Dèja vu, of sorts. Arrived at the airport yesterday to be told by the lady manning security that my flight wasn't due to leave for another four and a half hours. About turn to the airline desk where they tell me the delay is even longer - six hours, with the flight scheduled to leave at around the time the not-so-mighty Cannoniers would be taking a half time break in their battle with the red Scousers. No point in going then, so I caught the bus home, again. Still, at least this time I wasn't left sitting going nowhere for five hours in the cold, draughty prefabricated hangar that passes for the low cost airline terminal at Lyon airport. And at least this time there was a happy ending to the match, which we watched in the pub after an enormous fish and chips dinner and went a little way towards easing the pain of the previous two.
Footnote to my travel misadventures of the past 10 days - phoned the Stelios 'customer care' help line when I got home to claim my refund, and eventually spoke to someone after a 15 minute wait. After my explanation he goes away for a couple of minutes to consult, presumably with a superior, then informs me that as the flight is not yet delayed by an hour he can't authorise the refund.
"What do you mean the delay's less than an hour, I was told it was a six hour delay?!"
"No, I mean at this moment in time, the delay is less than an hour."
Hmm... I look at the clock. Fifty-five minutes after the scheduled departure time.
"You mean if I call back in five minutes you'll be able to give me the refund?"
"That's correct, sir."
Great, another 20 minutes waiting on the phone? Screw that, I tried email instead. We shall see with what result...
The official blame for the delay yesterday was the weather. A few centimetres of snow at Lyon airport caused delays of between fifteen minutes and... six hours. Strangely, most Air France flights were delayed by a mere hour or less, while the only flights delayed by more than three hours were, you guessed it, FacileJet. It is cold again in Lyon. All day snow on Tuesday was of the wet, melt immediately variety in the city, though elsewhere, such as the airport, it apparently settled. It has since got even colder - maximum of minus three forecast today...
11 février 2010
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.
01 février 2010
Delayed pain
There was an upside to a yesterday in which a six hour flight delay was only the second worse part: tasty parsnip soup and Tarte Tatin awaiting me on my return from witnessing a horror story in the pub, which in itself was a poor substitute for attending the nightmare in person.
The day was cold and bright as I set off for the airport at 8.30 yesterday morning through a city covered in a centimetre thick blanket of fresh snow. Arrived, went through security, waited for the flight. And waited, and waited. Eventually, an hour after departure time, they announced a further delay of two hours. No matter, still time for me to get to the holy ground in good time, and they offered a generous 4 euro 50 voucher for refreshments. Of course, in the extortionately priced refreshment kiosk, it didn't buy much, but it did help pass the time.
And the time passed, and passed. Eventually, a few minutes after the estimated departure time, the flight was called for departure. Hooray, if it left reasonably promptly there was still time to make the match. Through passport control and into the holding pen that passes for a departure lounge, where we could watch passengers disembarking from the plane that was presumably scheduled to take us across the Channel. Think again. More than half an hour later, another announcement: "Your plane is here, but the flight crew (returning on another flight) won't arrive for another hour. Departure is estimated for 20 minutes after that."
Sinking stomach. A departure estimated at 15:40 would have got me to Stansted about 20 minutes after the match had kicked off, so at that point I gave up and went home. A claim for compensation and reimbursement is currently winging its way to Luton. Hope it doesn't get delayed...
I found other comfort of sorts in the fact that not being in London/Cambridge last night meant la bienheureuse and I could attend OL's match with PSG together. So we shivered (min temperature last night -6C) through 90 minutes of football, in most of which Lyon were outplayed by Paris, and were somewhat fortunate to find themselves only a goal down (thanks to a match-winning display by the reserve keeper) when the visitors had a player sent off with 20 minutes left. Labouring away, les gones finally conjured up an equaliser and winner ten minutes from time.
Otherwise it's been a quiet week since our return from Australia, spent catching up with work (for the wage-earner at least, including annual assessment, which deservedly earned 5 gold stars) and recovering from jet-lag, which seems to have hit us both more than normal. We did have an evening out on Friday, attending a Django Reinhardt centenary concert, which was foot-tappingly good in parts but dragged at times despite the virtuosity of the musicians. I'll blame the jet lag...
