Le Log Lillois

Lost in translation

2012-01-08T19:02:00.001+01:00

Bonne Année à toutes et à tous! Being ever so politically correct you have to say that now as the all encompassing but essentially male "tous" is no longer sufficient.

So, where to start after another - guilty - rather extended break from this blog writing lark? OK, let's continue the political theme with a look at the currency that not only celebrates 10 years of active use this very month but also one that is the target of endless speculation, concern and some jubilation both positive and negative. Yes the €€€€€€! Will it survive the year? Now let's get serious here, this is the second most traded currency in the entire world, one that is the national money of 17 sovereign states. It is unlikely to cease to be without bringing down perhaps a substantial element of the world economy. Currencies do not stand alone. And despite the endless articles in such august organs as the Daily Mail which on a good day go so far as to flirt vaguely with the truth as it panders to its increasingly xenophobic middle-England aging readership, the Euro and the EU are not the devil incarnate but the products of political and economic discussion, agreement and reaction to national and international events. David Cameron may well have found his Thatcherite mojo - though not her abundant hairstyle - with his recent "non" but in reality whatever he says and does on behalf of the UK, the reality is, whether as full part, part part or outside of the EU, the UK will be affected by what goes on in Europe.

Staying with politics but this side of the Sleeve, the race warms up ie becomes slightly tepid, for the presidential elections with the news that up to 30% of the electorate would consider dropping everyone's favourite nationalist Marine Jeanne d'Arc Le Pen's name into the ballot box. You have to understand that here we don't - I don't at all not having a vote - put a cross or a mark on a piece of paper, we get a fistful of candidates name papers and we choose the one we want to drop in the box discarding all the rest. reading carefully it seems that the true figure is actually 18% since 12% actually responded that they probably would not vote for her, but hadn't completely made up their minds. Lies damned lies and statistics.

What is undeniably true is that in a time of perceived austerity a return to the "good old days" is an attractive proposition especially for those who claim to have experienced them ie the more mature element of the population. Thus it didn't surprise me at all that, during our visit to our next door neighbour "pour les voeux" ie the official Happy New Year call, she announced that she would probably vote for Le Pen, since she could not see the socialist, and current favourite, François Hollande as president. Our neighbour is in her seventies and has a typical working class background without the benefit of more than basic education so her profile is one that matches well with the target of the nationalists. After all what have such people to lose? In reality of course, it is unlikely that our elderly neighbour will even bother to vote and that, is the true danger of the forthcoming elections.

On Saturday we were honoured to be present at the formal wedding of friends Khadijah and Raymond aka Coco! Apart from having a lovely day and seeing the inside of the impressive Hôtel de Ville - 1930s administrative art déco - it was a timely reminder about communication and language. In the party of eight including one child there were three non-native French speakers. The bride herself is Moroccan and chatters away in a French that is littered with mistakes but with an enthusiasm that is infectious. It was a relief that one of fully French guests was the one who completely misinterpreted the menu and asked the waitress if she could have the help yourself buffet as a main course when it was plainly already on the list of possibilities. Lesson learned: we can make mistakes, misread or misunderstand the object is not to be perfect but to be understood and to understand back.

The funniest thing and possibly the most irksome thing I have seen on the television for quite some time was Paul Danan's appearance on Celebrity Come Dine With Me. To the sound of a barrel being soundly scraped this bright spark announced that he was Jewish and that he had never ever ever eaten pork. He then went on to explain that even though bacon and sausages come from the well known pig animal that these don't count as pork and so they are OK to eat. A thirty something year old with the mentality of a nine year old, sadly not so uncommon these days as we learn that the lovable twins, Jedward, are to return to the "Celebrity Big Brother" house. A quick reminder: these scallywags are TWENTY years old!!!

I can feel the blood pressure rising so I am off for a run on the magic carpet in the outhouse. Happy 2012!

Next stop Cannes!

2011-09-20T23:31:00.000+02:00

I recently acquired a micro camcorder - think iPhone size - and have been merrily filming away but this is the first minor effort at putting footage together and making what the French call a court-métrage. Bit of fun: our day out in Boulogne for 1€ with the TER Nord-Pas-De-Calais.

Has the DSKK hit the fan?

2011-09-08T12:50:00.003+02:00

A word of explanation about my slightly cryptic title. The pronunciation of the acronym of Dominique Strauss-Khan's name in French is Day-Ess-Kah. You do the rest!

Easily the biggest media story in France over the past couple of months has been about the former head of the International Monetary Fund and his alleged behaviour in New York and, before that, in Paris. It is probably fair to say that in the main he has been fairly treated both in the press and on the television as the French, at least in public, have an almost unswayable respect for the political classes. Except perhaps for a certain Monsieur Sarkozy and even then they go to pains to separate their comments out making clear that anything less than deferential is aimed at the man and not the revered post which he currently holds.

Speculation has been rife about if, when and how DSK can return to frontline politics with opinions varying from claims he has a mental illness (sex addiction) to the potential loss of a "brilliant economic brain". Certainly it seems increasingly unlikely that he will play any major part in the socialists' primary contest to choose their candidate for the presidential elections next year although he was previously seen as the best person for the job, and, if polls are to be believed, would have had a strong chance of taking over at the Elysée Palace. The two, or three depending on your allegiance, remaining frontrunners are all very careful to keep him in the fold yet at a certain distance. Even though the headlines at the weekend were about how DSK had been "blanchi" there is a definite feeling that he is nowhere near whiter than white and that there are now substantial stains on his character whether or not he is ever found guilty in a court. I so wanted there to be a french verb for "bleached" as that seemed more appropriate but they only have "blanchi" so I am offering "blanchi à Javel"!

Interestingly he has been an astute cultural player humbly apologising to the IMF for the embarrassment that the case has caused and yet, at least so far, not making any such gesture in France. Apparently to do so would, in French eyes, be tantamount to a confession. Whilst being a "player" is not necessarily detrimental to a politician's career in France, indeed it can boost it unlike the puritanical USA and more recently UK, it has become difficult to ignore his mounting list of indiscretions and their erosion of the trust that he would need to instill in potential voters.

So at this stage of the game the best he can hope for is to lay low until after the presidential elections next May. If he has been a good boy he could still hope for a high profile job in the new president's government. If not then maybe the proverbial fan may suffer some more.

And to finish off a quick update on the latest polls, which show that François Hollande is still favourite to be the socialists' candidate but that both he or Martine Aubry would comfortably beat Nicolas Sarkozy in both the first and second rounds. Only Ségolène Royal, socialist candidate last time, would fail to topple Sarko. The recent surge of support for Marine Penn appears to have ebbed away leaving her in third position again.

More to come over the next 9 months!

Un gros p'tit déj

2011-09-08T12:13:00.000+02:00

There is something very pleasing about introducing people to aspects of your own culture, especially when it is something of your own culinary heritage. Last saturday we were again running in the Lille Half Marathon and I needed to decide on a meal that would make up for the half portion of plain porridge we had eaten around seven o'clock but would be served more towards lunchtime than breakfast. We had already "done" the idea of brunch last year with a rather tasty kedgeree, and in any case this is fairly well established as an occasional event in France. It suddenly occurred to me that we should be offering our guests that well-loved roadside café/restaurant favourite: the All Day Breakfast. And that is what we did.

Of course the concept of this feast would have been lost on the Bopes and Les Oncles without a little explanation which they were given plus the renaming to "Le Gros P'tit Déj" which really sums up what it is all about ie a familiar favourite given higher billing on the menu.

At this juncture I feel I should report our results in the previously mentioned run given that both of us beat our times from last year. Max was not on top form, probably down to not being properly hydrated, and so we decided about two thirds of the way in to run separately. It was rather warm too, a good 6 or 7C hotter than last year at the end and already so at the start. Nevertheless, the training paid off and I clocked an actual time of 1 hour, 56 minutes and small change. Strangely it didn't feel as big an achievement as crossing the line together last year but it felt good all the same.

So back at Château Newman-Legros much of the preparation had been done by Papa who had stayed behind with his bad leg. The weather at this point permitted al fresco all day breakfasting and he had already installed the parasol and arranged chairs and cushions. So what was on the menu? My trusty courgette and cheese (Cheddar) scrambled egg provided the main dish along with Toulouse sausage for the carnivores, plus ham, smoked salmon, baked beans, mushrooms, toast, jam and Marmite and waffles. The love it or hate it spread did what it says on the lid ie divided the table though I hope that doesn't mean having to add it to the ever expanding list of British goodies we have to bring back every time we visit the UK.

Coffee and tea were initially forsaken in favour of rosé wine given the time and the weather, and helped to extend our meal to around three hours around the table. It remains only to say that Le Gros P'tit Déj was a gros succès. To be repeated next year?

How do we solve a problem like Marine?

2011-06-14T13:39:00.001+02:00

Very little makes me want to sit right down and vent my spleen: mostly I prefer to mull something over and give it due consideration. However, this afternoon the French parliament is voting on gay marriage, a debate raised by the Parti Socialiste that will almost inevitably not pass as the right wing government has the majority and they are not minded to bring France in line with many other countries in the developed world. Indeed France still considers itself to be a Catholic nation and the right wing parties tend to be the ones who like to be seen to uphold Catholic values.

Now that makes me a tad annoyed and a tad sad. France was one of the first nations in Europe to enact laws enabling same sex couples to be recognised legally with the PACS, but this contract between two people whatever their gender, gives very diluted rights and obligations and is nowhere near to being equal to marriage or civil partnership. Meanwhile countries such as the UK have brought in equal rights for gay couples and the discussion has now moved on to whether same sex couples should be able to (civil) marry albeit that is the shorthand that many use to describe their civil partnership just as they use husband and wife as terms to describe themselves. The argument for marriage in church is something else again and is not an area for government diktat. I believe that sometimes there is a confusion in people's minds as often civil and religious weddings take place in the same place ie in the church with the register signed there too.

So in France, where if people wed in church they also have to take part in a civil ceremony at the Mairie, just as they do in other countries, you might be forgiven for thinking that it would be easier to separate the two and to allow civil weddings for all. Mais non! Not whilst there are politicians defending only heterosexual rights. And now Marine Le Pen, the glamorous leader of the French National Front, has waded in with her jaded and hackneyed declaration that if we allow gay marriage then why not polygamy too? Perhaps in private she alludes to people marrying their pets? I do hope she is not defending the sanctity of marriage since she has allowed herself to be married and divorced twice already and at the age of 43 has plenty of time left in which to repeat her commitment to this holy institution.

I looked up "Catholic" and saw that the capitalised word pertains to one church as in the Catholic church being the one true church ie exclusive whereas "catholic" lower case adjective has almost entirely the opposite meaning ie

1.	universal; relating to all men; all-inclusive
2.	comprehensive in interests, tastes, etc; broad-minded; liberal

Such a pity then that the debate this afternoon won't be lower case.

Ms Le Pen is a problem that is not going to go away soon cf Sarah Palin, but at least she is starting to put her true cards on the table and her catholic appeal may well diminish as her Catholic tendencies become clearer.

PS - fingers crossed the Parti Socialiste will indeed sweep the board next year in which case there is a chance for this attempt at equality.

Rant over.

Cherry picking

2011-06-13T17:59:00.000+02:00

Salut mes petits lecteurs très chéris! I've just had it pointed out to me that this has been a dormant space for a few months. Anyone would think I had nothing to say though Stuart would know that not to be the case as I seem to be able to respond almost fluently to some of the interesting propositions and ideas he posts on Facebook. It's debate you see.

Summer came early here in le Nord and we were veritably basking in it during April. It was at that time that we made the acquaintance of a temporary lodger, here in Lille working on the production of Verdi's Macbeth at the Opéra de Lille. It made a very pleasant change to have another english speaker - or is that English speaker or even English english speaker? - around. Disappointingly, we didn't after all get to see the opera performed, especially since it had some positive reviews, but we do have a rather lovely mini fig tree kindly given to us by Geof, as in it is small but bearing already one rather large and ripening fruit and a number of more recent much smaller but future large fruit, we hope.

I spent three weeks in the good old U of K from the end of April because, not surprisingly, the cost of renewing my passport in France ie via the Embassy in Paris, was twice the cost of having it done whilst within the realm itself. So I took full advantage and, basing myself in Grantham where the majority of my immediate family reside, I also arranged subtrips to Penshaw and Leeds. And yes, I was there for wedding. Yes it was a beautifully staged event. Yes I was exceedingly bored by the media hoopla and all the fawning and scraping. I'm not sure which I like least out of the UK or the French or indeed the Stateside take on society though "she was born to be a princess" strikes me quite simply as garabage. 'Scuse my 'Merican.

