Lights in the dark

La Fête des Lumières, edition 2012 turned out to be one of the better vintages of recent years. Impressive displays in at la Cathédrale St Jean, la Place des Terreaux, la colline de Fourvière and le Théâtre des Celestins were the highlights. The only drawback of it all was that the festival seemed more popular than ever, with streets more crowded than ever. For example, an average of almost 200000 people watched "les Chrysalides de St Jean" each night, which is a lot of bodies to pass through the small square in front of the cathedral. La bienheureuse et la belle-mère were forced to queue for almost an hour to see that particular display. La petite famille's viewing was rather more restricted than usual, due to the demands and sleep needs of a small toddler, exhaustion, illness, and cold, damp weather.

Winter malady first reared its ugly head at the end of last month when la bienheureuse was struck down by a particularly nasty virus. Three weeks later she still hasn't shaken it, which isn't helpful given her condition, and now I've picked it up too. Worst cold in history. The streaming nose was relatively short-lived, but the more viscous snot is still clogging sore sinuses, leading to disturbed nights' sleep and the whole-body aches for a couple of days. La petite has also suffered her worst cold yet, but she at least seems more robust than her parents and it only lasted two weeks. The snotty period was followed by a chesty cough, loss of appetite, mild fever and a completely uncharacteristic listlessness that lasted several days. It was rather distressing to watch a little girl who normally never stops charging about just lying quietly on the floor feeling sorry for herself, and meekly going to bed with barely a whimper.

Still, things are looking up. Two weeks of rest and relaxation in damp Blighty over the Christmas break coming up. Though to get there we've got a 1200km drive with two sick parents and a child who hates car seats to get through first…

Frozen out

The first snow of the winter fell in Lyon on the first day of the first winter month. A mere centimetre or so, but a sign that winter has arrived. That other harbinger of winter in Lyon, la Fête des Lumières takes place this weekend, an event that has lured la belle-mère across the channel for her habitual visit. Light energy and a small bundle of human energy - enough to keep her entertained almost full time. Any spare time is taken up with acting as temporary kitchen maid and seamstress.

Meanwhile, the predicted traffic armageddon in Lyon due to the closure of the Croix Rousse tunnel never happened, but almost arrived yesterday. The Franco-Italian summit was held in Lyon, leading to an all-day exclusion zone round the Prefecture du Rhône, cancellation of any buses going anywhere nearby, large traffic jams and much complaining by commuters. All with the aim of keeping protests about the proposed Lyon-Turin high-speed rail link at bay. In the end there were fewer than 1000 protestors, and most of the those arrived late in the day having been deliberately held up by police checks on the buses bringing them from Italy. Democracy and freedom of speech, who needs it…

President Hollande might have been spared the anti rail-link demonstrations, but he is still under fire from almost everywhere else. Rising unemployment, French credit-rating downgraded, low growth, etc, etc. Still, the main opposition have managed to bring him temporary respite by going into self-destruct mode. The recent UMP leadership election led to the victory of Jean-François Copé over François Fillon by a mere 98 votes in several hundred thousand. Despite a later recount somehow increasing the lead to nearly a thousand, the UMP seems almost irreconcilably split in two, Copé's hard right faction against the Fillon moderates. Seems likely to be a while before the right organises itself into an effective opposition to the government. Don't be surprised to see Sarko making a comeback in a couple of years, in time for the next presidential elections…

Northumbrian sands

The days shorten, the thermometer falls, winter approaches. Last week we exchanged the fading light of the Lyonnais autumn for the British version during a long weekend break. The occasion was a birthday celebration for the soggydiver (1st class, national instructor). Given the remoteness of the chosen location and associated lack of convenient flights, in the end we chose to extend the weekend with an initial stop over in Bexleyheath, which we reached via a half-empty British flag carrier flight to Heathrow and a hire car journey round the M25 in the pouring rain. The latter with a tea break in the middle to pick up keys from the mistress of the house at her workplace deep in Kent/Sussex border country.

In the event the keys went unused as our arrival at destination coincided with the return of the male half of the good Doctors C. No sooner had Madam returned with the two Jezlings in tow an hour or so later, than I sneaked away for an evening of guilty worship at the sacred ground. A lift to and from the train station, a 2-0 victory over the French champions and a 13th successive qualification for the knockout phases of the Champions League made missing out on beef stew for dinner and suffering the habitual British railway delays bearable. Tiredness was counterbalanced by loud snoring from both sides. La petite otherwise seemed to sleep well until the usual time, French time at least. She did allow us a fifteen minute lie-in though, before making the delighted discovery that her cot was right next to where her parents lay feigning sleep.