Meanwhile, on the political stage, the big news last week was the acquittal of Dominic de Villepin in the Clearstream trial, which is being seen as a bit of a bloody nose for Sarko. The feud continues with Villepin blaming the prosecution's decision to appeal on interference by the Elysée. I fear we haven't heard the last of the Clearstream affair...
The day was cold and bright as I set off for the airport at 8.30 yesterday morning through a city covered in a centimetre thick blanket of fresh snow. Arrived, went through security, waited for the flight. And waited, and waited. Eventually, an hour after departure time, they announced a further delay of two hours. No matter, still time for me to get to the holy ground in good time, and they offered a generous 4 euro 50 voucher for refreshments. Of course, in the extortionately priced refreshment kiosk, it didn't buy much, but it did help pass the time.
And the time passed, and passed. Eventually, a few minutes after the estimated departure time, the flight was called for departure. Hooray, if it left reasonably promptly there was still time to make the match. Through passport control and into the holding pen that passes for a departure lounge, where we could watch passengers disembarking from the plane that was presumably scheduled to take us across the Channel. Think again. More than half an hour later, another announcement: "Your plane is here, but the flight crew (returning on another flight) won't arrive for another hour. Departure is estimated for 20 minutes after that."
Sinking stomach. A departure estimated at 15:40 would have got me to Stansted about 20 minutes after the match had kicked off, so at that point I gave up and went home. A claim for compensation and reimbursement is currently winging its way to Luton. Hope it doesn't get delayed...
I found other comfort of sorts in the fact that not being in London/Cambridge last night meant la bienheureuse and I could attend OL's match with PSG together. So we shivered (min temperature last night -6C) through 90 minutes of football, in most of which Lyon were outplayed by Paris, and were somewhat fortunate to find themselves only a goal down (thanks to a match-winning display by the reserve keeper) when the visitors had a player sent off with 20 minutes left. Labouring away, les gones finally conjured up an equaliser and winner ten minutes from time.
Otherwise it's been a quiet week since our return from Australia, spent catching up with work (for the wage-earner at least, including annual assessment, which deservedly earned 5 gold stars) and recovering from jet-lag, which seems to have hit us both more than normal. We did have an evening out on Friday, attending a Django Reinhardt centenary concert, which was foot-tappingly good in parts but dragged at times despite the virtuosity of the musicians. I'll blame the jet lag...
Meanwhile, on the political stage, the big news last week was the acquittal of Dominic de Villepin in the Clearstream trial, which is being seen as a bit of a bloody nose for Sarko. The feud continues with Villepin blaming the prosecution's decision to appeal on interference by the Elysée. I fear we haven't heard the last of the Clearstream affair...
26 janvier 2010
Au revoir Melbourne
The temperature in Lyon today is a full 40 degrees lower than it was in Melbourne the day we returned from tropical Queensland. The following days we witnessed another graphic demonstration of Melbourne's wildly oscillating weather as the thermometer plummeted more than 20 degree. The next few days were decidedly chilly and forced me to dig socks, shoes and the single sweatshirts I'd brought out of the suitcase.
A couple of days after our return to Victoria, we decided to leave our hosts a little time and space of their own, and booked a couple of nights in the Grampians, which happily coincided with sunny and gradually warming weather. So it was that the 2nd Thursday of the new year, la bienheureuse, la belle-mère and I set off on the 3 hour drive and arrived in Halls Gap in time for a late lunch at the Brambuk Cultural Centre. Afterwards we drove up the twisting Mount Victory road for some sightseeing, starting with Mackenzie Falls. Impressive they were too, as was the climb down and back up from the base. On the way back to camp we stopped off at the Reed lookout to take in the views north and south across the northern Grampians, then had an early dinner in Halls Gap, viewed the grazing kangaroos on the sports oval, and finally retired for the night after a couple of commemorative games of Peanuthead.