Which brings me to Dominique Strauss-Kahn. The DSK affair. The whole "affair"within l'hexagone is a succinct illustration of how the French tend to treat their great and good, their "movers and shakers" ie with an inexplicable and automatic deference. Add in their attitude to extra marital liaisons et voilà: everyone is very discreet. One gets the feeling that such public figures are somehow different to the rest of us and that their peccadilloes are a totally acceptable and logical part of being who they are. That's not to say that DSK is automatically guilty as charged in the States where the biggest crime would often appear to be shameless hypocrisy: one only has to look at a presidential campaign to realise that a potential winner is required to be almost pure, certainly god-fearing and, never to have issued a cuss let alone a profanity nor have been with three leagues of a joint.

Aha! Another ripened fruit: Eurovision. What on earth were the French selectors thinking when they chose the semi operatic number, something Corsican I believe? Yes, Nolwenn Leroy has " made a cardboard box" as they weirdly say for someone who has had a success, with her latest CD of reinterpreted songs from Brittany but you need to be of slovakian origins to get the douze points in the song contest. When will they learn? In any case can anyone even remember who did win? It was only a month ago!

So last week I macheted my way through the semi jungle that is le jardin Newman-Legros and have reconstituted something approaching an ancient forest, in which we discovered for the very first time two, not one but two, plum trees. We've only been here five summers! It's not as if the trees are small either, though toppled sideways under the weight of the foliage and the fruit, one must be about 5m tall.

Three visits viz including friends and the world's biggest chihuahua and fairly regular use of the magic carpet running machine, and a CV. I read only today that actually having Curriculum Vitae or its abbreviated form heading up said document is outdated. I shall delete the offending letters before proffering this latest oeuvre to the wider world.

That's us just about all caught up, phew! In the meantime I've been picking cherries and to say that this blog was rather all over the place and unstructured might be said to be doing the same. Ha!

Muscles Marine-ière

2011-03-07T17:58:00.001+01:00

Just when everything was looking politically cosy, the latest, not unchallenged, opinion poll comes up with a result that has everyone talking, though most of it, it must be said, hyperbole. The recently elected head of the far right Front National party, Marine Le Pen, scored 23% ahead of potential candidates for both the UMP (Conservative) party, incumbent Nicolas Sarkozy, and the Parti Socialiste (Labour), Lille mayor, Martine Aubry, who both scored 21%.

Marine Le Pen is the daughter of the outgoing bête grise of french politics, octagenarian Jean-Marie Le Pen, whose peak performance was to knock out the socialist presidential candidate in the first round way back in 2002.

A lot of hot air has been wasted declaring this to be the beginning of a new revolution in french politics and how Madame Le Pen is assured a place in the second round of the presidential election next year. Papa scraped into the second round only because the socialists performance was so dire and their candidate, Lionel Jospin appeared to take for granted a run off against the incumbent Jacque Chirac. In the second round the Front National added less than one percent to their score and were trounced by a resurgent support from an electorate that had woken up from its disinterested torpor and realised that they needed to prevent an extreme candidate from taking the keys to the Elysée Palace. The contest reads rather differently having passed into french folklore and it is often forgotten that there was never really any danger of a Le Pen victory apart from in media terms.

So why does this early poll indicate such a wave of support for the Front National: it can only be because of its new leader. Marine Le Pen is younger than any of the main parties' potential candidates, let us not forget that we don't have any official candidates, and will be only 43 come the election. She is attractive, clever, a lawyer by profession just like Sarkozy, and had been steadily building up her image as someone who understands what the French people want, and, with it, her own support. Some say that appearances do deceive as, despite the softer look and approach, under her leadership that policies are, if anything, more rigidly far right wing.

I believe it is sensible to discount an outright victory for Le Pen next year, though possibly she may get into the second round and with it receive the kind of exposure that money cannot buy. More likely though this apparent lead will galvanise both the main parties into doing at very least just enough to bring their own back into their respective folds. Or it should. Sarkozy has found himself just about maintaining the support of his own party sympathisers and is thoroughly and widely disliked if not completely reviled, though the UMP have no other choice but to go with his candidature should he stand again. It is unlikely, given his ego, that he would forgo that right. The PS are still shilly shallying about their candidate opting to wait until this autumn to decide. Their previous candidate, Ségolène Royal has thrown her hat once more into the ring but is unlikely to be chosen again. The leading contenders are Martine Aubry, safe pair of hands on the wheel uncharismatic but Angela Merkel-like president of the PS, and the current president of the International Monetary Fund, Dominic Strauss-Kahn. He is at least more of a personality but also a philanderer by all accounts and he has been away from mainstream french politics for perhaps too long. Other polls have shown DSK, as he is known, beating Sarkozy soundly and Aubry winning against Sarko too though by a smaller margin. Those polls hadn't taken into account a possible FN presence in the second round.

Whoever the candidates are they will, again, have to square the circle which is that the French crave change for their country but are not willing to change themselves. Marine Le Pen is perhaps most aware of this and most willing to make changes. Not changes that would become a modern european state in the 21st century perhaps. Until the other parties start talking meaningful change and strong leadership then they may find themselves elbowed out by the FN muscles Marine-ière.

PS as in post scriptum not Parti Socialiste! A further opinion poll appeared to show Le Pen in a similar lead but both have been discredited to an extent for having paid the respondees. A generally well considered poll published today (10 March) has the Front National leader back in a respectable third place ie not through to the second round. Whichever way the cake is sliced the socialists currently look well placed to trounce Petit Nicolas.

aPart - New Year's resolve

2011-01-13T16:38:00.001+01:00

How times flies even when you are not really enjoying yourself and yet much has occurred since last I properly put together a few words for the enjoyment of, I suspect, merely a handful, of readers and, yes, tomorrow would mark a gap of four months. Not that I have been débordé exactly but the motivation to add another volume has been missing.
Was it really three months ago that we were, again, enjoying the sunshine of Anfi del Mar courtesy once more of our lovely generous friends C&C, currently sailing around the world on the good ship Arcadia? Yes indeed it was and I can hardly imagine that we even took running gear and ran almost every other day for at least half an hour and, memorably, along the beach from Maspalomas once at sundown and once as the sun was reascending following its sejourn on the other side of the globe. Since then the opportunity for running has diminished given the lack of daylight, Max's work commitments and general malaise/malady. So the newest toy in the Newman-Legros household is a running machine (the term "treadmill" had rather negative connotations) followed swiftly by a device that can convert a normal bike into a fixed gym machine. Have yet to install the latter but have eased myself slowly into the former whilst the rain drilled down outside.

After our flight to the sun we had a gorgeous weekend with our friends the 3Ds in Civray, they are almost the 4Ds these days if you count Dog though dog's name is Willow. They are over in France "giving it a go" hoping that they can make la vie française work for them. And if anyone deserves to find, if not fortune, then, a successful life in the calm of rural France, they do. Though a job as a goatherd did not come off that must be because something else is around the corner.

Visit number nine (?) from the ever welcome, Janet, who treated us to tickets to see Nouvelle Star winner and now big recording artist in his own right, Christof Willem. He gave a fantastic concert at the new Casino and we'll be looking for his latest CD in les soldes that started yesterday. Amazing how times and circumstances change: twenty years ago I would have just gone out and bought the CD, these days I feel almost geriatric for a) awaiting the sales, b) not downloading it.

Then gloriously a first visit from dear Rani. It had taken a while to entice her over but our three days were a whirlwind of introductions to and catching up with. Hoping that she will feel the urge to come over again soon. We took in the La Route de la Soie exhibition on loan from the Saatchi Gallery which seemed an appropriate thing to do given Rani's line of work as a rights advocate in the developing world.

November saw the celebration of Tatie's 70th birthday with a dinner at La Maison Rouge in Noeux les Mines not far from the Bopes'. It's a surprisingly upmarket hotel for a town whose roots in mining have cost it dear over the last quarter century. The food was nice though owed a little too much to nouvelle cuisine: the accompanying vegetables to my fish were légumes oubliés , in other words the kinds of root vegetables that have lost favour, though still pack a punch flavour-wise, such as parsnip, rutabaga (swede I think ?), and Jerusalem artichoke (OK not strictly speaking a root), which were, rather pretentiously served in a liquid purée form in a glass mug. 'Nuf said.

Another first visit, albeit less than 24 hours, from Mr Marshall making the most of his route back from Winterberg in my home state of Nordrhein-Westfalen, in Germany. Danke schön lieber Freund. We adored your presence.

Then all that snow. Well, not exactly, as we only had a couple of cms in Lille but, boy, was it cold! Feel-like night temperatures were in free-fall down to -17C.

Two weeks back in the UK first to celebrate another 70th, this time Toper of C&C - do all our couple friends have the same initial? - up where the worst of the weather had left the ground still covered with the white stuff. Our visit was an added bonus since we had intended leaving for the UK and going direct to Grantham on 21st and yet we were blessed indeed having made the change to our travel arrangements since the weather on the original date was such that Eurostar was in major disarray and the East Coast line ground to a halt. The angels were certainly looking after us as we were safely ensconced in Grantham by then.

Christmas visits always fly past and this was no exception. Highlights include taking Jude and Savannah to see the Rocket the Reindeer Experience and finally capitulating to a cocktail of lurgies we had been exposing ourselves to. Recovery took time and may take till spring to be fully realised.

Back in Lille on 30th December with an extended Réveillon to organise. Tatie and Henri were checked into the five star and very interesting L'Hermitage Gantois, an old convent. They were less impressed with the food that evening as it was not only poorly cooked but hugely overpriced. Luckily then they only had to endure breakfasts thereafter as they were being fed here at table hôtes Hellemmes. Despite feeling like death warmed in the microwave we both soldiered on and allowed ourselves to collapse on the Sunday afternoon when everyone had departed. A quick taster of the menus: scallop risotto, Moroccan Spiced Pie and Heston Blumenthal's Hidden Orange Christmas pudding. Remerciements to the wonderful Lidl for their truly spendid individual mise en bouches that we enjoyed both as the clock chimed 2011 and pre big New Year meal at lunch time on 1st.

Oh yes, it was Max's birthday on New Year's Eve too. It usually is.

So, 2011. A veritable tsunami of enthusiasm washed over me earlier in the week, that just as quickly dissipated and today a clarity of thought on next steps that I am hoping will stay with me. The water metaphor is appropriate given its life sustaining and renewing qualities, but this week has also been one of worry for those in Brisbane, especially Polly and her family. I believe them to be safe and sound having perused the internet extensively and been reassured that their suburb would not be overly affected. And C&C are all at sea too, so water is very much part of my ongoing and everyday thoughts.

Too long apart from what is going on around me I need to become more a part of it again. As they say in that rather clichéd way: watch this space!

Photos and corrections to follow...

Facebook 2010

2010-12-10T10:52:00.002+01:00

Runaway Success

2010-09-14T16:08:00.001+02:00

The first weekend in September means only one thing here in la capitale des Flandres : La Braderie, or the largest flea market in the world and one of the biggest outdoor events in France. On average 2 million visitors descend on Lille to walk around looking for bargains, to soak up the atmosphere and to demolish their share of the many tonnes of moules frites that are the speciality of the weekend.

Although the Braderie has been around in some shape or form for some 800 years, it is only since 25 years ago that it has also been the occasion for a race ie the Semi Marathon, which itself first saw light as a full marathon back in the mid 1980s. As running, and particularly distance running, has increased in popularity and as a challenge open to most who are prepared to dedicate time and energy to train, so has the number of participants grown. This year there were around 9000 people involved in the half marathon, the 10km and the childrens' event. There was a marked difference this year in that amongst the 5000 odd waiting for the off in the Boulevard de la Liberté were Messieurs Newman-Legros, Max et Peter.

I would have liked to have reported that, after 4 months of training, running on average three times a week and even running the full 21.1km in a practice run 12 days before, we were raring to go, fit and feisty, itching to get pounding the rues and the boulevards of central Lille. Sadly this was not the case. We'd been suffering all week with what may have been some lurgy and were still feverish the night before which didn't help us to achieve the length and quality of sleep we had hoped for. Two days before the day we completed just one lap of le lac du héron and felt terrible. So, it all felt disastrous and, though prepared to start the race, neither of us could envisage completing it or doing so in a reasonable time. The "before" photo says it all...