The part-time working mother had the next day off, so in the morning she took us to a garden centre where la petite had much fun in a small soft play area, pushed around a mini shopping trolley and said hello to three real-life Santa's reindeers. After the habitual post-lunch nap, we took her to the shopping centre for new shoes and new clothes - no VAT exemption on children's clothing in France. The mini-Jezoids returned soon afterwards and the house was filled with the sound of battling robots and more or less tuneful clarinet and tenor horn playing. Good old bangers and mash was on the menu for dinner before bed for the kids and champagne for the adults. Thence began a second night of sharing a bedroom with a toddler. This time the snoring wasn't as loud and the wakeup chorus from the cot was half an hour later at just before seven.

Faced by a six hour road trip, we said our goodbyes and took our leave of the former UKC postgraduates by ten on Friday morning. First two hour stint - smooth and quiet, with more gentle snoring from the child seat in the back. Following a Happy Eater lunch somewhere north of Peterborough, the second stretch was almost as smooth, though the chirping from the back grew gradually more plaintiff as the journey wore on. Coffee, apple juice and mince pie at Scotch Corner services brought temporary respite, but by the time we hit Tyneside car-seat stir craziness had well and truly set in, not helped by the total absence of direction signs for Alnmouth as soon as we got off the A1. A phone call to Dr Organiser soon set us on the right road though, and we arrived slightly the worse for wear at our impressive lodgings on the Northumberland coast less than 8 hours after setting off from Kent.

After our hosts we were the first to arrive, soon followed by the DenEboy who had undertaken the 6 hour drive on his own. Spaghetti Bolognese was on the dinner table for six before, later in the evening, numbers were completed by Crystal Tipps and the Caipirinha Kid, who more sensibly let the train take the strain of bearing not limes and cachaça but home-made Marmite sausages and bacon.

It was thus a late night for all, relatively speaking anyway, and therefore a late morning for most. Not surprisingly it was the couples without young children who had the longest lie-ins. La petite got us up closer to normal time, UK time, but only after a night of somewhat disturbed sleep. We managed to keep her amused for a couple of hours until brunch, a slap-up fry-up which was worth the wait. Replete with sausages, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, beans, English muffins and Scottish tattie scones, we then all trooped out for a walk along the beach. It was a lovely stroll - the hazy sunshine and calm sea on a windless morning almost made it feel warm. La petite took a 15 minute power nap on papa's back and then enjoyed digging in the sand and flying between two adults.

Back at the ranch, the morning activity led to another 15 minute power nap, this time for the birthday girl, the smallest tummy in the party had a lunch-time snack and then we all piled into two cars for a trip into Alnwick. A meandering stroll round the town centre was followed by an obligatory visit to Barter Books. La petite famille restricted themselves to a browse in the children's section before heading back to base to try and fit in an afternoon nap. Meanwhile the rest kept calm and carried on browsing for another hour or so.

Chicken Fajitas were on the dinner menu that night, delicious they were too, prepared again by our generous birthday-celebrating host. The rigours of the weekend then gradually took their toll and, one by one, we drifted off to bed. The Cambsac boys were the last up, viewing Rolling Stones retrospectives and then football, though in the case of the DenEboy, up was a relative term. Somehow he woke up when the Canaries came on, then fell asleep straight afterwards when the last, read least eventful, match of the day was shown. Funnily enough the latter was what forced me to be the last man standing.

As the rain poured down outside, a rather restless night of toddler and parent sleep followed, but at least we were allowed a lie-in until almost eight. Brunch was as good as the previous morning, and then it was time for an hour or two of concerted tidying and cleaning before we all packed up and made our separate ways home. The end of a lovely two-day Northumberland break.

Not quite the end of the travelling for us though. Wary of subjecting la petite to another six hours in the car, we chose to break our journey back to Heathrow with an overnight stop in a hotel in Robin Hood country. How right we were - la petite by this time had definitely decided she didn't much appreciate being strapped into a car seat. More rain and habitually heavy M1 traffic didn't make the journey easier, but we got there in one piece, had a quick dinner and then all settled down to sleep.

