The two penultimate days before the marathon journey to blighted Blighty were taken up with transitory visitors. Friday evening, the three Goldilocks and their parents dropped in on their way to the Mediterranean sunshine. La petite reacted to the sudden appearance of five new faces by bursting into tears. Well, it was the end of the day. The following evening, the two doctors and the mini-jezoids arrived after she was in bed, thus delaying the gradual introduction of four more new faces until Sunday morning. Refreshed by 12 hours of sleep and the knowledge that she wasn't alone in not being in full control of bodily functions, she was all smiles and good humour. By midday our visitors had continued their journey south, and we were almost ready for the long trek north.
The twelve hour car journey, split over two days, was more dream than nightmare. La petite slept, from time to time, in her car seat, though never for longer than 45 minutes. And the rest of the time was kept amused with songs, toys and games, or kept quiet with a bottle in her mouth. Only one inconsolable bout of screaming occurred, 20 minutes before arrival at our mid-journey hotel in Laon. And so, via autoroute, hotel, ferry, and motorway, we eventually reached Cambridge 30 hours after leaving Lyon.
Two more new faces were greeted with more smiling and flirting, even though it was grouchy time of day. Honorary auntie C and onkel J were suitably charmed. The following evening, chez Professor Margarita, the Cambridge buddies descended en masse to meet the new addition. And once more, la petite coquinette turned on the charm. Another seven new faces were greeted with smiles and flirts aplenty before it was time for bed.
After a day spent recovering (brief shopping trip for la bienheureuse apart), it was time to be cooped up in that dreaded car-seat for another 300km journey north to Cheshire. Four hours later (those good old British go-slow motorways) we arrived chez la grand-mère. End of the road for our trusty overloaded petite voiture (with functioning air-conditioning), but two days later la petite was hitting the road again. While son papa was on a thankless mission to the asset-stripped home of football in London, sa mere et grand-mère headed further north to the Great Three Sisters Family Reunion in the Lakes, via a brief smaller family reunion in Blackpool. Another two hours in the car, another five new faces.
20 août 2011
07 août 2011
Twelve hours
Seven and five makes twelve. Seven pm yesterday, la petite coquinette is put to bed, with minor complaint. And there she stayed until just after seven am today, the day she is five months old. Twelve hours uninterrupted sleep. Well, almost - a couple of brief awakenings at five and six am before settling back to sleep without need for parental intervention. Bliss for said parents, or would have been if either had managed to sleep soundly in the interim instead of subconsciously listening for sounds of distress...
The first attempt at a full night's sleep was aborted on Friday night when she woke up just after 11pm. Papa went in to offer her a small feed and found the little dear jammed sideways in the cot having somehow escaped from her straitjacket. Success duly followed last night. Wonder how long it will continue…
There was a somewhat rude shock a couple of nights earlier when it took la bienheureuse an hour to get her to bed. Followed by more disruption for papa when she refused to go down easily for daytime naps like the little angel she normally is. Guess she's growing up fast…
Meanwhile, the weather got hotter and heavier but last night suddenly broke again with thunderstorms and much cooler, fresher air. And as if to signal that summer is coming to an end, last night the French football season also resumed. The night turned into a highly satisfactory one for OL, winners at Nice while the two big favourites for the league this season failed: PSG (spenders of more middle eastern oil millions during the transfer window than the citizens of Manchester) crashed at home to little Lorient and Marseille could only draw at home with Sochaux. Lyon's transfer activity has so far been notable by its absence. The only newcomer of note (though not really new as he was previously in charge of the youth team) is the new coach Remi Garde who promises much more attacking football than his much-maligned predecessor. So far so good…
The first attempt at a full night's sleep was aborted on Friday night when she woke up just after 11pm. Papa went in to offer her a small feed and found the little dear jammed sideways in the cot having somehow escaped from her straitjacket. Success duly followed last night. Wonder how long it will continue…
There was a somewhat rude shock a couple of nights earlier when it took la bienheureuse an hour to get her to bed. Followed by more disruption for papa when she refused to go down easily for daytime naps like the little angel she normally is. Guess she's growing up fast…
Meanwhile, the weather got hotter and heavier but last night suddenly broke again with thunderstorms and much cooler, fresher air. And as if to signal that summer is coming to an end, last night the French football season also resumed. The night turned into a highly satisfactory one for OL, winners at Nice while the two big favourites for the league this season failed: PSG (spenders of more middle eastern oil millions during the transfer window than the citizens of Manchester) crashed at home to little Lorient and Marseille could only draw at home with Sochaux. Lyon's transfer activity has so far been notable by its absence. The only newcomer of note (though not really new as he was previously in charge of the youth team) is the new coach Remi Garde who promises much more attacking football than his much-maligned predecessor. So far so good…
02 août 2011
Twenty one
21st blog post documenting, in a cryptic fashion, life since it was changed by a certain event. La petite's quirky little ways continue to keep us on our toes and entertained. In 21 weeks she's developed from a tiny creature who sleeps, feeds, poos, pees, burps, farts and cries into a smiling, giggling, wriggling, shouting, squeaking, squawking little person with her own fast-developing personality. Latest tricks include raspberry blowing with added saliva (or milk), chin-ups on the bar above her cot (well, almost), testing whether her parents' lips, noses and ears are firmly attached, and turning 180 degrees in her cot.
