man, leaning out of a window opposite, smoking a fag. Not an unusual sight you may say, but the image is made unsavoury by the fact that he was dressed only in underpants and a pair of stockings. Not the sort of view one dreams of having from one's front window. And before you ask, definitely male (30ish), definitely stockings (black nylon). Ahem, not that I dared look closely.
To add to the intriguing scenario, the window in question is equipped with what look like dark red satin curtains. I shall refrain from speculating about what was going on in there...
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...
A frustrating and interesting day last Friday. Trudging round town in search (ultimately fruitful if not entirely successful) of a suitable cadeau en bois, I happened upon a minor stir as I crossed the footbridge near home. A handful of people were watching a dog which had jumped into the river only to find itself unable to get out. It was in no danger, but couldn't scramble up onto the raised embankment just under the bridge. At that moment a police launch went past and someone attracted its attention.
Thus the rescue operation was launched. A policewoman donned waders, was dropped off into the shallow water around the end of the bridge, and eventually succeeded in luring the stupid animal round the side were there were some steps. Of its owner there was no sign, though it sported a collar and lead, but a bystander apparently offered to look after it in some way. Presumably he either knew the owner or took it to a shelter or dog pound, or took it home himself...
Second dumb dog I've seen in the river in recent weeks. The previous one had jumped in chasing a stick, been carried by the current past the slipway and been unable to swim back. Its owner was in attendance, but
I didn't hang around on that occasion to watch the denouement...
The following day we drove to the Auvergne again, for a short weekend away to celebrate reaching a wooden milestone. A night and a meal in a hotel in the Mont Dore ski resort was preceded by a long drive across the middle of the Massif Central. Taking the scenic route seemed a good idea at the time, and indeed, from the point of view of scenery on offer it was, but the 6 hour journey time wasn't. However, we still got there in time for a short stroll, and the pleasant evening weather encouraged us to take the télépherique up towards the highest point in the Massif Central, the Puy de Sancy the following morning.
Unfortunately the weather in the morning wasn't quite so nice. We reached the top cable car station in billowing mist, which was being blown across the top of the mountain in intermittent, swirling clouds by a howling wind. There were however, occasional breaks, and well, we were there, so we decided to climb the wooden staircase right to the top, despite being singularly ill-prepared for such a venture - sandals & light trainers respectively, shorts and a single light cardigan between us.
The video above gives some idea of conditions, but nonetheless we got to the top, waited 10 minutes in vain for a clear patch, then trudged back down again. Ten minutes later the summit was clear, and the weather stayed sunny for the rest of the day. Sod's law. Still, enjoyed a very pleasant stroll down, and drove home along roads newly surfaced in honour of the Tour de France, via a stop in St Nectaire to visit a church and a grotto. Took the autoroute back and halved the journey time...
The promised thunderstorms arrived on Friday, including one downpour with hailstones the size of grapes and minor flooding in the apartment. The rain was so heavy it got in through closed windows, first time I've seen that happen, though I suspect it was due to the shutter casings channeling water onto the window frame...
Two days of cool, occasionally damp weather followed, but the sun reappeared in celebration of the Fête Nationale on 14 juillet. We strolled out to watch the annual fireworks display atop Fourvière, though it was somewhat less spectacular than the extravaganza in Paris which followed a free concert on the Champ de Mars in front of 600 thousand people and was also in celebration of Quebec's 400th birthday.
Traditionally 14 july is also the day when a Frenchman tries to win the day's stage in the Tour de France. Yesterday was no exception, but a valiant attempt over two hors catégorie climbs was foiled by circumstances - a couple of the main contenders cracked on the famous Col du Tourmalet, which meant the other leading riders pushed as hard as possible to distance their rivals. Made for an interesting day though, and commentators here are gripped by what is turning out to be the most unpredictable race in years.
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...
Entertaining political week in France. Mme Royale has been in the headlines upsetting Monsieur le Président and his supporters, first asserting that Sarkozy had nothing to do with Ingrid Betancourt's release, and then linking a recent break-in at her flat (the 3rd in 2 years where nothing was taken) with the 'clan Sarkozy'. Cue a parade of minions from the premier ministre downwards opining that Ségo had 'lost control', 'sunk to new level of pathetic stupidity', or 'like all other victims of crime, has a right to psychological help'.
Elsewhere, in Strasbourg, Sarkozy was taken to task for his decision to attend the opening ceremony of the Olympics in Beijing by the French Green MEP, Daniel Cohn-Bendit in a quite marvellous rant in the European parliament. Choice phrases include (rough tranlation): 'the more repressive the Chinese authorities get, the lower we bow before them... Monsieur Sarkozy will be given a nice dinner with baguettes in Pekin, exchange hugs & kisses and say "here you are, here's 3 nuclear power stations, 36 TGVs, and I don't know what else..." It's squalid!'
And finally, last night saw l'adieu de Patrick Poivre d'Arvor, former king of French television newsreaders, dethroned, according to himself and others, for having treated Sarko like a little boy live on TV. Wearing a suitably funereal black tie and jacket, he unemotionally read the news until his final words during which he quoted Shakespeare: "That which cannot be eschewed must be embraced."
A man with a 'colourful' past, PPDA. Father at the age of 15, first book (of over 30) published at 16 (1.5m copies sold), affair with a fellow newsreader which produced his 6th & youngest child more than 30 years after his first, conviction for fraud ten years ago, and so on...
Retire to hotel, exhausted, with one soleless boot, after huge lamb dinner in the pub.
Day 10, Sun 24 Aug