The evening before we went to the Pasta Party, an event that has become a pre-requisite of any distance running event. We'd enjoyed the one in Paris for the marathon there last April. The Lille version was sadly lacking: lacking in ambience, decent pasta (no vegetarian sauce?!) and motivation.

Still, early the next day we were bolstered by the glorious weather, blue skies and just enough warmth in the air to keep us at the optimum running temperature. We were supported and encouraged by running old pros Tiff and Stuart, and by the Bopes - the pack of four were detailed to be standing in specific vantage points and to gee us on - and by messages and waves of support from friends and family we just couldn't let down.

Maybe it was the atmosphere, something magical in the air, maybe those waves of support from around the world did carry us along, but, from the moment the race started everything felt just right. Within a kilometre we had postioned ourselves behind two runners who were going at a pace just slightly faster than we normally run, and we stuck with them all the way round.

Lille looks different from the middle of the road, and I had been looking forward to seeing it from this angle. It felt so different and sounded different too, only the pounding trainers rather that vehicle engines. Strangers cheered us as we counted down the k's, and bands played adding to the festive feel of the morning. Stallholders along the route set up their goods ready to two o'clock when they would officially be able to take money.

Before we realised we were just a few kilometres away from the finish and it was obvious that, were we to keep up our pace, we would be completing the race in a personal best time. It felt so good to be overtaking so many runners who had started to quickly and were now flagging, whereas our pace, if anything, quickened.

Turning down the Boulevard de la Liberté for the final time, turning left into Rue Nationale, avoiding inconsiderate pedestrians in the Grand' Place and being squeezed between the barriers in Rue de Paris before being funneled through the finishing post. Suddenly it was over and we had done it in 2 hours and three minutes, knocking 12 minutes off our time from only 12 days before. Stretches, medals, water and we were at our pre-arranged meeting point having photos taken.

Max is already signed up to run the half marathon in Marchiennes on the 12th October. He also is determined to run the full marathon in Paris next April. Me? I have no plans other than, perhaps, to run in the 10km Foulées in November as the route just happens to take in part of our road. Then, who knows? We are continuing to run regularly having "caught the bug" and I would not rule out running another half marathon, maybe Lille next year or maybe somewhere else. You only need a decent pair of running shoes and some get up and go.

P.S. three charities benefited to the tune of over £500 in total. Thanks to all who donated.

C'est un temps de chien

2010-08-16T16:21:00.001+02:00

Bonjour!? Did anyone notice it was supposed to be august about now? Vaguely summery weather, occasional white fluffies and bright warm bits? Hmmmmm. Something must have gone spectacularly wrong with the order as the last few days of depressing grey skies and showers have been bettered by non-stop rain since yesterday afternoon. It alternates between drizzly and knocking-over-the-flower-pots hard downpours and even the pond level is reaching a reasonable depth, indicating that we've probably "enjoyed" around 3cm of the wet stuff since yesterday. There is one silver glint to this otherwise dark and despondent cloud: it isn't really cold. Otherwise we are on alerte orange ie

Soyez très vigilant; des phénomènes dangereux sont prévus ; tenez-vous au courant de l’évolution de la situation et suivez les conseils de sécurité émis par les pouvoirs publics.
Add in the risk of flooding and how exciting can it get?

Somehow we managed to eat in the garden three or four times including once in the evening whilst friend Margaret was here. Sadly we didn't even get to sit on cousin Marion's balcony whilst in Lippstadt the week before, though we did fit in a barbecue at cousin Uwe's house on the Friday though it was not balmy but damp and chilly by 21h00. We allayed the cold with good local beer and the warmth of family reunion after some twenty years. How did he suddenly go from being a mere youth to having two daughters, one of whom is 20? Have I been hibernating?

Which reminds me; we need all positive thoughts turned to warmth and dryness for Saturday evening coming as we are having a Birthday BBQ here at château Newman-Legros. Mopping up (ha ha ha) friends and family in France for a late celebration of my recent landmark as well as getting to know the neighbours a little, especially, we hope, our new next door neighbours, Sylvain and Gaël. We're up to 15 definites with a possible additional ten. The Bopes are officiating over the main grilling station and I am knocking up salads and a couple of fishy/veggie options. It's going to be a challenge to deformalise the event as the French don't seem to do relaxed and laid back and may expect to sit on chairs if not at table. Not going to happen! Still; we can rely on Les Oncles to inject a little levity into the occasion and I can always run away with Rab, who is staying as well as the Bopes and their pooches, till everyone has buggered off home!

Summer visits started last week and recommence this week, on Thursday with only two whole days of breathing space till 7 September. Looking forward to it. And to some summer. Not least because we are reaching the peak of our half marathon training. More to come after, fingers crossed, the successful running of the latter.

The end of the Exelmans era

2010-07-20T18:04:00.000+02:00

For almost ten years we have been more than fortunate in having access to a base in the 16eme arrondissement of Paris on the Boulevard Exelmans. We, I hope, have shown sufficient gratitude to Max's maternal aunt, known by all simply as "Tatie", whose generosity has meant we have a memories stuffed full of Paris and our séjours there. Sadly, but for good reason, that era is at an end. We drove to Paris in the trusty Citroën ZX with the Bopes the first weekend in July to do our bit of removing pictures from walls and using Polyfilla to make good the resulting holes.

It was my very first time there being driven in a car, apart from the occasional taxi ride from the Gare du Nord, so it was also my first experience of navigating the "roundabout" around the Arc de Triomphe. Not so much a roundabout but more a free for all as 12 roads converge, some traffic-lighted but no road markings to be seen. Seems this is one of the few places in France where the priorité à droite rule still applies on roundabouts. Terrifying. I am certain some people pay for such a thrill.

Over the course of those ten years, Paris has gone from pricey to expensive though we have always managed to find some little gems that have cost us nothing or very little. Mostly we ate at the flat having done a shop at Carrefour Auteil, though sometimes we ate out at either the brasserie opposite, then called the Brussels Café but that "went off" then latterly at Le Fétiche in Auteuil village but that became overly expensive: we realised that two unexceptional salads a small beer and a water had cost us nearly £40!

Of course the 16e is very well-to-do, it's nose pressed up against the villas of Neuilly and bordered by the Seine and the Bois de Boulogne. There are less expensive areas, to which we will, no doubt, be headed in the future.

We didn't get to ride the Métro this time but we did have a run in aforementioned Bois. There was something about running through this famous green space alongside the BCBGs. We'll be back, perhaps not so frequently and not so comfortably, but the draw of Paris is still there and calling. Au revoir.

The L Word

2010-07-20T17:05:00.000+02:00

Or 2 birthday barbecues and a christening, was my alternative title. But before I get too clever for my own boots, let me explain that this blog entry is primarily about life away from Lille, indeed away from France and back in the good old U of K. We visited for almost ten days with the Bopes (beaux-parents) in their economical Citroën diesel estate driving some 1600km in the process and getting as far as Seaton Sluice on the North East coast.

So what is this L word? I think it is Lots of things. Of course it stands for 50 in roman numerals and is my slightly coquettish way of not vulgarly shouting out my newly acquired status as a quinqua, and equally it stands for the Love of family and wonderful friends and of one's own country, even if I don't choose currently to live there. Hey it also stands for my chosen town of residence. It's an 'L'-ementary letter!

Long planned and long awaited, this was to be the first trip to the UK we had made in the Bopes' company. I'd booked crossings and hotel way back when the days were a lot shorter but June arrived soon enough and before we knew it we were pootling down to Hersin-Coupigny, where they live, to load up the car. Taking the autoroute des anglais, we zoomed up to Calais, or more precisely, Coquilles, where le tunnel sous la manche pops out on the French. A quick detour via a branch of Majestic Wine whose offer on a very pleasing cava was too tempting to miss and before we knew it we were being directed onto a shuttle two hours earlier than our booking, so that by six o'clock UK time we had already missed most of the rush hour traffic on the M25, had a relatively painless Dartford Tunnel transit (oh how we'd agonised about finding the correct change to chuck in the basket) and found our way to our Travelodge at Fenstanton, near Huntingdon.

The hotel was, as expected, adequate and acceptably clean. Sadly the adjacent Little Chef had not been 'Blumenthaled' and yet offered a sufficient menu. I always doubted that Little Chef would ever fully submit to a full Heston overhaul. Why spend all that money when you've just had what amounts to millions of pounds worth of free advertising? Our fish and chips really was OK and the accompanying bottle of wine not bad for the price. Luckily I had vouchers for a buy one main meal get one free deal though head office mustn't have thought the process through as the only way our helpful and pleasant though rather "local" waitress could ensure we obtained said discount was to separate the bill into three elements and for me to make three separate payments. Pay attention Little Chef - big hassle!

The next morning we were soon on the road and, having made a pitstop in Barrowby to drop off our finery for the impending christening plus booze for the birthday barbecue, arrived in time for lunch at our destination: Penshaw.

This was already our third visit to Christine and Chris and each time we have gone back a month earlier. August 2008 was wet and cold, July 2009 was a little better as I recall actually sitting in the garden but June 2010 was the best yet. The neo-classical monument was always in view and we actually had dinner outside one evening! Our ever fabulous hosts looked after us magnificently and gave the Bopes a real flavour of the area. We checked out Durham, drove up the coast as far as Seaton Sluice, admired Newcastle's bridges and The Sage, and experienced the Angel of the North up close. Add in a very special birthday treat dinner at a local find, Amiros, and Bob's Christine's dad, not her uncle. Oh, and we fitted in a couple of shortish runs too, to keep our half marathon training up to speed.

Saturday morning wasn't exactly promising weather-wise. OK for driving though. Our destination was Grantham via Holmfirth where cousin, Luis was celebrating his 18th with an all-day barbecue. Luis's fascination with being able to drink legally took me back quite a number of years/decades the difference between our celebrations being that I fully intended not getting drunk! I think I achieved mine. Luis? It was also an opportunity to catch up with Tracy, whom I had not seen since celebrating her 40th 10 years ago.

On to Grantham where another barbecue was planned as an informal celebration of my impending half century. Typically it wasn't quite nice enough to be able to be outside but a good time was still had by all including almost all the immediate family. Cajoled into opening presents a full two days early, I was genuinely thrilled to be give a gorgeous notebook computer by my nearest and dearest as well as a host of other thoughtful gifts from friends.

The big event was Imogen's christening. Sunshine and smiles all the way even when two rather exuberant youngsters discovered the delights of plunging their fingers into the christening cake. Luckily I had already taken a picture for posterity and in any case sister Michelle is the epitome of calm and outwardly at least unafflicted by stress. Max and the other godparents carried out their duties admirably. Mim was duly dunked in warmed water (!) and made not an iota of fuss. The funniest moment of the day has to be when nephew Will-yum (according to his Facebook entry), 19, did a great back flip on the bouncy castle but then slipped off in a pleasingly comedic moment.

L day too dawned hot and sunny. Breakfasted we togged up and went for another run - who'd have thought - and then off to the Fox and Hounds in Old Somerby for a birthday lunch and a cake!

We shopped till we dropped vacuuming up goodies galore in Grantham's many bargain shops the next day. Indeed we spent some six hours indulging in retail therapy and were concerned that it might not all fit in the capacious boot. A couple of glasses of wine later feeling refreshed and relaxed, we decided to extend our stay by a day as the extra cost was less than a cinema outing for the four of us. Thus we had a restful Wednesday and an easy drive back down the A1, A14, M11 M25 and M2. Even Renée was at ease with the ferry as the Channel was millpond-like and the setting sun bathed us all the way to Dunkirk. Easy? Peasy.

Semi Marathon: Half Century

2010-06-08T17:02:00.002+02:00

Despite not feeling, nor looking, I'm told, my age, there is one area in which I have started to feel every year of my impending 50 years: my knees. No cause for alarm as I shall shortly be dosing up with a cocktail of supplements that, whether they work or not, could build a physical barrier as effective as the one across the Thames. I've already sent away for a combined glucosamine/chondroitin supplement. Whilst the former sounds slightly familiar, the latter rings not the faintest bell. Add to this a fish oil capsule high in EPAand DHA and I'm also contemplating turmeric as a natural ayurvedic and in the interim have been liberally sprinkling our food so that everything we eat is a shade of yellow.

Some might think I have hit the andropause and this is my personal equivalent of the buzzy sports car for two ('cept my preference would be for one of those cutesy Fiat 500s) or a motorbike (never) but, if anything, it is the opposite. Out of the doldrums of recent years has appeared a more serene yet positive period of reflection and intraspection. Running is a challenge that is achievable by many, and running in a public race and finishing it, is an attainable target when many of us reach a milestone in our lives and start to ask ourselves whether that life so far has been sufficiently punctuated by success and achievement.