Life continues to revolve round la petite coquinette, though la bienheureuse reluctantly escaped for a 3rd night abroad on business last week. Père et fille survived well enough on their own, but the reunion was joyous on all sides.
21 degrees: maximum temperature in Lyon on the 24th March, and on the 24th July. The last 21 days (give or take) of what is normally the hottest month of the year have been cool, cloudy and rather damp. While the cooler weather has been a relief chez nous (keeping the nursery cool becomes an obsession) les juilletistes (yes, French summer holidaymakers are named according to which month they take their breaks) have been complaining vociferously. Les aoûtiens look like being somewhat more fortunate. The latter include the government, on holiday for the first 21 days of the month. Ministers have all been ordered to take their holidays in France, following the controversy last year when certain high-up members of the government accepted holidays in north Africa hosted by leaders who not long afterwards found themselves on the receiving end of popular revolutions.
Life continues to revolve round la petite coquinette, though la bienheureuse reluctantly escaped for a 3rd night abroad on business last week. Père et fille survived well enough on their own, but the reunion was joyous on all sides.
21 degrees: maximum temperature in Lyon on the 24th March, and on the 24th July. The last 21 days (give or take) of what is normally the hottest month of the year have been cool, cloudy and rather damp. While the cooler weather has been a relief chez nous (keeping the nursery cool becomes an obsession) les juilletistes (yes, French summer holidaymakers are named according to which month they take their breaks) have been complaining vociferously. Les aoûtiens look like being somewhat more fortunate. The latter include the government, on holiday for the first 21 days of the month. Ministers have all been ordered to take their holidays in France, following the controversy last year when certain high-up members of the government accepted holidays in north Africa hosted by leaders who not long afterwards found themselves on the receiving end of popular revolutions.
26 juillet 2011
Growth record
Month five, visit to the paediatrician number five. No jabs this time, but plenty of screaming when the nasty man tried to stick his scope in little ears and nostrils. Another measuring session recorded a near doubling in weight and a height increase of 13cm since birth. At this rate la petite will as tall as her mother by the time she's four, and as heavy as her father by the time she's seven.
Of course child growth rates aren't linear, and obsessive that I am, plotting the little munchkin's numbers on the standard (British) curves has her height roughly following the 50th percentile and her weight steadily climbing from about the 60th to the 80th percentile. Hmm, nonetheless Monsieur le Pèdiatre expresses admiration for our treasure's chubby little legs and arms.
"She's not too plump, then?"
"No, not at all. You don't need to worry about obesity until she's two."
That's all right then, we'll continue feeding her 20% more than he recommends. And of course her excess weight could all be put down to her head, measured to be larger than roughly 90 percent of all other babies of the same age. Certainly takes after papa then. Well, we need large heads to fit in all that grey matter.
Daytime entertainment has been more difficult this week. Somehow, it's always raining when it's time for our afternoon stroll along the river. Naps in the cot aren't as much fun. And no more tennis, no more Tour de France on TV. Le Grand Boucle reached its climax on Sunday after three masochistic weeks for the riders that ended in plaudits all round: for the valiant failure of the local hero to hang on to the yellow jersey for the final two days, for the thrilling win at Alpe d'Huez that earned his teammate the white jersey and the burden of being the next great white hope of French cycling, for the attacking ride up the Galibier that earned the eternal runner-up the yellow jersey for one day, for the green jersey won by the greatest sprinter in the Isle of Man and the rest of the world, and finally for the Australian winner. Last year's winner did, after all, pay the price of trying to win the Giro and the Tour in one year.