Friday morning we set out early for a full day's sightseeing. Back up Mt Victory Rd to visit a succession of lookouts for a succession of stunning views. Boroka, for a panoramic view east, Reed again where we made the additional walk to the Balconies, then another stroll round the Zumsteins walk. Then we decided to venture further north for a bumpy ride to Ngamadjidj, one of the Aboriginal art sites in the area. Not quite as impressive as those we saw in Kakadu, but it was an enjoyable drive, enhanced by emu and kangaroo spotting, and finished off with delicious iced coffees and milkshakes.
Next on the agenda was an evening watching traditional dancing at Bambruk, but we had time to take a round about route there via the Silverband falls and another pleasant walk in the forest. The Aboriginal dancing at the cultural centre turned out to have a large element of audience participation, much to the consternation of certain spectators. The troupe leader asked for volunteers, then when no hands were raised took much pleasure in nominating the victims. He eventually succeeded in getting everybody except some prim Italian ladies into the dance circle. A very enjoyable evening included a lesson on didgeridoo playing and a tasty stew dinner during the refreshment break.
We decided to take the scenic route home, so early the following day we set off south and a bit west instead of east, and arrived at Cape Nelson lighthouse for a rather tasty lunch at the café. From there we wended our way east and joined the Great Ocean Road at the Warnambool end. Dodging (not entirely successfully) heavy rain showers, we managed to take in most of the viewpoints we didn't get to on our previous jaunt along the Great Ocean Road five years previously. The Bay of Islands, Bay of Martyrs, the Grotto, London Bridge and the Arch all received flying visits, before the approach of dusk forced us inland to take the fast road home.
We arrived back in Melbourne late in the evening where la cadette emerged from her cocoon upstairs in front of the spare TV and video, watching episodes of Friends for the hundredth time, to show us her birthday present. Intensive negotiations with her parents had rather miraculously (for both parties) transformed an iPod Touch into a tailless mouse named Kiko. The new arrival sent the previous centre of his mistress' affections, Snowy the budgerigar, into a hyperactive flurry of attention seeking. Pet birds can be jealous too.
Our remaining four days down under passed all too quickly (and somewhat painfully in my case, afflicted by yet another back injury), filled with another trip to the cinema (Avatar or The Princess and the Frog according to viewing tastes), a drive south towards the Mornington peninsula to see and make sand sculptures at Frankston, an outing to Docklands for las sobrinas and la bienheureuse to try their hands at high wire walking, bungee trampolining, base jumping, trapeze swinging and jousting. La sobrina senior showed her usual poise and balance by excelling on the high wire, and la bienheureuse entertained with a couple of face plants off the trapeze swing. Great fun was had by all.
Alas Thursday the 21st arrived all too soon and it was time to bid a tearful goodbye. We miss them all dreadfully already. The trip home was long but smooth until we reached the car park at Lyon airport. Holding our breaths as I turned the key in the ignition did the trick, and the engine started more or less first time after surviving four weeks of snow and ice. We were home free. Or so we though. Resurfacing work in the car park meant the route to the exit was less than obvious and I found myself up a dead end. No problem, just reverse back and start again. Bang! Reverse? This old girl was not for reversing. The left rear brake seized up and refused to unlock. Nearly two hours later, with the help of the car park security man and the airport breakdown service, we eventually got on the road and safely made it home. Garage bill on Monday to replace shattered brake pads and ruined disc - 375 euros. An expensive decision to take the car rather than a taxi to the airport...
A couple of days after our return to Victoria, we decided to leave our hosts a little time and space of their own, and booked a couple of nights in the Grampians, which happily coincided with sunny and gradually warming weather. So it was that the 2nd Thursday of the new year, la bienheureuse, la belle-mère and I set off on the 3 hour drive and arrived in Halls Gap in time for a late lunch at the Brambuk Cultural Centre. Afterwards we drove up the twisting Mount Victory road for some sightseeing, starting with Mackenzie Falls. Impressive they were too, as was the climb down and back up from the base. On the way back to camp we stopped off at the Reed lookout to take in the views north and south across the northern Grampians, then had an early dinner in Halls Gap, viewed the grazing kangaroos on the sports oval, and finally retired for the night after a couple of commemorative games of Peanuthead.