I re-caught the bug vicariously. We were in Paris to cheer on our intrepid friend, Tiff, who was running in the city's annual marathon partly as a celebration of another decade turning birthday. Unlike us, Tiff is an experienced runner with a number of marathons and half marathons under her belt. Paris was a-buzz with marathon fever when we visited the free exhibition where everything "running" was available in every shape and size and designer label. The runners seemed like mini celebrities gearing up for their moment of glory ie crossing that finishing line. It was Max who latched on the idea first and, as usual, sprinted ahead in his head to doing a tour of the world in marathons and half marathons well before even a kilometre had been run.

That aside, we dashed from vantage point to vantage point and managed to wave enthusiastically to Tiff and Laura as they pounded along the boulevards of Paris. From a position on the edge of the Bois de Boulogne we approximated a power walk towards the nearest Métro station in order to be near the finishing line in time to see them complete those 42.2km. It was only the next day that I realised I had done something painful to a tendon and that I could barely walk. Of course, it made it more interesting to tell people that I had incurred my injury at the Paris Marathon!

Afterwards the seed was sown in the fertile soil of post marathon spectating enthusiasm. Tiff and Laura's entourage wanted in. And what a brilliant idea it would be for all of us to sign up for the Lille half marathon?

Still not completely decided, and suffering in the ankle region, I found myself feeling strangely annoyed and not being able to do my usual Wii runs in front of the television. Max went into overdrive, not so much on any running course but on the technology, and soon he had resurrected his heart monitor - a slim "bra"-like strap which fits aroundthe chest and then transmits his heart-rate to a watch thing on his wrist. Add to this the new-found running GPS app on his iPhone and a bag full of energy bars and strange drinks and he was good to go. With me.

There I am in my ancient baggy shorts, retrieved from the gardening bag poloshirt and not the latest but the ones before last running shoes. My only concession so far to this new venture has been to buy a three pair pack of "trendy" black half socks. Of course I benefit from Max's technology.

Our preferred run is around Lac du Héron a ten minute drive from us and, in many ways, this has been the real impetus behind the renewed interest as it is just so lovely and peaceful running along with all that nature around you. The only annoyance is the cyclists who all flagrantly ignore the "no bikes" rule in the conservation area. Still, this is France. Also the pathways are not fully metaled and so are kinder to the joints no matter how efficacious my supplements are.

We are now both officially signed up for the Lille Semi Marathon on 4th September. An annual event celebrating its 25th year this year, it forms part of the events for La Braderie , perhaps the largest temporary fleamarket in France.

I am more concerned about my knees than running out of breath. We're aiming for a regime of one long run a week plus two shorter ones and some cross training eg Friday we did a brisk walk for an hour and yesterday we cycled for an hour and a quarter. On Sunday I probably overdid it with a 14km run that didn't feel much of a strain but I've been feeling nauseous since and have established it is probably hyperacidosis. Need to be sure I have sufficient fuel on board for the longer runs and to be stricter with ensuring I get sufficient liquid intake.

If anyone had asked me a year ago about a half marathon I would have more readily thought of sharing their Snickers, now I am approaching taking part in one with a mixture of incomprehension and excitement.

Back to the 60s

2010-05-10T17:56:00.002+02:00

I like vintage and classic and retro and all that jazz, and yet when it comes to the latest craze to sweep France I cannot but get a little self-righteous and appalled. I write, as some may have already guessed, of Tupperware. Hands up who thought the plastic range of the sixties and seventies had been long consigned to the past and the deepest depths of the cupboard? I can report that, amazingly, it features very much in the present and is doing well, at least in the north of France, where it appears to be re-inventing itself as a must-have life style product if the Boden-like catalogue is anything to go by. Indeed you might even say that "il fait un carton", which means it's doing really well but,confusingly translates as "it's making a cardboard box".

The Tupperware "rep" is now called a Culinary Advisor and as our expert lives next door but one to Max's parents (the Bopes) they became the first ones to organise a Culinary Know-How Workshop, which I managed to avoid as I was away in London. It just didn't seem to be the kind of activity to be indulging in in 2010. Not yet post ironic, too kitch for iconic, there just didn't seem to be any acceptable excuses to be linked in anyway with old plastic. For heaven's sake we've invented Lakeland for all that! The second we felt obliged to attend as it was being held at "les oncles" and we wanted to be there for them and to up their points count so that they could avail themselves of something even more expensive from the formidably priced catalogue.

I can only blame Max for the third as he actually volunteered. Yes, he signed up for his very own Tupperware party. Admittedly our party organiser was laying on the heavy psychology to those who demurred with "so didn't you enjoy yourself this afternoon?" I secretly hurrahed the woman who didn't give in. After much soul searching I offered my support to Max's event, but only as a behind the scenes factotum and as long as I didn't have to sit through a second réunion.

There is nothing intrinsically wrong with Tupperware. It is about as attractive as plastic can be and comes in a range of different colours, indeed it isn't even all plastic. It does what it is supposed to do and looks OK. So where's the rub? In one word: the price. It is extortionately expensive. One example: the mini muffins silicon baking mould cost 29,99€ from Tupperware. Auchan had one on sale for 8€ reduced to 5€ recently and even the top of the range designer branded one in Printemps would have set us back a mere 20€. The latest gadget is designed to steam in your microwave and is priced at 150€.

It isn't as if we cannot buy plastic containers and implements effortlessly on our stroll around our local supermarket these days and at very competitive prices too. Why encourage the production of even more plastic that will be around for much longer than any of us currently populating this planet will be?

The plastic takes a back seat during the "party" as the cooking workshop takes top billing. For this is how plastic boxes and kitchen implements are marketed these days: cookery demonstrations using Tupperware products. That's really what I don't get viz the recipes are easy enough to follow, the ingredients easy enough to source, the results tasty enough BUT what has that got to do with Tupperware?

So, to avoid finding myself quivering with indignation I relegated myself to the kitchen and prepared to skivvy behind the scenes. Whilst I recreated the role of Edith Piaf in "Les Amants D'Un Jour" ie Moi j'essuie le verres, au fond du café, j'ai bien trop à faire pour pouvoir rêver... washer upper or plongeur and oven temperature and time checker, the action started. The Bopes and the Uncles, there to make up numbers at the "safe"" end of the sitting room, and, at the sharp end, two neighbours and four people from Max's workplace completely unaware they were about to be Tupper-mugged.

First recette of the workshop are "croissants". The filling of choice: bits of saucisse de Strasbourg or hot dogs to you and me. This is, to date, my least favourite product of all: the "Croissants Party". This useless device is seemingly unavailable in the UK perhaps because it's use is predicated on the availability of pastry ready rolled into a circle as is most such pastry in France.

This is what you do. Thanks Raymondo (if you are old enough to get that reference...). You place the round of pastry on Croissants Party choosing either the 16 or the 8 croissants side - goodness you can turn it over! Press down preferably using the Tupperware pastry roller. Choose a filling either savoury or sweet and place on the individual triangles thus created. Ease the pastry away from the template rolling from the outside in. Voilà, croissants! Nice try. Firstly they are not croissants but croissant shaped bits of shop bought pastry, secondly 16 mini pretend croissants doesn't by any stretch of the imagination constitute a party, thirdly why not just use a knife and cut the pastry yourself since it is usefully backed by non stick paper, finally why pay 30€ for a useless piece of plastic? Here's Suzanne "having du fun" with the Croissants Party.

Sausage "croissant" isn't really my thing so I passed on those but the plate did come back empty and everyone oohed and aahed over the possiblilty of making your very own croissants chez soi. The fact that they were mini made them even more attractive mini being de rigueur. Hello?

I have to admit that the almond financiers were great though at 29,99€ a pop for the silicon mould one would have to use it with alarming frequency to ever have a chance of getting one's money back.

Then a cream dessert Tupper-whipped in a hand driven little whippersnapper thing that costs an arm and a jambe and is, I know this, difficult to wash and dry. Thus whisked cream was chilled then sprinkled with speculoos biscuit crumbs, achieved by means of another Tupper gadget that was equally difficult to clean and dry. I didn't fancy all that cream.

I think the tomatoes and cheese were Tupper-chopped for the tarte aux tomates et au fromage though a non Tupperware implement such as a "knife" would surely have done equally as well. I shouldn't carp too much though as this later became our supper starter to which I invited les Oncles. It was tasty enough. Then the pièce de résistance the plat principal, a version of the potato dish that normally contains lardons. Tartiflette Irlandaise replaced the bacon with smoked salmon. I should have taken the copyright out on this five years ago or more as, not being a meat eater, I "invented" this dish. Yes, it was me. So the potatoes were similarly chopped I believe but since I was still Piaffing au fond du café I cannot vouch for that. I do know that the 3 litre plastic casserole (and lid) retails for over 100€. Ouch! No I didn't burn myself too badly as I extricated it from the over.

Somehow, a bit like going to see the recording of a TV comedy programme, Tupperware party folk find themselves enthusing rather too much about the products as if they were ground breaking scientific achievements. Dazzled by the array of different colours, the gimickry and le fun they find themselves wondering not only how they can possibly carry on without claiming something from the extensive catalogue for their own but also wondering how on earth they managed without for so long. Soon order forms are being feverishly completed, and dates are being finalised for their very own glee club experience.

For my part I felt ridden with guilt that people we know had been hoodwinked into buying stuff they could have bought for a fraction of the price. Max promised his host gift, a salad spinner (47,99€) to our widowed neighbour whose much diminished pension had been signed away, and looks forward to the "crystal" Tupperware salad bowl and servers he earned from the party. Still, we enjoyed the results that evening and, having been persuaded to fill in an order form, though not order anything, I am looking forward to my reward for "attending" ie a small but perfectly formed Tupperware container. Plastic, fantastic?

Music, Musique, Muzak

2010-03-09T11:12:00.001+01:00

Uff! We watched the marathon of some four hours that is Les Victoires de La Musique on Saturday evening or rather, feeling more like a victime de la musique, I gave in and went to bed 90 minutes before it dragged itself to an end. The clues were there of course: the word for prize and price in French is the same ie prix, and in French those on whom the lauréats are bestowed are récompensé which is much too close to compensated to be a mere coincidence.

Everybody and his mother was thanked and congratulated and there were homages to Michael Jackson by a rather amateur sounding combo and one, inevitably to the inimitable, though much imitated. Charles Aznavour. Stevie Wonder produced his own homage and crammed in more songs and speechifying than everyone else combined, at least so it seemed. He had earlier been récompensé with a gong from Fred Mitterand, the French Culture Minister, and was in ebullient mood. I imagined I'd not see his dubious hairstyle anywhere else but on the back of the Wonder head but, during an episodic flashback to previous winners over the last 25 years - for we were also paying hommage to the silver anniversary of the awards themselves - I espied the exact same, or should that be the exact mane, on the member of a winning group in the early 1990s. For early 1990s style France read late 1970s UK.

There were some obvious winners ie not because their musical output was necessarily head and shoulder above the rest but because they were "originale" which , I suppose, is not a bad thing. Thus Olivia Ruiz won various awards for her increasingly less accessible quirkiness, and Benjamin Biolay won an award or two for being dark and brooding, I believe. As for the rest, I was lost in a sea of names I had never heard and sounds that didn't really impress or perhaps just confused since I am perhaps not of the generation at which they were aimed? I have, at last, now heard of Pony Pony Run Run, Birdy Nam Nam, and Coeur de Pirate (a canadienne with little girl breathy voice at the piano).

Now I really thought I might like Yodelice, who, at least, has the courage to remain in the singular. Sadly the song he chose for the evening's celebrations wasn't all that. I suppose I was put off from the start hearing it was entitled "Sunday Morning with A Flu" and wondering whether he meant in front of a roaring fire, but it lacked an e so it just evidenced that he had not fully profited from his time in the UK. Anyway the song aspired to, but completely failed to be one of those profound but simple works which somehow transcend their simplicity to become more than just the carefully chosen and meaningful words.

No awards ceremony is complete in France without honouring Johnny Hallyday who managed to swipe the Tour of the Year award although his is incomplete. Perhaps he'll get another or bigger one if and when he recovers from his recent overly mediatised poor health, to finish what appears to have started so well. Let's face it, he would have got it however the tour went and if not they would've invented a new honorary award.