The saga of cooling the car reached its end (we hope) yesterday. Not that we've needed air-conditioning in the last 2 weeks. Second hand compressor duly purchased (highly efficient online order and delivery, bargain at 100 euros) and fitted by our friendly mechanic. How much will that be then? Billed at 326 euros, with no repair warranty given that it was carried out with a second hand part. Or 250 for cash. Easy choice. Tradesmen are the same the world over.
Of course child growth rates aren't linear, and obsessive that I am, plotting the little munchkin's numbers on the standard (British) curves has her height roughly following the 50th percentile and her weight steadily climbing from about the 60th to the 80th percentile. Hmm, nonetheless Monsieur le Pèdiatre expresses admiration for our treasure's chubby little legs and arms.
"She's not too plump, then?"
"No, not at all. You don't need to worry about obesity until she's two."
That's all right then, we'll continue feeding her 20% more than he recommends. And of course her excess weight could all be put down to her head, measured to be larger than roughly 90 percent of all other babies of the same age. Certainly takes after papa then. Well, we need large heads to fit in all that grey matter.
Daytime entertainment has been more difficult this week. Somehow, it's always raining when it's time for our afternoon stroll along the river. Naps in the cot aren't as much fun. And no more tennis, no more Tour de France on TV. Le Grand Boucle reached its climax on Sunday after three masochistic weeks for the riders that ended in plaudits all round: for the valiant failure of the local hero to hang on to the yellow jersey for the final two days, for the thrilling win at Alpe d'Huez that earned his teammate the white jersey and the burden of being the next great white hope of French cycling, for the attacking ride up the Galibier that earned the eternal runner-up the yellow jersey for one day, for the green jersey won by the greatest sprinter in the Isle of Man and the rest of the world, and finally for the Australian winner. Last year's winner did, after all, pay the price of trying to win the Giro and the Tour in one year.
The saga of cooling the car reached its end (we hope) yesterday. Not that we've needed air-conditioning in the last 2 weeks. Second hand compressor duly purchased (highly efficient online order and delivery, bargain at 100 euros) and fitted by our friendly mechanic. How much will that be then? Billed at 326 euros, with no repair warranty given that it was carried out with a second hand part. Or 250 for cash. Easy choice. Tradesmen are the same the world over.
20 juillet 2011
Two seuls encore
And then there were two. La grand-mère et la mère left yesterday in the morning rain, heading for the airport at different times in separate taxis, the former heading home after two weeks of grandchild entertainment, sundry sewing jobs and jam-making, the latter reluctantly flying off for a meeting in the company mother country. She will be home this evening but meanwhile la petite et son père have just each other for company once more. Teething troubles seem to be the main preoccupation at the moment. Nothing a bit of drugging won't solve.
On Monday we had a visitor (NB arrived despite making few plans), and la petite coquinette awoke from early evening sleep in her most beguiling mood to meet our dinner guest with sleepy smiles and coy flirts aplenty. He left with a belly full of moussaka, crumble and Coteaux de Tricastin, and a phone full of blurred photos to show to Dr C. His mission of finding the hotel at the top of the tallest building in Lyon was eventually accomplished.
Rumours of the demise of Contador may well have been premature. Yesterday's stage, previously assumed to be anodyne, saw him attack on the only climb of the day in driving rain and autumnal temperatures, leaving the man who was runner-up last year trailing in his spray. Lots of complaints about the weather in France at the moment, particularly from the holiday industry. Temperatures for the middle week in July are forecast to be about five degrees lower than those we had in the middle of April. The next three Alpine stages in le Tour could be interesting, including two climbs up the col du Galibier, which on Sunday was under several inches of snow, occasioning the rescue of a number of cycling nuts who were attempting to emulate the professionals in shorts and t-shirts.
On Monday we had a visitor (NB arrived despite making few plans), and la petite coquinette awoke from early evening sleep in her most beguiling mood to meet our dinner guest with sleepy smiles and coy flirts aplenty. He left with a belly full of moussaka, crumble and Coteaux de Tricastin, and a phone full of blurred photos to show to Dr C. His mission of finding the hotel at the top of the tallest building in Lyon was eventually accomplished.