Tried to settle down to sleep anyway. Quality of sleep over five nights of sharing a bedroom with a toddler gradually deteriorated. Nonetheless we survived until first light, had breakfast and set off on the road south once more. The complaints from the back seat gradually quietened and were superseded by snoring during the final hour. We dropped off the hire car, checked in and were through departures a full 3 hours before our flight was due to depart. Which left plenty of time for a leisurely lunch and browse in the shops, but also left plenty of room for time to drag, particularly as the flight was delayed by half an hour. Back in Lyon, it was pouring with rain and the fridge and cupboards were bare. Welcome home.

Sniffy, snotty, snooty

The third Thursday in November is a notable day in the Lyonnais calendar - le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé. The first barrels duly floated down the Saône to be opened at midnight in Place Bellecour last night, despite what has been termed a difficult summer for les viticulteurs. Poor weather has apparently halved the grape harvest in the Beaujolais with a subsequent knock-on effect for wine production and could result in around 300 of the 2300 producers going out of business. On top of that they had to put up with Marine Le Pen paying them a publicity-seeking visit. Adding insult to injury, a view shared by the president of the traditional Beaujolais Nouveau fête in Beaujeu, capital of the region - "I hope I don't bump into her…"

Fortunately the bad weather and the presence of the National Front leader haven't soured the quality of this year's vintage, which apparently tastes of banana, strawberry and sweets.

Domestic wine consumption over the weekend was more restrained than normal because I was across the Channel for another overnight pilgrimage to the home of football. Normally the reverse would be true due to my hosts' generous hospitality, but on this occasion the morning flight and two pints of beer to accompany a very tasty pre-game lunch in the Snooty Fox resulted in a mild hangover before the evening was out. The upside was that it was gone by the morning. Overall, a splendid weekend, bar the topsy-turvy result against the Cottagers.

Meanwhile, back in Lyon les deux filles were having a good weekend without me, despite la petite suffering the beginnings of yet another cold. Fortunately it seems to be a less virulent variant, having almost run its course already. Even at its worst on Sunday I was treated to a beaming smile when I was picked up at the airport. Ahh...

All saints action

The first of November happily fell on a Thursday this year, which meant a four day weekend. And, after a bit of dithering we eventually dropped la petite off at the crèche as normal on the bank holiday All Saints day, which meant a rare day together sans enfant. A shortened day that is, because despite arriving later than normal, our little darling was the first one there. And with the regulars doing a training course, unfamiliar replacement staff meant we had to stay an hour before shyness was eventually overcome and other kids began turning up to aid distraction.

Another bonus of the autumn school break was the temporary installation of an indoor kids' play area with bouncy castles, climbing wall, trampolines and the like in a large hall out at the university. Alerted to it by our neighbour, we undertook a trip there via tram on Saturday morning. La petite cascadeuse had great fun in the under-3s soft-play area, but her favourite was the trampolines. After such an energetic morning, the hitherto inexhaustible toddler fell asleep in her parents' arms on the way home.

Such fun was had that papa et la petite made a return trip yesterday while mama was away in Vienna. Somewhat busier than at the weekend, but no less enjoyable, particularly as we managed to get onto the trampolines at the right time, before the queues built up later in the morning. In between, the sporting weekend continued on Sunday with another trip to the swimming pool. The advantage of activity mornings is an almost guaranteed two-hour plus siesta, which on Sunday was useful as la petite didn't have to witness papa getting all upset in front of the TV while 22 men ran around chasing a ball.

The end of les vacances scolaires next Monday could see Lyon gridlocked. The Croix Rousse tunnel, which is one of the main east-west routes through the city closed this week for nine months of upgrade and safety work. Almost fifty thousand vehicles use it each day, a lot of traffic for other, already saturated roads in the city to absorb. Predictions of doom and chaos all round, but so far so good, apparently, with extra metros, park & ride sites, car-sharing schemes and so on all helping take the strain. The real test however comes with the return of the school run next week...

Correspondent reports

Nappy changing report: further progress, la petite now more or less happily lies down to don new diaper, but still prefers upright bum-cleaning. Latest quirks include excitedly burrowing under the duvet on parents' bed, and jumping off every kerb and low-level window ledge between home and playground or crèche. How to turn two minute walks into half hour marathons.