We decided to take the scenic route home, so early the following day we set off south and a bit west instead of east, and arrived at Cape Nelson lighthouse for a rather tasty lunch at the café. From there we wended our way east and joined the Great Ocean Road at the Warnambool end. Dodging (not entirely successfully) heavy rain showers, we managed to take in most of the viewpoints we didn't get to on our previous jaunt along the Great Ocean Road five years previously. The Bay of Islands, Bay of Martyrs, the Grotto, London Bridge and the Arch all received flying visits, before the approach of dusk forced us inland to take the fast road home.
Our remaining four days down under passed all too quickly (and somewhat painfully in my case, afflicted by yet another back injury), filled with another trip to the cinema (Avatar or The Princess and the Frog according to viewing tastes), a drive south towards the Mornington peninsula to see and make sand sculptures at Frankston, an outing to Docklands for las sobrinas and la bienheureuse to try their hands at high wire walking, bungee trampolining, base jumping, trapeze swinging and jousting. La sobrina senior showed her usual poise and balance by excelling on the high wire, and la bienheureuse entertained with a couple of face plants off the trapeze swing. Great fun was had by all.
12 janvier 2010
Bright Points and Magnetic Islands
Then at last Monday the 4th rolled round and it was time to surrender to the magnetic lure of Queensland. An afternoon flight to Townsville, a dash by taxi to catch the early evening ferry, and we made it to Magnetic Island by 8pm, where our courtesy car and luxury waterfront apartment awaited. Quick shop for dinner, bed and next morning straight into one of the four pools in the complex. And thus the next few days passed, a succession of late mornings followed by swimming and games in the pool, afternoon trips out to explore the island. The height of stinger season alas meant swimming in the sea and snorkelling were off the agenda without the hire of a full body stinger suit. 
Excitement yesterday evening - the last fishing sortie of the day ended in minor drama when la cuñada slipped on the rocks and slid into the surging, stinger infested water. Moving with the speed of a hyperactive sloth, her beau-frère scrambled across the rocks and pulled her out, though not before the waves and barnacles had conspired to leaves some nasty scratches on various parts of the anatomy, the most painful somewhere around the derrière. Made sitting a little painful, but tasty fish dinner out that night was completed just in time, as the hot, humid weather broke in an almighty storm. The wind blew and the rain lashed down, and the next day was mostly spent lazing about indoors or swimming in the pool against the backdrop of waves crashing into the rocks below.
The next day, alas (though a turtle was spotted grazing in the water beneath the apartment), it was time to break the magnetic pull of the island and head home to Melbourne, where it was a steaming 43C, though a mere 38C when we arrived at 11 in the evening. Fortunately, this afternoon the thermometer shows 26C outside as I write and still dropping...
30 décembre 2009
Snow and summer sun
Ten days of contrasts - sub-zero temperatures in Lyon four days before Christmas, pleasant upper twenties sunshine on boxing day in Melbourne, and today the thermometer is 38C and still rising...
A flying visit to the home of football the weekend before Christmas avoided the sundry travel problems in snow-bound Blighty. The toothless Tigers were duly tamed by the mighty Gunners Saturday evening, quick beer and curry and overnight stay with McBhoy and the Peace Bird, and I was home by Sunday afternoon. La belle-mère flew out to France Monday, escaping the snow and ice with a mere 2 hour delay to her flight. Earlier the previous week, the BA cabin crew strike was declared illegal, so three days later we had only the British weather to worry about as we set off on the 31 hour journey down under. In the event, the only problem encountered was by one suitcase, which somehow missed the connection in Heathrow (T5, so perhaps no surprise). We even managed a reasonable amount of sleep between London and Singapore, and the prodigal baggage turned up 36 hours later.