Rumours of the demise of Contador may well have been premature. Yesterday's stage, previously assumed to be anodyne, saw him attack on the only climb of the day in driving rain and autumnal temperatures, leaving the man who was runner-up last year trailing in his spray. Lots of complaints about the weather in France at the moment, particularly from the holiday industry. Temperatures for the middle week in July are forecast to be about five degrees lower than those we had in the middle of April. The next three Alpine stages in le Tour could be interesting, including two climbs up the col du Galibier, which on Sunday was under several inches of snow, occasioning the rescue of a number of cycling nuts who were attempting to emulate the professionals in shorts and t-shirts.
15 juillet 2011
Cooling and climbing
Baby travel tale number five, Tuesday: in thirty-five degree heat, la grand-mère, la mère et la fille set off in la voiture with broken air-conditioning to visit a friend and her baby. Short ten minute journey fortunately, and la petite behaves perfectly during the trip there, the visit, and falls asleep in the car on the way back! Hallelujah.
Next day le père takes the car to the garage to get the air-conditioning fixed. Diagnosis: leaking compressor. Cost of repair: 900 euros for a new replacement, or 560 for a repaired one. Plus labour costs. Hmm, trusty (air-con apart) old banger is barely worth that much. Internet search reveals second hand compressors are available for about 100 euros. Wonder if the (franchised) garage will put it in? Quatorze juillet yesterday and bridging day today, garage closed. Have to wait till next week to find out…
There was the usual fireworks show above Fourvière yesterday to celebrate la fête nationale, an event dampened by the deaths of five French soldiers in Afghanistan but not by the torrential rain, which came and went the previous day. La belle-mère et le beau-fils toddled to the end of the road late last night to watch, while la bienheureuse looked after last feed of the day for la petite coquinette. The latter has learned a new trick recently - blowing raspberries. Which she does frequently and with great gusto. Significance? No idea. Any baby behaviour experts out there, answers on a postcard please.
Bastille day also produced minor fireworks yesterday, during the start of the real Tour de France, the first mountain stage. As expected, French cyclists made valiant attempts to win the stage, accompanied by a worthy Welsh gooner, but in the end the favourites all finished more or less together. Main talking point though was the fact that the others gained a few more seconds on Contador. Never seen before.
Up until yesterday the Tour was characterised by the number of falls. Contador alone has tumbled four times. Seems it really isn't his year, but the most spectacular day of chutes was on Sunday, when several riders were severely injured in one major crash, and a car belonging to France Televisions knocked two of the leading group into a barbed wire fence. Both bravely got back on their bikes and finished the stage, but the incident made lots of noise in France. The car driver was excluded from the tour, and there is talk about requiring all drivers and motorbike riders to be former professional cyclists. Most already are, though not the culprit on Sunday.
Next day le père takes the car to the garage to get the air-conditioning fixed. Diagnosis: leaking compressor. Cost of repair: 900 euros for a new replacement, or 560 for a repaired one. Plus labour costs. Hmm, trusty (air-con apart) old banger is barely worth that much. Internet search reveals second hand compressors are available for about 100 euros. Wonder if the (franchised) garage will put it in? Quatorze juillet yesterday and bridging day today, garage closed. Have to wait till next week to find out…
Bastille day also produced minor fireworks yesterday, during the start of the real Tour de France, the first mountain stage. As expected, French cyclists made valiant attempts to win the stage, accompanied by a worthy Welsh gooner, but in the end the favourites all finished more or less together. Main talking point though was the fact that the others gained a few more seconds on Contador. Never seen before.
Up until yesterday the Tour was characterised by the number of falls. Contador alone has tumbled four times. Seems it really isn't his year, but the most spectacular day of chutes was on Sunday, when several riders were severely injured in one major crash, and a car belonging to France Televisions knocked two of the leading group into a barbed wire fence. Both bravely got back on their bikes and finished the stage, but the incident made lots of noise in France. The car driver was excluded from the tour, and there is talk about requiring all drivers and motorbike riders to be former professional cyclists. Most already are, though not the culprit on Sunday.