Health report: youngest member of the family in bouncing good form, older couple suffering from various bugs, latest of the gastric variety. Mine was a mere 6 hour variant, albeit virulent enough to bring back bad pre-colonoscopy laxative memories. La bienheureuse then either caught it off me, reacted to my cooking or caught an entirely different virus, and suffered for rather longer, encompassing an overnight work trip to Basle. All rear ends squeaky clean now though…

Weather report: a brief cold snap two weeks ago was followed by ten days of unseasonably mild weather, though with only rare glimpses of sunshine. Last weekend it all changed - maximum of 7 degrees, a full 17 lower than 7 days previously. Winter's icy tentacles are reaching Lyon...

State of the nation report: not good. Approval ratings for president and prime minister at all time low, economy stagnant, taxes on the rise, discontent rumbling. Not that any other new government could have done any better, but the Socialists don't seem to make things easy for themselves. Latest example of some government spokesman or other shooting themselves in the foot was PM Ayrault apparently saying going back to a 39 hour working week wouldn't be ruled out, going against a Socialist policy set in stone. Cue criticism and clarification from fellow PS members, and immediate "we told you so" shouts from opposition UMP politicians.

There was an interesting article on the BBC news site a couple of weeks ago, comparing the mood in France with that in Britain. Unabated Gallic pessimism vs cautious British optimism, was the gist of the article, despite the two economies being in roughly the same leaking boats. Partly down to the Olympic effect, partly down the national psyche…?

Sporting report: could do better, much better. After an optimistic start to the season, nasty November appeared to arrive in October for the glorious Gunners. Two abject defeats were followed by a hard-won, slightly fortuitous victory against the new-boy Hoops. I'd like to think my presence made the difference, as I made my first solo cross-Channel flight of the season. Habitual convivial hospitality provided by my usual hosts, victory witnessed first hand, splendid couple of days all in all. Meanwhile la bienheureuse et la petite survived without me.

And then there was last night's extraordinary events at what they apparently call the Mad Stad. For good reason too it would seem. Able as I was to witness it live on TV (having spent - wasted as I thought at the time - 11 euros to subscribe to a new sports channel in order to watch the Champions League match against Schalke, defeat no 2 noted above), I ended the evening unsure whether to laugh or cry. Entertainment it was, top class football it certainly wasn't. Perhaps I should rationalise it by saying it was the reserves after all, though I did wonder for while whether they'd gone to Hackney Marshes last Sunday and found 11 lookalikes...

On the Lyon playing field, OL have also had a slightly mixed start to the season, this time entirely unwitnessed by your local correspondent. For the first time in 9 years, I don't have an abonnement. Story of renewal deadline coinciding with UK holiday, less motivation, less time due to toddler demands, etc, etc.. At least I can still follow them on TV now and then.

Hearing things

Ups and downs. La petite still refuses to submit to prone nappy changes but, after minor protest, will at least sit down for part of the process. Minor progress, and as the cold and catarrh recedes, and teeth break through the gums, so her mood improves. Meanwhile, the heating finally goes on as temperatures drop, and her parents suffer their own form of seasonal-affective disorder. Tiredness and a ringing in one ear and throbbing in the other finally drove me to the doctor last week. Result: a blood test and a referral to an ENT specialist.

The blood test shows slightly high cholesterol, no surprise there, high iron and low salt and vitamin D levels. Hmm... After initially telling me to cut down on salt to reduce somewhat high blood pressure, the doctor reverses the advice, tells me to cut down on fatty foods, eat less red meat and prescribes more sunshine and a vitamin D supplement. The weather follows orders to a limited extent, turning milder and slightly sunnier.

Meanwhile the ear consultant checks my ears and hearing, and pronounces them both okay. He tells me the causes of tinnitus aren't well known and that there is probably little he can do about it. Doesn't stop him prescribing three different medicaments. No wonder the French national health insurance scheme is several billion Euros in the red. Though when I go to the pharmacy to get the prescription filled I discover one of the drugs is not reimbursed, which leads me to do a bit of research.

It turns out that the drug in question (a vasodilator) is on the 'close watch' list of the French medical safety agency after the equivalent European body pronounced it to have debatable benefits and undesirable side-effects, and recommended its withdrawal from prescriptions for ear problems. Oh, and that also happens to be made by the same pharmaceutical company that produced Mediator, the drug developed to treat overweight diabetics that may have caused the deaths of up to 2000 people before it was banned. Didn't stop the consultant prescribing it or the pharmacist selling it to me. Makes you ponder the nature of the links between consultants, pharmacies and drug companies…

Stand-up change

Week two of hum-drum autumn life, and things start getting a little less routine. La petite coquinette apparently enjoys herself while at the crèche, but home alone with papa it's an entirely different story. Grumpiness, tantrums, crying for no apparent reason. We put it down to a combination of teething (canines starting to push through), displeasure at being abandoned by papa every other morning, missing mama (away on another taxing, tiring 2 day trip to Brussels), and feeling not very well because of a lingering cold.