Christmas day passed virtually unnoticed in the air, and we finally arrived in Melbourne at 6.30 boxing day morning. Found our way to chez frère numèro 2 et famille by nine am to find brother up but las chicas still in bed after a late night Christmas day party. Las sobrinas finally appeared sleepy-eyed but 3 years older, taller and lovelier. Lunch, a bad session of Band hero - out of time, out of tune - and dinner with the Swiss family Robinson followed in a jet-lagged blur, and we finally fell into bed and blessed sleep at 9pm.
The following day we had the pleasure of accompanying les nièces shopping at Chaddies, while la cuñada went out to work and le frère enjoyed a couple of hours peace and quiet. Sunday we set off to Melbourne zoo. Nice idea, wrong day. Full car parks and an entry queue stretching several hundred yards quickly persuaded us that a stroll round Albert Park would be a quieter option. Home for lunch, then an afternoon defeat to la petite nièce at one-on-one basketball.
Lazy Monday morning, followed by a cool afternoon at the cinema, Lovely Bones and the Chipmunks part of the varied viewing program. Today it was hot. Too hot to do much, so we contented ourselves with a short stroll along the Port Philip Bay waterfront and a paddle in the sea. This evening a swim is on the agenda. As long as it cools down enough...
A flying visit to the home of football the weekend before Christmas avoided the sundry travel problems in snow-bound Blighty. The toothless Tigers were duly tamed by the mighty Gunners Saturday evening, quick beer and curry and overnight stay with McBhoy and the Peace Bird, and I was home by Sunday afternoon. La belle-mère flew out to France Monday, escaping the snow and ice with a mere 2 hour delay to her flight. Earlier the previous week, the BA cabin crew strike was declared illegal, so three days later we had only the British weather to worry about as we set off on the 31 hour journey down under. In the event, the only problem encountered was by one suitcase, which somehow missed the connection in Heathrow (T5, so perhaps no surprise). We even managed a reasonable amount of sleep between London and Singapore, and the prodigal baggage turned up 36 hours later.
Christmas day passed virtually unnoticed in the air, and we finally arrived in Melbourne at 6.30 boxing day morning. Found our way to chez frère numèro 2 et famille by nine am to find brother up but las chicas still in bed after a late night Christmas day party. Las sobrinas finally appeared sleepy-eyed but 3 years older, taller and lovelier. Lunch, a bad session of Band hero - out of time, out of tune - and dinner with the Swiss family Robinson followed in a jet-lagged blur, and we finally fell into bed and blessed sleep at 9pm.
The following day we had the pleasure of accompanying les nièces shopping at Chaddies, while la cuñada went out to work and le frère enjoyed a couple of hours peace and quiet. Sunday we set off to Melbourne zoo. Nice idea, wrong day. Full car parks and an entry queue stretching several hundred yards quickly persuaded us that a stroll round Albert Park would be a quieter option. Home for lunch, then an afternoon defeat to la petite nièce at one-on-one basketball.
Lazy Monday morning, followed by a cool afternoon at the cinema, Lovely Bones and the Chipmunks part of the varied viewing program. Today it was hot. Too hot to do much, so we contented ourselves with a short stroll along the Port Philip Bay waterfront and a paddle in the sea. This evening a swim is on the agenda. As long as it cools down enough...
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...
15 décembre 2009
Frosty reception
Winter has arrived with a vengeance, temperatures in Lyon are reaching the heady heights of zero degrees Celsius at the moment. Rather chilly in Hungary too I imagine, where la salariée is currently on her latest work jaunt. It involved getting up at 5.15am on Monday morning (for me too, as I gallantly offered to walk her to the station) in order to catch a TGV just after six to CDG airport, thence a connection to Budapest, followed by a four or five hour car journey to Lake Balaton. The early start meant she forewent a trip to Gerland on Sunday evening. Instead I was accompanied by un voisin for the latest échec of a poor season for the former 7 time French champions. It was the team who usurped OL's throne, Bordeaux, who delivered the latest defeat, 1-0, which means les gones haven't won a home league match since late Septembre. The fans are not amused, and not happy with the coach. Loud chants of "Puel, démission!" could be heard at the end of the match. Otherwise it was a good weekend, football and otherwise. A happier trip to the pub earlier in the evening was preceded by a visit to the Christmas market on Saturday, even if the Christmas shopping was less than successful.