I was later informed that the aforementioned Coeur de Pirate had lisped her way to the song of the year with Comme des Enfants. To be honest that was the only category I had any strong feelings about, having preferred, by a long mile, Calogero's C'est Dit.

I gave up watching the Brits some years ago thinking it to be much less than the bluster and hyperbole which precedes it. However, the Victoires appear to have managed to incorporate all that hot air into one never-ending programme, which not only celebrated a quarter of a century but felt as if it lasted as long.

French music TV ain't all bad though and I am looking forward to seeing the televised concert of Les Enfoirés on Friday evening.

Halal- ujah.

2010-02-24T12:27:00.000+01:00

Spotlight on the Nord! We don't get mentioned much in the news but when we are noticed it is invariably for something ridiculous and often plain stupid. Comment nous sommes bêtes, nous les ch'tis!

I don't really believe that people have fallen for what is so evidently a political ruse, a way of getting faces into the media spotlight in the run up to the regional elections next month. But the media is running with it.

The central Roubaix branch of Quick, the hamburger/fast food chain, has, since the end of november last year been halal friendly, or to be more accurate, totally halal. All meats served have been prepared in authorised ways and pork products taken off the menu. Thus one burger - the Quick Burger Strong Bacon,which boasts not only bacon but also "bacon taste", excuse me? - has been replaced with a burger decked with a slice of smoked turkey. Have the people of Roubaix been spared?

The local population and, more importantly, Quick's clientele, is made up of a large proportion of muslims so this appears, at least on the face of it, to be a sensible commercial decision. And it's not as if, for instance, non muslims are not able to enjoy halal meat too. Indeed beau père used to stock almost exclusively halal meat at his shop as it was popular and thought to be tastier then the usual dead animal.

Enter Marine Le Penn, who has graced this blog before, and more than likely will again. Candidate for virtually everything one can be a candidate for here in France where the multiple mandat though much derided and much debated for reform, but still exists. She is, of course, prime candidate to succeed the bête noir of French politics, Jean-Marie Le Penn, who so famously made the run off in the presidential election in 2002. More about that elsewhere.

Marine finds that the burger joint's conversion to halal is discriminatory. The socialist mayor of Roubaix - what's French for bandwagon*? - appears to agree with her and has made an official complaint to the courts. Kerching kerching! More wasted public money and more opportunities to appear in the media looking indignant. I have scratched my head and searched my brain and yet for all my thinking I cannot for the life of me understand how a fast food outlet (don't make me call it a restaurant)'s menu can be the source (ketchup with that?) of discrimination. Where is choice? Should we have a right to demand fish 'n' chips everywhere we go and would we be right in appealing to the courts when we don't it? Of course not.

Roubaix is in any case well provided for when it comes to le fastfood and the preponderance of non halal establishments far outweighs the meagre halal offering. Indeed on checking I discover that there are three branches of Quick in Roubaix and only one of those has gone halal. According to yesterday's news the halal branch has seen it's turnover increase by anything up to 30% and the burger bar opposite is almost empty. Of course that's what customers do isn't it: vote with their feet?

This is, as in the UK, simply pre-election silly season. Whilst the UK gets stories of "bully Brown" we get force-fed tales of Quick islamisation, which provides easy sound bites but has nothing to do with discrimination and, although more about choice, the only real lack of choice here is a decent candidate for the regional elections.
This entry was written without harm to any animals and without recourse to eating any animal products.

* for once less interesting than the English it's "prendre le train en marche" - take the moving train.

Everyone likes a Taste of Garlic

2010-02-14T13:32:00.001+01:00

Just discovered that Le Log Lillois features on the A Taste of Garlic site. Thanks to Keith for his glowing review and welcome to any AToG afficionados who find their way to Le Log - Soyez tous la bienvenue.

From Degas to Dalida

2010-02-04T13:42:00.000+01:00

On our way back from Les Puces in St Ouen - huge and a little overwhelming - we found that we had time to walk through a part of Paris we'd yet to explore: the area behind Montmartre, the bit looking the opposite way to the stunning though Eiffel tower-less panorama from the terrace in front of Sacre Coeur.

How brave were we to leave intramuros behind and to venture beyond the périférique to take in the assorted bric-a-brac and collectibles in the markets. I have never seen so many chandeliers nor so many huge ones. You could warm a room with the wattage they'd take to light up completely.

Anyway, back to behind Montmartre and a scruffy little street market where apparent bargains were to be had. We had an uncertain moment not knowing whether to risk overtaking a woman, dragging a shopper trolley, whose profligate sneezing and hawking was uninterrupted by hand nor handkerchief. What if she'd deposited a generous portion of her germs all over us as we ambled past? Would the hand gel we so liberally used all weekend have offered an adequate defence?

She finally stopped at a stall and we carried on unimpeded by uncertainty and followed a slight incline upwards towards our goal, where others had already found their eventual or unexpected end - the cimitière de Montmartre. I am a complete fan of the ancient and architectural graveyard and have spent many a happy hour in the company of Père Lachaise but, somehow, I'd never either located nor visited his smaller but equally fascinating rival. It seemed almost appropriate a destination given the demise of neighbours on both sides over the last few weeks.

We were immediately fascinated to see that a road bridge - apparently constructed well after the cemetery was inaugurated - effectively bisects the hallowed ground, and wondered whether it would be better to have one's monument beneath the bridge or not. It certainly affords some shelter from the elements.

A helpful information board indicated the whereabout of the more famous residents and we chose a random few to pass an hour or so. First off the tomb of the songwriter and musician, Michel Berger who died suddenly in 1992 at the age of 44. It was hardly what you would expect for one so feted, so unexpectedly taken, whose life work still regularly punctuates the airwaves and is endlessly reinterpreted: a flat surface with no headstone covered with what looked to be astroturf.

Degas, the artist, was allocated a longer span getting to 83 when he departed in 1917. He was born Hilaire-Germain-Edgar De Gas and was associated with the impressionist movement.

Max is a big fan, or so he says, of Dalida. So off we trundled to a suitably over the top monument including a life-sized statue of this French naturalised Egytian/Italian singer whose life was almost as big as her career but not as enduring, and whose brother continues to live off her ongoing success. Dalida died of an overdose at the age of 54, leaving a note saying her life had become unbearable. Her memorial is, controversially, within a few metres of a public convenience.

Though we had chosen some, to us, well-known names, it is as interesting coming upon unexpected celebrities of their time and thus we lit upon Miss Bluebell, the dancer and choreographer and Adolphe Sax, the Belgian inventor of the saxophone. We also learned that Emile Zola has been granted access to and so moved to the Panthéon, and that Hector Berlioz was originally in a less conspicious area of the burial ground but now surveys all from a spot overlooking the roundabout near the entrance.

So in death there is life and history and fascination. Max has determined that he will have a monumental sepulchre when his time comes. He tried to persuade me that I should enthuse at this possiblity but I, despite my continuing interest in necropolises, just want my ashes scattered to the wind. Not quite yet though - I still have to visit the cimitières at Montparnasse and Passy.

No more noix in November

2010-01-02T12:18:00.003+01:00

I feel a tad guilty not to have written a blog since the beginning of December. Not that I envisage the hordes in anxious anticipation of the latest pearls to flow from my keyboard - as if! - but because writing gives me pleasure and there is no reason I shouldn't put pen to paper, as it were, more frequently. It is not as if nothing has been happening over the last 6 weeks or so, the opposite in fact, I just haven't managed to sort it all out in my head into an interesting and pithy article.

Dredging back through my near past memory I recall that the before Xmas period wasn't particularly stressful since we weren't doing any of it chez nous. We usually make our way to Grantham for the UK family festivities returning in good time to celebrate Max's birthday, which, usefully if, like me, you are not a fan of the pseudo celebrations with which we see in the New Year, falls on 31st December.

This year, or last year I suppose, I was reminded a couple of days before Xmas that had we done the usual thing, we would without doubt have either been stuck in the Chunnel or at least affected by the chaos in the aftermath. So, for that, thanks be to whoever!

I finally had my sight tested, very thoroughly, on Christmas Eve eve, and, armed with my new prescriptions we made our way directly to the optician's to choose some frames. I use the plural because the opthamologist gave me something of a choice/quandary! He suggested I go for varifocals but didn't insist, advising that it would be an easier transition at this stage than later, then he thought I should try toric contacts again, although they didn't do anything for me two years ago. They are also twice the price of normal lenses! Max had found a good offer at Général Optique where, he thought, we should be able to get something acceptable within the top-up insurance's - mutuelle - annual allowance of just under 300€. However, even the inexpensive frames I chose, after varifocal lenses, lense thinning and various treatments etc came to an eye-watering 789€. I felt faint. Then, miraculously, a wizzard wheeze was worked out. Not only did the allowance increase to 400€ for varifocal lenses, we were also able to split the order into two and spread the cost over 2009 and 2010 ie the total is covered! Now, as I peer through the centre part of my lenses, I have an understanding of why health care is so expensive in the USA: enormous profits for health connected companies. Shameful!

Our yule kicked off on Xmas Eve as is the wont of adult France (and Europe generally methinks), with an excellent repast at the Bopes attended also by Max's uncle with partner and son. Presents were distributed with the aperatif! The only present I need concern anybody reading this with is the rather generous gift Max and I gave ourselves ie a Wii!

As for the meal, it was of many courses but the pièce de résistance was a fabulous choucroute de la mer or, less appealingly in english, seafood sauerkraut. I immediately realise that only half of that was indeed in english but to do a full "translation" would make the dish inedible!!!

Christmas Day in France, can, in my experience, be a little Boxing Day - esque: dull and boring! We were relieved then to have been invited by the aforesaid uncle and partner to eat at theirs. So, having stuffed our faces till gone one in the morning we duly pitched up chez eux at thirteen hundred hours and started all over again. Except we all wimped out! By the time we arrived at the umpteenth amuse-bouche/entrée we all knew that there simply wasn't any more room inside. We urged a strategic freezer review and thus, somehow, made it to the dessert. Then we began all over again with, thank goodness, simpler fare in the evening when some of partner's family came over.

Phew!

Why would I choose to give my first entry of 2010 a title referring to November? Quite simply because I wanted to give, albeit indirect, hommage to our next-door neighbour, François Wellemane, he of the long distance bike rides, of the allotments, always ready to shake your hand, call you mon pote and to lend you a garden implement. Although seemingly amazingly fit and healthy for someone on the threshold of his eighties, he was taken ill and died within the space of maybe 12 hours on the Monday after Xmas. It was also his wife's birthday. How many vegetables have we been given over the last few years, how many kilos of tomatoes? And, how many sacks of walnuts for, even though he harvested the crop from his allotment, he wasn't keen and neither is Mamie, his now widow. So, down in the cellar, is the last of the noix and we'll just have to buy our own from now on, though given the way they keep it may be a while before they are fully depleted.

In France it seems that the departed are dispatched much more rapidly than I ever knew back in the UK. So, because of New Year in between, the funeral took place on the Saturday morning in a freezing cold church five minutes walk away. There must have been at least 300 people attending. My lasting impressions are that the priest's jeans were clearly visible beneath his cassock and that the service struck me as being more like a travel rep's spiel to sell time shares in paradise. The stained glass windows were modern but glorious. Mamie was supported on both sides where she sagged grey and bewildered as brother in law August's suit. And no-one sang the hymns apart from a woman who appeared to be in charge - maybe she was a deacon? - and another gentleman on one of those electronic organs. It was icily cold.

The Wii was a huge hit. My mother and her partner visited for a week over New Year, and it helped with otherwise embarrassed attempts at English/French/English conversation. Since then of course, Max has acquired an iPhone with Xmas and birthday monies, so he has moved on technologically!

No New Year's resolutions. Don't believe in them. I have arranged to attend a motivational seminar in London in February that I'm attending with two good friends and that can only be positive. We're also in Paris for the weekend at the very end of the month just in time for personally presenting our voeux to Tatie.

Merry Madalenas

2009-12-07T10:52:00.004+01:00

Food and drink that tastes great on holiday often just doesn't have the same impact when taken home and thus out of its true context. Whether it's the local plonk or distillation drunk over ice or something delicious eaten al fresco next to the sea under a flapping awning , it almost certainly won't have the same intensity of flavour when you are seated at your own table with the doors firmly closed and the heating cranked up. The result is often a disappointment and diminished delight.

So, we don't even give a moment's thought to savouring this treat anywhere but in the sun and on our own terrace with a view of the sea and the bluest of skies: Madalenas with Whisky Cream Liqueur.