10 juillet 2011
Travel travails
Baby's travel experience so far amounts to afternoon pram promenades along the river and four car journeys. First car trip: short ride home from hospital - five day old baby sleeps all the way. Second excursion: return trip to the airport to pick up grandmère - 3 week old baby sleeps through puncture incident, all the way to the airport, and part of the way back. So far so good, babies always sleep in the car don't they?
Not this one.
Car trip number 3: short ride to the garden centre and back. La petite, aged almost 3 months, starts screaming inconsolably before we're two minutes down the road. Resorting to the dreaded dummy, which we'd rather stupidly left in the boot necessitating an emergency stop, finally calms her.
Travel tale number 4: a couple of days before celebrating 4 months in this world, we treat la petite coquinette to another car ride and another trip to the airport to pick up Mamy. She remains wide awake all the way out, and wide awake and screaming all the way back. Dummies, toys, singing, pulling faces, making funny noises, gagging, none of it works, and the non-functioning climatisation doesn't help either. And in five weeks we look forward to 12 hours in the car on a trip back to Blighty. That'll be fun…
Otherwise it's been a quiet week. La grandmère has got to know her newly alert and demanding grandchild, and her feeding quirks. La bienheureuse left her trois bien-aimés at home on Tuesday night to fly to Germany for a work meeting the next day. First night away from baby, first time papa has had to put la petite coquinette to bed since a not-so-successful attempt three weeks ago. He approached the task with some trepidation, but never fear. The two angels' bedtime routine works like a charm. She may not sleep in cars but she sleeps all night.
It wasn't so quiet earlier yesterday evening. The Punjabi princess was back in Lyon for a visit and graced us with her presence. Looking forward to her own happy event in a few months, she was eager to meet notre petite for the first time. And was treated to a big smile, swiftly followed by a loud wail of distress. And for the next ninety minutes, our visitor was treated to baby behaviour at its worst. Certainly our baby's behaviour at its worst. Not quite sure what brought that on - probably a mixture of over-excitement and over-tiredness. Fortunately, once la petite was put to bed silence and normality returned - silence in a manner of speaking: dinner with three women is never a particularly quiet affair, not these particular women anyway.
Not this one.
Car trip number 3: short ride to the garden centre and back. La petite, aged almost 3 months, starts screaming inconsolably before we're two minutes down the road. Resorting to the dreaded dummy, which we'd rather stupidly left in the boot necessitating an emergency stop, finally calms her.
Travel tale number 4: a couple of days before celebrating 4 months in this world, we treat la petite coquinette to another car ride and another trip to the airport to pick up Mamy. She remains wide awake all the way out, and wide awake and screaming all the way back. Dummies, toys, singing, pulling faces, making funny noises, gagging, none of it works, and the non-functioning climatisation doesn't help either. And in five weeks we look forward to 12 hours in the car on a trip back to Blighty. That'll be fun…
Otherwise it's been a quiet week. La grandmère has got to know her newly alert and demanding grandchild, and her feeding quirks. La bienheureuse left her trois bien-aimés at home on Tuesday night to fly to Germany for a work meeting the next day. First night away from baby, first time papa has had to put la petite coquinette to bed since a not-so-successful attempt three weeks ago. He approached the task with some trepidation, but never fear. The two angels' bedtime routine works like a charm. She may not sleep in cars but she sleeps all night.
It wasn't so quiet earlier yesterday evening. The Punjabi princess was back in Lyon for a visit and graced us with her presence. Looking forward to her own happy event in a few months, she was eager to meet notre petite for the first time. And was treated to a big smile, swiftly followed by a loud wail of distress. And for the next ninety minutes, our visitor was treated to baby behaviour at its worst. Certainly our baby's behaviour at its worst. Not quite sure what brought that on - probably a mixture of over-excitement and over-tiredness. Fortunately, once la petite was put to bed silence and normality returned - silence in a manner of speaking: dinner with three women is never a particularly quiet affair, not these particular women anyway.