Elsewhere on Sunday, an event that has shocked Lyon was taking place. An innocent 12 year bystander was shot dead during a drive-by shooting in what is thought to be the escalation of a fight between gangs of youths from different 'quartiers sensibles' on the eastern outskirts of Lyon. After an earlier pitched battle involving mere base-ball bats, hammers and stones, apparently some of the antagonists returned in a car, armed with a rifle and semi-automatic pistol. At least 14 bullets were recovered by police. Sounds like a minor miracle only one other person, a 17 year old youth, apparently also uninvolved, was hit.
Meanwhile, France as a whole anxiously hangs on every bit of news relating to the health of Johnny. Every news bulletin since last week has led with a report on the latest news from the hospital in Los Angeles where France's living Elvis is being treated. Sigh of relief that he is now out of the artificially induced coma. Maybe we'll get some other news on the telly at last...
Elsewhere on Sunday, an event that has shocked Lyon was taking place. An innocent 12 year bystander was shot dead during a drive-by shooting in what is thought to be the escalation of a fight between gangs of youths from different 'quartiers sensibles' on the eastern outskirts of Lyon. After an earlier pitched battle involving mere base-ball bats, hammers and stones, apparently some of the antagonists returned in a car, armed with a rifle and semi-automatic pistol. At least 14 bullets were recovered by police. Sounds like a minor miracle only one other person, a 17 year old youth, apparently also uninvolved, was hit.
Meanwhile, France as a whole anxiously hangs on every bit of news relating to the health of Johnny. Every news bulletin since last week has led with a report on the latest news from the hospital in Los Angeles where France's living Elvis is being treated. Sigh of relief that he is now out of the artificially induced coma. Maybe we'll get some other news on the telly at last...
11 décembre 2009
Striking times
The lights went down on Tuesday, and Wednesday evening it was back to the weekly routine with a trip to Gerland to watch the final Champions League group game. OL duly did a routine job, 4-0 winners without ever having to play well against one of only two teams to finish the competition with nul points.
Two less than routine things happened on the way home. We bumped into two of our neighbours in the metro queue, the fact that there was a long queue being the second unaccustomed event. Normally we leave on the final whistle and our seats at the metro end of the ground allow us to beat the queues. Not on this occasion. There were plenty of early leavers with the fans more interested in what was going on at Anfield, where the Scousers duly failed to live up to expectations and allowed Fiorentina to finish as group winners. That means OL will draw either an English or Spanish team in the first knockout round. Few in France expect them to go further...
The metro also seemed to be running slower than usual, symptomatic of the last week or so. There was a strike over the weekend, timed to coincide with the Fête des Lumières, though it didn't have a huge effect. Then yesterday, the automatic metro line that la bienheureuse often takes into work was out of action all morning, leaving the buses overcrowded. Ma bien-aimée was forced to walk...
Strikes elsewhere in France are in the headlines at the moment. A train strike is upsetting Parisian commuters, and lorry drivers are threatening to strike in the run-up to Christmas. A measure of how serious this would be is that the employers appear to have quickly made concessions...
However, what's really preoccupying greater France at the moment is the news of Johnny Hallyday's emergency operation in California, after complications following an operation on a herniated vertebral disc in Paris a couple of weeks ago. Johnny's agent announced today that the American surgeons had told him they'd had to repair the damage done by the original operation, which they called a 'massacre'. There is talk of suing the well-known French 'surgeon to the stars' who carried out the operation in Paris. Apparently won't be the first time he has had to pay damages to a patient...
Two less than routine things happened on the way home. We bumped into two of our neighbours in the metro queue, the fact that there was a long queue being the second unaccustomed event. Normally we leave on the final whistle and our seats at the metro end of the ground allow us to beat the queues. Not on this occasion. There were plenty of early leavers with the fans more interested in what was going on at Anfield, where the Scousers duly failed to live up to expectations and allowed Fiorentina to finish as group winners. That means OL will draw either an English or Spanish team in the first knockout round. Few in France expect them to go further...