Ingredients:
One or two madeleines per person arranged on a small plate.
One bottle of Bailey's or local - cheaper - equivalent
Tea for all

There are two techniques.
1. Break the cakes up and pour over a generous serving of "sauce".
2. Scoop out a well in the cake(s) and fill with the liqueur until the sponge is saturated and a small puddle of said liquid appears on the plate.

After a tiring day spent reading around the pool, interrupted only by lunch, this is the perfect late afternoon treat which combines the British penchant for tea and the Spanish sponge cake as the perfect foil for the creamy alcohol. The sun may not be quite over the yardarm but we are on holiday and this trifle-like confection is an acceptable holiday treat.

Enjoy!

Bon Anniversaire de PACS

2009-11-06T13:49:00.004+01:00

The weather was unforgiving and the traffic unmoving in pre congestion charge London. We made our way slowly, and a little stressfully, in a cab to a rather small and dingey office at the French Consulate. It was there that we concluded our Pacte Civil de Solidarité. There was no ceremony, no witnesses, just the vice-consul and another member of staff, and Peter E who was charged with taking photos on our digital camera. We know that some friends must have wondered why we didn't invite them and we lived with the consequences of not having parents there for some years after, but we had no choice in the matter. It could have all been over in a matter of a couple of minutes as all we had to do was to sign the agreement giving us some,mostly financial, shared responsibilities. And yet we imbued the moment and the ensuing seven years with much much more: a stronger more indelible emotional tie; a feeling of acceptance; a sense of having been recognised officially. The slightly blurred photos are still on the wall in front of me as I type and I see them every day with fondness.

Of course, since then the French forerunner has been soundly lapped by full Civil Partnership with equality of rights across the board in the UK. In France they have extended PACS rights a little eg rights to tax exemption on inheritance were brought more into line with married couples, but there seems to be little on the horizon about progress from Civil Partnership Lite towards the kind of arrangement enjoyed by all France's neighbours.

OK, it's just a piece of paper, and yet it is so much more than that to us. We hope that one day in the foreseeable future it will also be that much more in law too.

Bon anniversaire chéri. Je t'adore toujours. XXX

These boots are made for walking in Paris

2009-10-07T12:33:00.040+02:00

At last Paris! I so need to get a fix of the city of light from time to time and our recent trip had been postponed when we drafted ourselves in to help with the Bopes' big move. We were able to sell on our, otherwise unexchangeable or refundable, tickets for their full face value via an excellent internet site, Troc des Trains ..

Just sixty minutes on the hourly punctual TGV shuttle; it always surprises me a little just how quickly we can be in Paris. It takes less time than the train from London Kings Cross to Grantham and the change is equally impressive. Disembarking at Gare du Nord the buzz is almost palpable, the place smells of the present and the past and of history and style AND of drains!

We're experts at the Métro these days and already have a supply of Tickets T+ to avoid the queues at the machines. It's Ligne 4 direction Porte D'Orléans, correspondance à Strasbourg St-Denis, then Ligne 9 direction Pont de Sèvres destination Exelmans. The names of the stations alone evoke something magical and historical.

Installed we made our way, as is our wont, to the local Carrefour. Transformed over the last year this underground bunker of a supermarket finally gets to be the kind of emporium that a chic quartier such as Auteuil properly deserves, nestled as it is against the péripherique and just a hop and a skip away from Roland Garros and the Parc des Princes.

Armed with my 24€ voucher and with Max on the trolley we had but a few items to purchase as I had brought most of our meals with us. I remember looking at my list and the voucher and thinking " I mustn't drop this" and, of course, somewhere and somehow, I did just that. I had a prolonged panicked moment - about a quarter of an hour - as we both searched the aisles and shelves we had visited but the voucher was gone, vanished, disparu. My heart is pounding at this point not only at my own stupidity but at the waste at a time when every € counts. This didn't prevent me from buying a couple of bottles of very drinkable Bordeaux it must be noted...

There are few advantages to be had in France for the man in the street but being the holder of a Carte Passe in Carrefour is surely one of them. There is always a till awaiting a Carte Passe holder and if it is not "manned" then someone will magically appear and whisk you through. We explained our predicament to the very helpful and charming cassière who told us we should ring the four digit phone number and speak to the loyalty card team. Unbelievably, but with great relief, we learned that they could cancel the voucher AND reissue it at no charge.

Back at the flat we did manage to watch a little light French TV - their version of X Factor. I am a little confused about this as the existing show, Nouvelle Star, was to all intents and purposes X Factor with the same music and logo format etc. Oh well, one thing I've learned about France is to accept that making things less understandable and more complicated is a way of life. Maybe it has something to do with not taking things at face value but philosophising about it for a moment?

Otherwise the telly was very well behaved and didn't turn green after an hour. I should explain that the set itself remains a plastic approximation of silver/grey but that the picture often suddenly becomes green tinged. Indeed we sat through the last six or so episodes of Mad Men series one on DVD with a fine image.

On Friday we took ourselves off to Belleville. No particular reason but we have seen the brilliant animation of Belleville Rendezvous (Les Triplettes de Belleville) more than once and it has developed a reputation as being a trendy happening part of town. It's definitely on the way up as can be seen by the steep hill we climbed away from the Boulevard de Belleville. Lots of asian restaurants - the pictured one with a strangely off-putting name - and shops, a little grimy but with some nice leafy corners and a park being renovated. This looks like a good place to invest if one had the resources! We were too late for the market and I have it it mind to get along on another occasion. Apparently it takes place Tuesday and Friday up till 1430.

We strolled through the Marais along La Rue du Temple to get to the next point on our itinerary: an exhibition about Gustave Eiffel, the designer of the famous iron lady of Paris, entitled Gustave Eiffel, le magicien du fer. Sadly this was the victim of our postponement: the exhibition had closed two days before. We instead whizzed around another exhibition on the other side of the Hotel de Ville - Bertrand's pad - Latitudes 2009, an exhibition of contemporary art from "overseas" taking in Guadeloupe, New Caledonia, Cuba and the Dominican Republich amongst others.

We resisted the urge to buy some nail varnish for Paco but were intrigued to hear that Uniqlo had opened their first central Paris store only the day before. They had a small presence at La Défense but this truly marked their arrival in France. In Rue Scribe just opposite the Opéra Garnier and around the corner from Galeries Lafayette and Printemps, this is their flagship. It was hugely popular - unsurprising given the price of clothing in France - and on the first day over 800 people waited in line for the doors to open and then for an hour and a half to get through the tills! We thought we'd take a peek but the bouncers on the doors and the lingering lines of people waiting put us off. OK jeans at 9,99€ sounded attractive but ... Following a brief diversion via Le Louvre des Antiquaires where we checked out their exhibition of images of Paris before and during the Haussmann travaux which transformed the centre into the place we know today and which has hardly changed since. Thereafter, off we went to say hello to Tatie and Henri where a bottle of champagne was awaiting our detailed attention.

Saturday was a bit of a failure really. Not totally and not in a hugely disappointing way but most of what we had intended to do wasn't realised. Not that it matters in Paris as just being there soaking up the atmosphere and day dreaming is enough. We worked out a route to see the marché aux puces at the Porte de Vanves in the south of the city. Less well known than its well-established and more permanent cousin at Porte de St Ouen in the north, we hoped for at very least an interesting stroll and at best a real find! Although supposedly open till five even at one o'clock many of the stalls were packing up or even already gone. Our former hope was achieved at least. Our big discovery was that the newish tramway T3 took us all the way to the end of the Pont du Garigliano at the end of which is the beginning of Boulevard Exelmans and a nine minute walk to Tatieflat!

We were invited to have dinner with Tatie and Henri that evening and enjoyed some quality time chez eux and at Le Royal Pereire a reliable brasserie five minutes from where they live. I was encouraged to see that the entire terrace had not been taken over by smokers but that a small section had been dedicated to the deadly weed. Here's hoping this is the start of a trend as it has become something of a mixed blessing sitting on the terraces of French restaurants since the smoking regulations came into operation. We enjoyed a delicious serving of Skate wing with frites.

And so on to the delights of Nuit Blanche 2009. I had previously made notes of events we wanted to see so we headed to Châtelet, found and queued for a free loo - yeeeeeuuuch! - and made our way along Rue des Lombards where jazz was supposed to be playing: zilch. So we wandered over to Notre Dame on the Ile de la Cité and wandered straight over to the left bank having noted the thousands awaiting entry to the night's offerings. The queue to get into the Collège des Bernardins wasn't so bad and since we had so far drawn a blank for Nuit Blanche we joined it. An hour later we were admitted and allowed to join another queue for the exhibition Cellula. The photos on their site look nice but not nice enough for us to wait again. The building both inside and out is beautiful and atmospheric and we could have sat and enjoyed a worthy sounding and looking play in the main room that almost certainly contained lots of thous and wherefores so we went our way... out.

Next stop La Grande Mosquée where we had hoped to experience a mirror linking heaven and earth and emitting a perfume plus some kind of music somewhere. Of course we didn't as the queues went round the block! Never mind, we hadn't been there before.

Final attempt Jardin du Luxembourg where, amongst other exhibits, a giant glitterball - La Maîtresse de la Tour Eiffel - lit up the garden and the surrounding area. At this point we were struggling through the crowds. Later we discovered that we were just 2 of 1,5000,000 to attempt the Nuit Blanche challenge. So we saw said orb and having noted the sign telling us that there was an hour's wait - later extended to two - we decided that we had made enough effort for the day and went back to the 17e. Determined to not duck out completely we watched the final two episodes of Mad Men and got to bed around 2.30am. We know how to party.

Up, not too early on the first sunday of the month when many of the museums and galleries and other monuments in Paris are free we headed for the always free Musée d'Art Moderne housed in one part of the Palais de Tokyo. Sadly we found ourselves in the wrong part of the building where there is another exhibition space that is never free but happened to be between exhibitions. So of course it looked as if it was free. We carried on to the Petit Palais

another always free delight opposite the Grand Palais at the end of the Champs Elysées. Lots of nice pictures here and an attractive inner courtyard garden that provided a welcome shelter from the chilly wind.

We debated whether or not to go to Les Invalides but since we weren't able to get a connection on Max's phone to check out whether it was gratos or not we set our sights instead on the Musée D'Orsay. Last time we tried to get in on a free Sunday it was the last day of the massively successful Picasso/Manet exhibition and freezing cold. This time there was almost as large a queue so we again decided against but noticed a smaller building opposite the entrance with only a handful of people outside who weren't even queuing. We discovered that this was the Musée National de la Légion d'honneur et des ordres de chevalerie not only was entrance free but the audio guides were offered for nothing too! And this very visitable space ade for a fascinating account of the history of the Légion d'honneur. Recommended.

The weather broke on Monday and we didn't get to Les Puces at Saint Ouen. Maybe next time. Instead here's a jolly pic of a well known French radio mast.

Equinox knocked - no extra spoons with free moules.

2009-09-24T17:45:00.004+02:00

The summer that sometimes was, is over and autumn arrived two days ago. It wasn't exactly obvious as we've been experiencing an indian summer with temperatures into the mid 20s celsius and bright blue skies. We even ate lunch in the garden a few times though there wasn't enough heat in the air to allow us supper outside.

We are living the economic crisis and are quite used to sailing close to the wind with our finances so the offer of moules frites for 7,95€ at Restaumarché was very attractive and the bonus of getting the fourth one ordered free had us beating down their door. OK, so it was never intended as a gastronomic delight though the company was always going to be excellent and the value good too. The buffet à volonté did what it said on the tin and was enjoyed, the mussels were small but sweet and copious and the sauce respectable. The wine at 5€ for a 50cl pichet went down smoothly. It was the dessert that stuck in the throat.

Only Max wanted a pud. He hadn't had much starter and, as is his wont, was only drinking tapwater so a pudding he would have. He chose La Coupe Gourmande mostly because one of the many ingredients was caramel au beurre salé flavoured ice-cream which had ruined us at Berthillon earlier in the year in Paris. A large dessert, he wanted to let us enjoyed it with him and requested a couple of extra teaspoons. "oh non, monsieur" intoned the waitress, "I'll have to charge you for an extra dessert for each spoon" she continued, and then added "besides, you've had a free moules frites".

So we didn't have extra spoons, he didn't order this extravagant confection but asked for a simple two scoop ice-cream instead. It wasn't a taste of ice-cream we were left with, but a bad taste in our mouths.