03 juillet 2011
Summer sport
The first weekend in July marks the real arrival of summer: the schools are on holiday, the city starts emptying, and the Tour de France starts. And that means the first major bouchons on the A7 autoroute between Lyon and Marseille, the first time there might be a small chance of finding a parking space outside the apartment, and the first bit of previous-winner-of-the-TdF baiting by the French public and press. This year, with drug allegations hanging over him, it's Contador's turn again. Booed when the teams were introduced on Thursday, and yesterday caught up in a major pileup, which lost him over a minute on his main rivals. Suggestions in the French press this morning that he may even give up…
Anyway, with Wimbledon almost over, le Tour provides me with afternoon entertainment to supplement that provided by the little sweetheart. Who has been a real dear most of the week, despite apparently starting to teethe. At least, she chews on everything and anything at the moment.
In the wider world, l'affaire DSK is once more dominating the headlines. A poll in one of the newspapers this morning suggests half the French public would like to see him making a political comeback. Assuming of course he is cleared of all charges, as most people here are expecting to happen. The fact that he did have sex with the woman is apparently neither here nor there…
At the other end of the political spectrum, the current president was 'violently attacked' in Agen, which was almost overlooked when the new Strauss-Kahn revelations broke. The attack turned out to be a man grabbing him by the lapels and pulling, which provoked the amusing sight of Sarko ducking a blow which never came. He sportingly let it known he wouldn't file a complaint afterwards, but his aggressor still copped a six-month suspended prison sentence.
Anyway, with Wimbledon almost over, le Tour provides me with afternoon entertainment to supplement that provided by the little sweetheart. Who has been a real dear most of the week, despite apparently starting to teethe. At least, she chews on everything and anything at the moment.
In the wider world, l'affaire DSK is once more dominating the headlines. A poll in one of the newspapers this morning suggests half the French public would like to see him making a political comeback. Assuming of course he is cleared of all charges, as most people here are expecting to happen. The fact that he did have sex with the woman is apparently neither here nor there…
At the other end of the political spectrum, the current president was 'violently attacked' in Agen, which was almost overlooked when the new Strauss-Kahn revelations broke. The attack turned out to be a man grabbing him by the lapels and pulling, which provoked the amusing sight of Sarko ducking a blow which never came. He sportingly let it known he wouldn't file a complaint afterwards, but his aggressor still copped a six-month suspended prison sentence.
28 juin 2011
Heating up
We had another visitor to meet la petite this weekend - son oncle aîné arrived on Thursday evening, after a nearly-missed-flight scare caused by delays on that old dependable, the British rail network. He got to meet his new niece straight away as she was still indulging in the final, autopilot feed of the day. Then the following morning he got to observe how his petit frère coped home alone with baby. That wasn't the plan originally, because la bienheureuse had taken the whole day off. However, she ended up working Friday morning instead of Thursday afternoon, due a lunchtime shopping nightmare involving a closed tunnel, previously mentioned Lyon bouchons (traffic not gastronomic variety), a closed petrol station and a delivery van thoughtlessly parked in front of the entrance to our box garage.
She was back in the afternoon to take the baby in wonderland to the pèdiatre for her fourth month checkup. 800 gram weight gain, more needle torture but all A-okay even if the visit seemed rather rushed due to Monsieur le Docteur running rather late with his appointments. Afterwards we introduced le grand frère to his niece's habitual afternoon stroll along the river, though she didn't nap as usual due to it being somewhat later than usual. Instead she fell asleep on the bottle half an hour later.
On Saturday morning les deux frères left the ladies at home and, after 20 minutes of vigourous tyre pumping, set off for a cycle ride. Up the river to Parc Feyssine, then all the way back down to Parc Gerland, then homeward into a stiff headwind. At least it seemed stiff on a warm, sultry day to one particular 50+ year-old father. Must try and get a bit fitter.
A gentler excursion was thus on the agenda for Sunday morning. A two-wheeled amble round Parc de la Tête d'Or and home again before the heat became too much. We would have sheltered from the sun indoors the whole afternoon had la petite cooperated by having an afternoon nap in her cot, but the familiar motion of the pram was required to get her eyes to close, so off along the river we went once more.
Monday morning, la mère headed to work while l'oncle ventured out for some sightseeing. Commendably, he managed to last nearly five hours out in temperatures that peaked at 34C. Roast chicken, tarte tatin and rosé wine completed his last full day in Lyon, and this morning père et fille are home alone once more. Main preoccupation of the day in temperatures of 36C: keeping cool. Fortunately the forecast is for cooler weather tomorrow.