All very trying, particularly when she starts making a fuss during nappy changes. First hint is when one of the maternal assistants at the crèche asks me if she is scared of heights because of the problems they've been having changing her couche. Two days later the situation evolves to point blank refusals to lie down. She is quite happy to stand up to be cleaned and have a fresh nappy put on, which is all very well when the old one is just wet, but far from ideal when it's full of foul-smelling stuff and her bum is covered in it. And when there's only one nappy changer there's no way to make her lie down - the shit wouldn't just hit the fan, it would be covering the walls, ceiling, baby and changer too. Lovely, the things parents do for their beloved offspring…

I then discover that they've been doing standing changes at the crèche, for wet nappies at least, almost since she started there, which perhaps explains why she now refuses to lie down at home but not why she's suddenly decided it's an absolute no-no. Hmm, maybe she's ready to start potty training… So, over the weekend, first sign of straining, mama gets out the potty and puts her on it. "Uhuh, not sure about this", thinks la petite, but deigns to sit on it for about 30 seconds before getting up, sphincter firmly closed, and thereafter refusing to go anywhere near it. Toddler psychology, no fathoming it…

Exhausting routine

And thus the holidays are over and summer ends. La travailleuse returns to work, la petite returns to la crèche two days a week, and l'homme au foyer tries to get used to a part-time job. Or two.

First day back at home babysitting is a breeze. Confounding expectations, la petite coquinette is sweetness and light all day. First day back at the crèche she clings to papa's arms and legs longer than normal but eventually allows him to slip away and apparently thoroughly enjoys the rest of the day. Meanwhile her parents both struggle with post-holiday exhaustion.

Second day of papa-toddler time is marginally more trying but still ranks as low-maintenance on the babysitting scale. Next day back at the crèche, more somewhat uncharacteristic clinging and shyness to start off with, but thereafter apparently all systems go.

Last working day of the week - TFI Friday for la bienheureuse, la petite starts climbing the crankiness scale, and papa looks forward to the weekend. If only he'd known. It soon becomes apparent that yet another cold is brewing in those little nasal passages, which pushes the grumpiness over the red line on Saturday and exhausts the supply of tissues on Sunday. The downside of sharing one's day with other virus-vulnerable little friends. Meanwhile mama and papa show signs of having picked up little bugs of their own. The weather also deteriorates and gives us the first real hint of autumn.

Welcome back to the mundane, grey days of those dreary three months either side of the winter solstice…

Sun, sea and sand 2012

So it was, in our brand new voiture, that we set off on the annual week's holiday on the Côte d'Azur. Loaded almost to the gunnels, the new car swept silently down the autoroute like a dream, la petite more or less behaved herself and enjoyed the view from her new, higher perch, and we arrived in La Favière late on Sunday afternoon. After a quick drink at the corner café in the 28C sunshine, we successfully retrieved the keys to the apartment from the safe box outside the immobilier, and settled into our old/new home for the week. Three hours later, NI Soggydiver and new Scottish consort arrived and we all enjoyed beer and takeaway pizza for dinner as we watched the sun go down from the terrace.

Lazy Monday morning, though a somewhat earlier start than hoped for due to a toddler waking up and excitedly finding her parents in the same room, and slightly marred by the downstairs neighbour complaining about the noise. Shut that young child up…

And so to the first dive of the week and the discovery of the Bormes boys new headquarters. La bienheureuse generously volunteered for baby-sitting and beach life-guard duty leaving me to enjoy a trip in the afternoon sunshine to Pointe de la Galère with our two buddies. Pleasant enough pootle, though current and depth restrictions limited us to the less interesting west side of the point. In the evening, a return to a favourite haunt, la Brasserie du Port. Soupe de Poisson and Mousse au Chocolat naturally on the menu and, despite her parents' apprehensions, la petite coquinette displayed almost perfect table manners, albeit aided and abetted by a portable DVD player. Once again la bienheureuse chose the short straw and took baby home to bed, though the rest of us weren't too far behind. Wine, beer and a few traditional games of peanut-head followed. A girls off-night at the card table.