Having waited an adequate length of time for a bill to appear we got up and went to stand by the till where, eventually, we were given an opportunity to pay. They had been having their own meal so I offer our apologies for having interrupted. But we weren't given the bill, we were merely made privy to the total. Was this usual ? -we wondered - as we were now concerned about the arithmetic abilities of mine host. Were we paying in cash or by card? Why was this important?

We did get to see the bill - which was correct - finally and we left, for good, wondering what on earth that was all about.

This was the week that was : TGV UPDATE

2009-08-28T13:07:00.006+02:00

Phew! As the feud - can it be a feud when only one party is actively taking part, perhaps a vendetta then? - continues and suspicions of possible poisoning emerge the hounds are back chez nous not only for their own safety but also because they have so much more space here. The Bopes have signed for a new house! Not a moment too soon either. Sooooo much nicer than their place in Bauvin. It is bigger, brighter, quieter - unless the octagenarian next door is into rap - and there is an ideally sized garden for them and the dogs.

Only fly in the ointment is their decision to move on the weekend we are in Paris. What to do? Tickets non-exchangeable nor refundable. Guilt stricken. Watch this space!

Max found a fantastic internet site on which you can sell otherwise non-reimbursable or exchangeable TGV tix! We managed to sell all four ie they were singles each way for the full face value and can now help out with the move AND we're booked in to go to Paris first weekend in October. Check out the website Troc Des Trains

à plus!

In the meantime the yearned for flower on the lily has arrived, and how!

Hotter than July

2009-08-20T17:06:00.008+02:00

It has been "non-stop" since my last blog entry. I love the way that French shops advertise their lack of lunchtime closure with that anglo-saxon description aptly of course as taking a break for lunch is quintessentially French though a custom which, in many countries, has been eroded over time. It also implies a sense of activity as if those working in establishments that work through the midday pause are buzzing around like bees, or more likely, wasps, of which we have had plenty. That's when they are not being horseflies or maybe hornet. They appear whenever we sit down to enjoy an alfresco meal just as if someone somewhere has banged the insect world dinner gong!

Two whole weeks have been spent enjoying a "staycation" in other words a holiday at home. That isn't strictly true as it isn't our home but it is in Lille so, technically, we haven't left town. We were loft sitting again for les Vaksmann. Better weather than last year and two lots of visitors albeit only one who stayed over at the loft.

I wonder what the word is for people who like Belgium. It hasn't the best reputation and is often joked about. They are one nation divided by at least two languages with a capital situated in a flemish speaking area but whose official language is French. No wonder they don't get on! Belgophile? I suppose that must be it. Looks and sounds less than lovely - so I suppose it covers the country's reputation. So it is a pleasure to report that Belgium is a delight. Having sampled De Panne we weren't put off by the price of moule-frites and drove via the outskirts of Bruges to De Haan, or Coq sur Mer as it used to be called. I found this enticing description on the internet: "With its many picture postcard villas in the renowned Belle Epoque style, with literally hundreds of little balconies, balcony and oriel windows, verandas with colonnades, turrets and dormers, De Haan is home to that genuine holiday atmosphere. The pink, yellow and cream-coloured pastels of the myriad villas and hotels, the winding paths and the verdure on offer give you that blissful sense of relaxation you are looking for. The coastal resort not only owes its charm to the architectural style, it was also spared from joyless high-rise block developments"

We arrived to find the arts and crafts seaside town enjoying its annual Trammelant festival. This involved a flea market, music, processions and the sunshine helped to make this celebration of La Belle Epoque fun. We did spend rather too much time worrying where the pier was only to discover that it wasn't De Haan but Blankenberge which is thus endowed. Maybe that's where we'll head on our next outing. Suprisingly the nearest pleasant French beaches are almost two hours drive away whilst if we drive via Bruges we can be on the lovely Belgian coast in just over an hour on clear, well metalled fast roads. Simples!

And the weather! Yesterday hit 33C and today it was 32C just after lunch though we have been promised rain this evening and tonight and lower temperatures tomorrow. We'll see. I was thrilled to see that the copiously leaved - or should that be padded? - lily in our little pond has indeed produced buds, three of them, and now I am anxiously awaiting the blooms.

Next on the agenda la Braderie over the first weekend in September when Lille turns into a giant flea market and then a long weekend in Paris. Watch this space. If you've nothing better to do!

Three weeks, three birthdays and three cameras

2009-07-29T11:23:00.008+02:00

It all seems so long ago now and yet it was all there to look forward to only three weeks ago. We had an itinerary based on a 70th birthday to which, if the timing was right, we would be adding a new birth and then, given time between train, we factored in Peter E's birthday and a celebratory cappuccino.

So, once upon a three weeks ago, we set off on the trusty Eurostar bound for St Pancras International, where we checked out the new high speed link to Kent and secured a "terrace" table at Le Pain Quotidien. This reliable chain, although it does serve coffee in bowls much to JC's dismay, was founded in Belgium, whereto we would later travel. We were thoroughly amused at the waiter's inability to understand Max's request, in English, for the bill and found it even funnier when he did comprehend my repeated request, in French.

The North East of England is a wonderful area. The people are friendly, the landscape appealing, and it is the home of two f the 2Cs. As with most of the UK and northern Europe though this summer, the weather is shite. It was better than last August though - every cloud etc! Apart from spending quality time with our lovely friends there were a number of highlights: sitting in the centre of the Millennium bridge between Gatehead and Newcastle eating our picnic and becoming involved in a theatre production; seeing Durham and its magnificent cathedral on the day of the Miners' Gala; being treated to a massage; having a go on the fitness Wii; checking out where Topher does his voluntary work at the Washington Wetlands Centre. And we did sit outside in the beautifully landscaped garden which is more than we managed last year!

The 9th of July saw the rather rapid birth of a new niece: Imogen. Whilst this wasn't perfect timing it meant that we were in Grantham just four days later and able to spend time with the family and its new addition. Thursday being Mother's café day, we indulged in a little nostalgia with brother Ian by driving to Belper where we lived almost 40 years ago. The house at 26 Knowl Avenue , brand new when we moved into it in 1970, was our home for all of 20 months. It evoked little in the way of memories to be honest. More interesting was a very bumpy ride along Long Row where the mill workers cottages abut the school all three of us attended for a while. Herbert Strutt Grammar is now home to a primary school, the grammar system long since having given way to comprehensive education. I still have the polar bear I fashioned out of wood in my first and only year there. On the way back to Grantham we stopped in Burton Joyce to find two houses where our grandparents had lived back in the 1960s. The first was easy enough as it has a small tower on the corner and a dried up stream running through the garden. The second eluded us but we discovered later that it was probably opposite to where we had parked the car.

And so to Leeds. It was pouring down and we huddled with the smokers in front of the NO SMOKING signs at the entrance to the railway station waiting to be collected. Leeds was not our final destination though for the very next day we drove with birthday girl Margaret, 70 years young, to The Old Hall at Madeley where the celebrations were to take place. What a superb spot! Our new friends Gary and Simon have excelled themselves in producing the highest possible standards of a top notch guest house within an historical building. Champagne was imbibed, a magnificent repast consumed and many a fine song karaoked. It was all over far too soon and before we knew it we were headed back towards Leeds via Holmfirth and an arranged drop in visit to see family but an unexpected lunch.

Once again in Leeds our Monday was filled with the wonders of Harewood House and its plethora of attractions.

We'd upgraded to First Class for journey back to Lille on Eurostar to celebrate Margaret's inaugural Chunnel experience as part of her birthday tour, and, of course, to ensure that there would be more fizz. The journey takes no time at all and, almost as soon as you have finished the last mouthful of onboard meal the announcement for Lille is made.

Our time in Lille with our septuagenarian guest was fairly quiet though on Sunday we ventured further afield and set the controls for De Panne, a seaside resort in Belgium. The logic being that most of the french resorts on the Cote D'Opale are around two hours drive away from Lille whereas just over the border in Belgium is only about an hour away. So, two and a half hours after setting off we arrived at our destination and finally found somewhere to park with an allocation of two hours in which to have a desperately needed lunch and a stroll along the promenade. Lunch was glorious, De Panne less so. It wasn't exactly ugly, just lacking in character. And moules are exhorbitantly priced! We drove home via Bruges on wide, almost empty motorways.

And finally on Monday we drove backto Bruges to meet Mark and Sarah who we

re sojourning there. Bruges remains on the right side of Disneyesque with many very well preserved and rebuilt buildings. The canals make it of course. Parking this time was a breeze as there is a multi-storey next to the railway station that costs at most 2,50€ for 24 hours plus a free bus, should you elect to miss the stroll, into the centre. And it's only around 50 minutes in the car from us. The drizzle cleared allowing us a couple of outdoor beers and then moules frites al fresco. Still pricey but less so at 17€. Very tasty in their Provençale sauce, though I am almost certain I can make them better and for far less at home.

What about the cameras? We spotted a bargain Vivitar in Asda Grantham for only £35; the perfect replacement for Maman's ailing model we thought. The quality was inconsistent and mostly poor so it went back albeit to an Asda Leeds. After research we decided on a number of models recommended by Which? all of which were out of stock at Argos. Sainsbury Leeds came up trumps with a fine looking mega pixelled Fuji, which again let us down. Back it went to Sainsbury Tottenham Court Road, London though not without reluctance on their part - email has been sent. Armed with the eventual refund, Max popped next door to PC World and acquired the current camera, a Kodak. Fingers crossed.

Not right after all

2009-07-06T11:54:00.003+02:00

Saturday afternoon we just happened to find ourselves driving through the small town which has been the the focus of much media attention these past few weeks: Hénin Beaumont. The far right party Front National came top in the first round of the partial municipal bye-election a couple of weeks ago and the very real possibility of their taking the town loomed large on the horizon for this old mining town. Their success had far more to do with the indictment of the major for embezzlement and the ongoing inability of the parties on the left of centre to sort themselves out than any real taste for nationalistic fervour.

I have to say I didn't recognise the town from the rather negative, and inaccurate, picture painted in the Guardian on Saturday. The town centre at least is pleasant with lots of commercial activity and, whilst we were there, some kind of demonstration along with flares (the ones you light!) and a red faced rather drunk skinhead type shouting "Vive Le Penn". I hope lots and lots of uncertain voters caught sight of him too.

We were on our way to Alinéa, which is probably best described as a French version of Ikea, to check out the sales. We also popped into the local Ikea where J-M picked up some fried onion pieces. Deliciously dangerous! Anyway, the shopping area in Noyelles-Godault which sits cheek to cheek with Hénin Beaumont was rammed with people. The area appears to have swapped coal for consumerism.

Yesterday mid evening came the very good news ie the far right had been beaten by a, some would say unholy, alliance of all who are anti right wing. So the recently softened-down Marine Le Penn, daughter of the bumbling Jean-Marie, doesn't get to add deputy mayor to her recent return as an MEP.

This little piggy...

2009-07-03T16:33:00.006+02:00

... went to Lille and did some lèche-vitrine yesterday. Having been stuck in the house all week and with only a baker's dozen of bundles of hedge bits confected in the garden to my credit - ready for the Bopes to put out for the encombrants - it was time I smelled some heady retail Sales fumes as long as I didn't properly inhale!

Also I've been somewhat under par this week and have imagined all kinds of possible conditions not least, given the current climate, that of swine flu. In reality, even if I did have it, I doubt whether it would qualify as more than the littlest oink though it did wake me up last night with a severe coughing fit.

Anyway, I digress. Lille. It's Fête du Cinéma all week. Buy one full price ticket and gain a pass to as many others at just 3€ each. So off I trotted. A snuffle around FNAC where there are some veritable bargains to be had in the 5 for 20€ troughs, and truffles aplenty to be had in Galeries Lafayettes where we qualify for an additional 15% since we are cardholders. I did give in to temptation and bought three items but let's just say they were not for me but for another growing litter...

Back to the cinema. I enjoyed The Boat That Rocked on my own. For some strange reason it has been retitled Good Morning England for the French market. I wonder why? A joyful little film which entertained well enough. More a boypic than a chick flick though perhaps. The music from the era is superb: simple, unaffected, good tunes with words and melodies, untainted/enhanced by computer or digital technology. But then again what's the betting the originals HAVE been enhanced for the purposes of the film? No matter. I am tempted to acquire the soundtrack. Woop de wooh it's a double disc!!!

Meeting up with Max, we checked out the new Woody Allen, Whatever Works. I am pleased to be able to report that he is on a winning streak having delighted with Vicky Christina Barcelona last year (which could so easily have been Almodóvar) he is back on more familiar territory ie Manhattan where we are regaled vignettes of the angst and delights of various intertwining relationships.