She was back in the afternoon to take the baby in wonderland to the pèdiatre for her fourth month checkup. 800 gram weight gain, more needle torture but all A-okay even if the visit seemed rather rushed due to Monsieur le Docteur running rather late with his appointments. Afterwards we introduced le grand frère to his niece's habitual afternoon stroll along the river, though she didn't nap as usual due to it being somewhat later than usual. Instead she fell asleep on the bottle half an hour later.
On Saturday morning les deux frères left the ladies at home and, after 20 minutes of vigourous tyre pumping, set off for a cycle ride. Up the river to Parc Feyssine, then all the way back down to Parc Gerland, then homeward into a stiff headwind. At least it seemed stiff on a warm, sultry day to one particular 50+ year-old father. Must try and get a bit fitter.
A gentler excursion was thus on the agenda for Sunday morning. A two-wheeled amble round Parc de la Tête d'Or and home again before the heat became too much. We would have sheltered from the sun indoors the whole afternoon had la petite cooperated by having an afternoon nap in her cot, but the familiar motion of the pram was required to get her eyes to close, so off along the river we went once more.
Monday morning, la mère headed to work while l'oncle ventured out for some sightseeing. Commendably, he managed to last nearly five hours out in temperatures that peaked at 34C. Roast chicken, tarte tatin and rosé wine completed his last full day in Lyon, and this morning père et fille are home alone once more. Main preoccupation of the day in temperatures of 36C: keeping cool. Fortunately the forecast is for cooler weather tomorrow.
23 juin 2011
Leaks
Wet, leaky day in Lyon yesterday. And I was still wet when I emerged from the bathroom in the morning and noticed a strange odour. Obviously it wasn't me because I'd just had a shower, but it reminded me of the stink bugs from an African childhood that produced an awful smell when they got squashed. The insects that is, rather than the childhood. Never stepped on one in France though, so it wasn't that either.
Uhoh, gas!
In a naked panic I immediately ran into the kitchen and turned off the gas supply to the cooker and boiler. The smell had pervaded the apartment but eventually dissipated. Unlike 1000 other people in Lyon and the surrounding area, I wasn't panicked enough to call the pompiers. Turned out it was sulphur dioxide leaking from one of the refineries in Fezyin, about 10km further south. No danger to the population, we were told...
Leak number two occurred the previous evening, when some bright spark published one of the questions in the following day's maths Bac exam on the internet, sowing instant panic in the education ministry. The exam papers for the Bac are normally as closely guarded as secrets of state. The education minister eventually decided to strike that particular question from the exam but maintain the rest of the paper sat by thousands of students yesterday morning. The students were none too happy about it, as the question in, err question, was apparently the easiest in the exam…
A more mundane domestic leak occurred later in the afternoon, when a thunderstorm caused a minor flood in the bedroom because I'd left the window open in my perennial summer quest to keep the apartment cool. And another which involved a particularly messy nappy episode, but perhaps I'd better not elaborate on that one.
A day earlier, the annual fête de la musique on midsummer's day was rather dampened in Lyon by leakage from the skies. Music events in the city were played out to a backing track of percussion from the heavens. The summer storm season has started with a bang...
Uhoh, gas!
In a naked panic I immediately ran into the kitchen and turned off the gas supply to the cooker and boiler. The smell had pervaded the apartment but eventually dissipated. Unlike 1000 other people in Lyon and the surrounding area, I wasn't panicked enough to call the pompiers. Turned out it was sulphur dioxide leaking from one of the refineries in Fezyin, about 10km further south. No danger to the population, we were told...
Leak number two occurred the previous evening, when some bright spark published one of the questions in the following day's maths Bac exam on the internet, sowing instant panic in the education ministry. The exam papers for the Bac are normally as closely guarded as secrets of state. The education minister eventually decided to strike that particular question from the exam but maintain the rest of the paper sat by thousands of students yesterday morning. The students were none too happy about it, as the question in, err question, was apparently the easiest in the exam…
A more mundane domestic leak occurred later in the afternoon, when a thunderstorm caused a minor flood in the bedroom because I'd left the window open in my perennial summer quest to keep the apartment cool. And another which involved a particularly messy nappy episode, but perhaps I'd better not elaborate on that one.
A day earlier, the annual fête de la musique on midsummer's day was rather dampened in Lyon by leakage from the skies. Music events in the city were played out to a backing track of percussion from the heavens. The summer storm season has started with a bang...
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