An early start the next morning because it was decided to do the morning dive. La mère plongeuse eventually overcame the apprehension at her first dive in over two years and accompanied the Soggy diver on the trip to Pointe de Montremian. The ski slope delivered its usual lovely dive though a National Instructor's current phobia put paid to the plan to swim out to the pinnacle. Meanwhile, la petite napped, papa lazed, and the RNLI cox explored Le Lavandou. Late afternoon was spent at the seaside, where la petite travailleuse busied herself in an ultimately fruitless attempt to transfer all the sand from the beach to the sea.

Dinner in that night, and we settled for two reliable old favourites - poulet au lait & tarte tatin. Or not-so-reliable old favourites. Though both dishes turned out to be tasty enough, a lack of suitable utensils and ingredients meant the chicken wasn't quite up to usual standards (bad chefs always blame their equipment), and an exploding masquerading-as-Pyrex dish put paid to the caramelisation process for the dessert.

We chose Wednesday for a day off diving. The East Lothian contingent decided on a day checking out the plastic surgery on display at St Tropez while les lyonnais spent the morning wine shopping. Or rather spent the morning on a scenic but hairy drive up and over the Col du Canadel in the hope that la petite would nap on the way to the vineyard. She eventually did, but not before her mother had spent an anxious half hour piloting a new car along a road barely wide enough for one old car, let alone two, with a precipitous drop on one side and a ditch and rock wall on the other. We eventually reached the Domaine de l'Angueiroun with nerves jangling but intact, and enjoyed a wine tasting session which ended with this so-called connoisseur choking (accidentally, I hasten to add) and the purchase of two cases.

After a much needed nap for all of us, ice creams in the village were followed by fun and frolics for the smallest member of the family in the fountains that are set into the floor of the village square. Once the NB lifeboat crew returned from glitz of St Tropez, we all went out for dinner again to the Tropicana Beach. Living the high life.

A lazy Thursday morning for la petite famille ensued, while the chefs for the day got busy at the supermarket and in the kitchen. The sun shone and the wind howled outside but the afternoon dive still went ahead. Papa and Auntie Sogs learned with a groan that the site was Pointe de la Galère, chosen for its protection from the easterly gale. However, it turned out to be the best dive of the week for me, as I managed to drag my buddies (a random stranger had joined us) over to the east side of the point, which rewarded us with a ring-side view of a large school of patrolling barracuda. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, la petite coquinette was amusing herself and her mother with a game of hide and seek in the living room dresser, and a gin palace amused everyone by coming adrift from its mooring and being battered by the waves on the beach. Rich boys should learn to tie knots.

The results of the morning's labour in the kitchen was seen in the evening - delicious spicy lamb tajine followed by sweet Eton Mess. Lovely. And more beer, wine and games of peanut-head to follow.

On Friday, mama once again generously put toddler time ahead of time and depth, and allowed the other three divers to enjoy a full day out at Port Cros. Which was indeed enjoyable, though still-stiff easterlies restricted diving to the lee-side of la Gabinière and Pointe de la Croix, neither of which are noted as particular gems of the region. Lunch in a Port Cros café in the warm sunshine was very pleasant though.

Meanwhile, back on the mainland, la bienheureuse et la petite set off after lunch to collect the Margarita Man, delayed by bereavement but nonetheless keen to pay a flying visit. The half hour trip each way to the airport didn't allow la petite coquinette an afternoon nap, but the additional entertainment provided by her favourite builder kept her amused and mostly even-tempered until the evening. The core La Fav gang thus reunited, we had dinner at La Rade in the port. Tasty food but slow service meant papa only had one course before it was his turn to take the tired toddler home to bed. The compensation, with no diving the next day, was more beer, wine and peanut-head once the rest of the card school returned.

Our last full day was spent on a brief dip in the pool in the morning - brrr, water colder than the sea - and, after lunch and naps, on a wander along the coastal path towards Le Lavandou and back in the perennial sunshine, followed by more playing in the water jets.

For the last supper it was back to La Brasserie, where a fine week was celebrated with champagne. A rather more leisurely final morning than usual was possible the following day thanks to the Sunday checkout and consequent lack of time constraints. Thus we were all able to have lunch together one last time in the Provençal sunshine before going our separate ways - Nice airport via one final shower for the Scottish party, Lyon via Hyères airport to drop off uncle Margarita for the Lyon lot. And a fast, smooth, quiet drive (albeit on an autoroute busier than expected) got us home by seven, tired but happy after yet another great week on the Côte d'Azur.