The metro also seemed to be running slower than usual, symptomatic of the last week or so. There was a strike over the weekend, timed to coincide with the Fête des Lumières, though it didn't have a huge effect. Then yesterday, the automatic metro line that la bienheureuse often takes into work was out of action all morning, leaving the buses overcrowded. Ma bien-aimée was forced to walk...
Strikes elsewhere in France are in the headlines at the moment. A train strike is upsetting Parisian commuters, and lorry drivers are threatening to strike in the run-up to Christmas. A measure of how serious this would be is that the employers appear to have quickly made concessions...
However, what's really preoccupying greater France at the moment is the news of Johnny Hallyday's emergency operation in California, after complications following an operation on a herniated vertebral disc in Paris a couple of weeks ago. Johnny's agent announced today that the American surgeons had told him they'd had to repair the damage done by the original operation, which they called a 'massacre'. There is talk of suing the well-known French 'surgeon to the stars' who carried out the operation in Paris. Apparently won't be the first time he has had to pay damages to a patient...
10 décembre 2009
Lights, laughter and lack of sleep
In a blur of lights, food, wine and lots of fun, the week flew by. Our guests for the 2009 Fête des Lumières were up at 5am on Saturday morning to catch an early flight to Lyon. They were duly met at the airport (nice drive out, Mont Blanc clearly visible), transported home, fed a gourmet picnic lunch with Gewürztraminer, and then it was time for their afternoon nap. Prof Margarita and I huddled round a dodgy internet feed of the Potters getting snookered on the green baize of North London, and then finally it was time to hit the streets and the lights of Lyon.
The Lights this year were designed to be more eco-friendly and intimate, so after our first taste of the impressive projections on the Prefecture du Rhône, we opted for a stroll along the river towards Parc de la Tête d'Or. There were various small installations along the way, the most popular being a video projection with manipulated images of spectators. In the park itself, the trees were bathed in light snow (or snow light) and there was a fairly effective display of neothlithic caves and paintings.
Afterwards we wandered back to the Poivre d'Âne for a late dinner, créme de St Jacques and duck burger among the delights on the menu, washed down with a rather nice St Joseph. Regrettably, I no longer feel able to claim that the famous moelleux au chocolat is the best in the world. And thence back home, for digestives and bedtime around 1.30am. Long day for the travellers...
Lie in on Sunday morning, followed by a trip to Les Halles de Lyon to effect purchases for Sunday dinner and chocolates for Christmas back home. For lunch we had une petite degustation of a Lyonnais specialty, quenelles. Afterwards the Caipirinha Kid and the Margarita man tried to walk it off with a stomp round the zoo and park while I dozed at home with Ms H and la bienheureuse prepared dinner. Early in the evening, we ventured out into the crowded streets. First objective was the display in Place des Terreaux, but with more people than ever, access was restricted so we abandoned the idea of queueing and headed instead for the Saône quayside to watch the fireworks, held over from the abandoned 14 juillet display. The Crack Fox was more of a delight for certain among our number...
Thence back into the throng, via the lights on the façade of the Église St Nizier to the queue for the show in Place Terreaux. The wait was worth it for a display on the Musée des Beaux Arts and the Hôtel de Ville, featuring time and weather, a play on the fact that the French use the same word, temps, for both. From there we dodged our way towards home, via the Christmas market and strike-reduced metro for the boys, where delicious lamb tajine was cooking slowly in the over. A rather fine Coteaux du Tracastin complemented it perfectly, followed by a la bienheureuse special, mmm... Tarte Tatin.
We were all in bed by 12.30 this time, la bienheureuse was up as usual to go to work, while the rest of us arose somewhat more tardily. Then we headed back to Les Halles for a sumptuous fish food platter in one of the restaurants. Oysters, prawns, urchins and king crab. Delicious, and we made it home in time for our guests to share a taxi to the airport with ma bien-aimée. Work trip for her, homeward bound for them.
It seemed quiet, at home on my own afterwards, but I put on a brave face and a waterproof and headed out in the evening to take in some more lights and take on some more water. The streets were much quieter, thanks in no small part to the fact that it poured with rain the whole evening. It was still worth the effort, because the light and sound tribute to the builders of St Jean cathedral was quite stunning, and there was a diverting, if tiring path up Fourvière hill to the basilica, where there was a display on the front façade for the first time.
La bienheureuse was home exhausted in the evening on Tuesday the 8th, the key day in the Fête des Lumières. We put our bougies on the window ledges but didn't make it out for more fireworks on the footbridge just down the road, opting instead for ham and brazed red cabbage, and Marseille losing out to the showboating Madrid galacticos on TV. I did go out later for one last look and photos of the cathedral show.
The Lights this year were designed to be more eco-friendly and intimate, so after our first taste of the impressive projections on the Prefecture du Rhône, we opted for a stroll along the river towards Parc de la Tête d'Or. There were various small installations along the way, the most popular being a video projection with manipulated images of spectators. In the park itself, the trees were bathed in light snow (or snow light) and there was a fairly effective display of neothlithic caves and paintings.
Afterwards we wandered back to the Poivre d'Âne for a late dinner, créme de St Jacques and duck burger among the delights on the menu, washed down with a rather nice St Joseph. Regrettably, I no longer feel able to claim that the famous moelleux au chocolat is the best in the world. And thence back home, for digestives and bedtime around 1.30am. Long day for the travellers...
Lie in on Sunday morning, followed by a trip to Les Halles de Lyon to effect purchases for Sunday dinner and chocolates for Christmas back home. For lunch we had une petite degustation of a Lyonnais specialty, quenelles. Afterwards the Caipirinha Kid and the Margarita man tried to walk it off with a stomp round the zoo and park while I dozed at home with Ms H and la bienheureuse prepared dinner. Early in the evening, we ventured out into the crowded streets. First objective was the display in Place des Terreaux, but with more people than ever, access was restricted so we abandoned the idea of queueing and headed instead for the Saône quayside to watch the fireworks, held over from the abandoned 14 juillet display. The Crack Fox was more of a delight for certain among our number...
Thence back into the throng, via the lights on the façade of the Église St Nizier to the queue for the show in Place Terreaux. The wait was worth it for a display on the Musée des Beaux Arts and the Hôtel de Ville, featuring time and weather, a play on the fact that the French use the same word, temps, for both. From there we dodged our way towards home, via the Christmas market and strike-reduced metro for the boys, where delicious lamb tajine was cooking slowly in the over. A rather fine Coteaux du Tracastin complemented it perfectly, followed by a la bienheureuse special, mmm... Tarte Tatin.
We were all in bed by 12.30 this time, la bienheureuse was up as usual to go to work, while the rest of us arose somewhat more tardily. Then we headed back to Les Halles for a sumptuous fish food platter in one of the restaurants. Oysters, prawns, urchins and king crab. Delicious, and we made it home in time for our guests to share a taxi to the airport with ma bien-aimée. Work trip for her, homeward bound for them.
It seemed quiet, at home on my own afterwards, but I put on a brave face and a waterproof and headed out in the evening to take in some more lights and take on some more water. The streets were much quieter, thanks in no small part to the fact that it poured with rain the whole evening. It was still worth the effort, because the light and sound tribute to the builders of St Jean cathedral was quite stunning, and there was a diverting, if tiring path up Fourvière hill to the basilica, where there was a display on the front façade for the first time.
La bienheureuse was home exhausted in the evening on Tuesday the 8th, the key day in the Fête des Lumières. We put our bougies on the window ledges but didn't make it out for more fireworks on the footbridge just down the road, opting instead for ham and brazed red cabbage, and Marseille losing out to the showboating Madrid galacticos on TV. I did go out later for one last look and photos of the cathedral show.
Inscription à :
Articles (Atom)