We Flunched, then these little piggies went home.

An Unexpected Bouquet

2009-06-22T11:32:00.015+02:00

Birthdays come and birthdays go. Some are memorable -for the right and the wrong reasons. Some you'd like to forget. Some mark milestones, of which some you'd prefer not to have reached and others it's all-out celebration ie on officially becoming an adult, and, later, of still being around to raise a glass to otherwise absent friends.

This weekend was not a chronological milestone, but a memorable and hugely enjoyable anniversary nevertheless. Enhanced by the presence of our very good friends and regular visitors, Tiff and Stuart from sunny Leyton, and punctuated by "nice stuff" including lots of eclectic music and shared images including the two Jude Wrights!

The highlights were, undoubtedly: being treated to lunch at Zango in Old Lille, an eclectic mix of tapas/mezze and good company plus pleasant service after 1400! - we'll be going again I just know it; then, yesterday, brunch at 34JJR prepared jointly and with great joie de vivre the evening before with the very able assistance of Miss Howick. On the brunchmenu: Tortilla, Buttery Kedgeree, Fruit Salad (with cherries from the garden) and Walnut Cake served with a coffe and star anise syrup, plus the usual continental breakfast/brunch continental suspects.

Add into the weekend mix an interesting Transphotographiques exhibition at the Palais Rameau, part of the Lille 3000XXL season - I'd never before stepped across the threshold of this interesting space -and at the newly refurbed Gare St Sauveur where we shared our delight in Hotel Europa and were then mesmerised by an HD Video presentation of The Feast of Trimalchio , also viewable, although unofficially, on YouTube by searching on AES +F The Feast of Trimalchio.

I can now fully enjoy the delights of vinyl since I now have the requisite gadget which allows me to use our donated record deck via our mini hifi! Thanks originally to Jarred, and now to Max and the Bopes, we can bop to the warm plastic sound of the 70s and 80s.

And this morning I was lured from the second floor by the newly installed doorbell. audible above the white noise of my laptop's fan, to find a delivery from the gorgeous Aquarelle flower company. The caardboard box opened to reveal a bouquet of innumerable delightful white roses thanks to D D and D. A heavenly start to the week.

Merci à tous.

Family values

2009-06-17T14:57:00.008+02:00

So it was that on the Wednesday morning the train set off on time bound for somewhere in the north and second stop Grantham. Although my family have always been a little nomadic and there have been times when we were dispersed across the country, for some time now the core of the family has been living in and around Grantham. I claim no other ties as I was in my late 20s when my mother and sister moved there. One brother had already lived there when still in the RAF and having lived further returned some years ago. Sister in the meantime has grown up and has her own, soon to be further expanded, family who also live in Grantham. So I suppose I know it a little.

It's not a bad place and it has much going for it. As with so many medium sized UK towns it suffers from too much traffic, and, apparently, not enough for young people to do. That apart it has all the shops you'd ever need, with larger ones to be had in Nottingham only 25 miles off, or in Lincoln, 35 miles away. The one thing that always strikes me is how much new building has taken place over the 20 years or so I have been visiting the town. It seems to have virtually doubled in size though appearances do deceive. Having checked various internet sites I see there is some truth in my observation since I recall the figure being in the late 28000 and now the estimated figure is 38000 with some 60000 possibly by 2026. In that case something better had happen as there won't be enough of anything to go round! In the meantime it seems a good place to bring up a family and the swarms of pushchairs to be dodged on its pavements bear testament to that or maybe to there not being enough to do. Take your pick!

Mother being otherwise occupied serving tea coffee and bacon butties on Thursdays, I got to spend some time with my very expectant sister (number three). A treat indeed. Later on supper with brother, new sister in law was another asian inspired lentil delight. How fortunate am I?

Then on Saturday I managed to grab a dose of sunstroke in Lincoln - huh? - and can only surmise that even though I was sitting in the shade on a boat at the wharf, that the light was bouncing off the water and frying my brain... It was a lovely spot to enjoy lunch at, at the time. That evening we babysat the littlest nephew and niece whilst their parents were dining out. We were treated to a takeway chinese meal from Mr Man and Mr Pangs (you kinda expect a Mrs there don't you?) and the run of the Wright's wine cellar ie the cardboard box on the floor in the sitting room! As it was we only managed to drain the one bottle.

I had almost forgotten the availability of shopping on a Sunday in the UK so was a tad taken aback to find the shops open and buzzy - indeed, what recession??? TK Maxx was happening for me, not always the case, and I could have gone wild in the aisles had there been any money in the accounts. Nevertheless, a chap needs something new to go on holiday with - November back to Gran Canaria btw - so a bling T- Shirt and a green and slightly pink T-Shirt later I wrenched myself away from shopping heaven and off we went for lunch at the positively scrummy Syston Park Farm café. The outside looked tempting but, no parasols, so we sat by an open door.

National Express East Coast came up trumps with my train ticket: £8.30 each way booked online. Just as with their predecessors, they only appear to get it right half the time as, yet again, there was a delay on the return service. It seems that lightning had struck signals in the Darling ton area and that resulted in a 40 minute delay. The seat reservation printer was also out of commission - I hate to think that it too had been struck by a lightning bolt, or is this just a precursor to our having to pay for the privilege of a seat? - so I was thankful that the train, when it arrived, was not overly busy. I was still in London in plenty of time to catch the last Lille bound Eurostar and to nab an armful of free papers and mags in the Executive Lounge as well as a plate of sandwiches.

During my time away the Bopes were installed chez nous ensuring Max had company (parents plus two dogs) and someone to make his meals. They were also their usual industrious selves and worked like billy-o removing the unnecessary hood thing in the kitchen and, best of all, cutting down the horrid hedge in the garden and putting up a replacement fence.

We now have a garden which is about a metre wider and looks much less long and narrow. Most of the hedge has been bundled up and taken away by the encombrants which come by once a month and all that I need to do is to paint the fence.
We're thinking blue, just like in our Wimbledon garden, as the green leaves look so stunning against it as a background.

Families? Don't you just love 'em. I do both mine.

A Feast in Woodside Park

2009-06-17T14:10:00.005+02:00

Rani and I go back a long long way. In fact we met during the very first few weeks at university so this year marks our 30th anniversary of friendship. I've visited Rani in various places including Woodside Park but have only stayed when she lived in Los Barrios, not far over the border from Gibraltar where she worked there in the 90s. It wasn't quite the sit in the garden with a glass of something gorgeous and chilled weather we'd hoped for but the idea of buying Mateus Rosé was a lovely one, if only to remind us why we haven't drunk any in the intervening twenty something years since graduating! The bottle is still an interesting shape.

Woodside Park is sort of part of North Finchley, to the west of the High Road that runs between Finchley and Whetstone. It's not exactly well known and there are few woods to be found though it can fairly be described as a pleasant leafy suburb. It does have a plethora of charity shops and it was there in a couple of hours that I tracked down a pile of paperbacks and my need to raid Asda's 2 for £7 section was no more. The best of the bunch had to be the North London Hospice shop where even the newest least battered book was £1.50, and the most expensive the Cancer Research shop which was asking £2.40. It may be for a good cause, but... They redeemed themselves with some attractive greetings cards at a mere 99p.

Apart from spending some quality time with an old friend, the highlight of the visit had to be the meal we enjoyed together prepared mostly by friend Tippy but with input from Rani - let me know if that's accurate girls! I'd needed a plan B since Rani never knows when she will next be jetting off to deepest darkest Africa or flying to far flung asian shores. Luckily we didn't need to use plan B - which was to go and stay with Rachel in Walthamstow - but instead put plan C into action ie Rachel came and joined us for the feast. I've not yet had the courage to sample asian cooking in France having once tried chinese food in Paris - it was très très bland - so I am always up for something spicy and hot when I visit the UK. And nothing beats having something cooked at home by someone who knows what they are doing and can titillate your tastebuds with a family recipe or an old favourite. You don't even have to select from a menu! Everything was vegetarian and delicious. If only I could remember the names of everything we ate! Anyway, the proof of the pudding and all that, and third helpings were soon dispatched. Oof! I was full till suppertime the next day!

The next morning the tube strike was well under way , we'd made plans for me to be dropped off at a national rail station so that I could get to Kings Cross and thence to Grantham but the gods were smiling on me and the only tube line with a normal service was the one I needed: the Northern Line. OK so Kings Cross tube station was closed but alighting at Euston station was not a problem and only a short stroll - even with suitcase - along the Euston Road.

It's difficult to imagine the realisation of the plans to redevelop Kings Cross station. Currently such a shabby terminal with a pokey concourse and little in the way of amenties, it has lost out tremendously to the all singing and dancing and internationally connected St Pancras International next door. The plans look v interesting and I like the idea of opening up the front space ie the current concourse plus the existing pavement area, to be a public square. The new concourse will be to the west side ie opposite the side of St Pancras. I did think that at one staget there were plans to join the two stations with a glass covered canopy and open space. It was probably too expensive.

Weekend in (a) New England

2009-06-08T18:25:00.009+02:00

Sometimes a short break away can be as good if not better than a more extended leave. Now in London for few days catching up with friends, this lucky individual has been made to feel so warmed and welcomed he almost wonders why he left these blighty shores!

Thursday evening saw my arrival in East Dulwich and quality time with Clare. Supper (and lunch at home the next day) was delicious as was the company at Green and Blue in Lordship Lane and C's flat was awash with sunshine showing it off beautifully. Loving the new curtains cherie!

Friday afternoon the extended trek to Brighton was made additionally worthwhile by a brief but much overdue reunion with the ever gorgeous Matt. Here's someone who knows how to live! I knew him as a museum administrator then a project manager in the same industry, when our contact faltered, for reasons unknown to either of us, I heard he had become a property developer. Now he is a ceramicist. Check out Matt Smith Ceramics.

On to Roland and Amy who had generously offered to put me up - again! Theirs is a generously proportioned, wonderfully eclectic comfortable ramble of a home. Bit like my good self these days!!! The Tin Drum bar in Seven Dials took our custom before we dived into Amy's special vegetable ragout and we left not a trace to say we mightn't have enjoyed every scrap. Saturday didn't look obviously promising weatherwise but by the time Gladys - those voilet eyes! - had arrived, the sun was trying very hard to break through. And when, with Janet D in tow, we all piled down the hill it really did treat us to some rays.

Nigel and Brian, newly removed to Brighton, though to a home they already possessed, were hanging over the kitchen balcony, both resplendent in shorts and B sporting a deep tan, which wasn't after all from South Africa but from Silverdale which abuts the Lake District up there on the North West coast. Suddenly Kathryn was there and as we were saying our enthusiastic hellos Clare W turned up too and we were ready for a glass of wine, a tour of the house and lunch on the (downstairs) terrace, where the sun warmed us all afternoon.

I am fortunate to have experienced some gorgeous moments and try to capture them so that they won't be forgotten. This was one of those lazy, wine flowing afternoons of early summer, spent with fabulous friends, people who care about each other and look forward to meeting up as we have done for some 17 years. People who became acquainted through work and who've soon become firm friends.

Saturday was far from over. Roland, Amy and I went to pick up a DVD - The Changeling, Angelina Jolie's showpiece, not in itself a bad film but it would have benefited from some heavy pruning and a proper conclusion - and a tasty takeaway curry.

Sunday night's torrential rain gave way to a bright blue day. Amy's piano playing filled the flat - how I adore that sound -and the sun streamed through the sash windows. It was just perfect for checking out what has been happening in Brighton since my last visit two years ago. I was impressed by the changes and am happy to report that the resort is even more improved. Everything is looking clean and new and the Brighton buzz was still in the air. Lunch in the beer garden at the Battle of Trafalgar in Guilford Road and back to R'n'A's for the French Tennis Open men's final in which Roger Federer easily took the prize for best outfit, best legs and ultimately achieved his goal of becoming Champion too!

Is it just me or is there always a problem on the London- Brighton line. Mustn't complain though as I'd conjured up a couple of 3 pound singles... Next stop leafy Woodside Park in N12.

Follow me!

2009-05-27T15:19:00.003+02:00

Well how cool is this?

Not only can I send directly to this blog by email...I'm obviously getting a tad ancient as this seems pretty awesome to me.. but now regular readers can "Follow Me". Whatever that means. Try it and see. I don't think it hurts and it certainly doesn't cost anything.

Just call me a child ofthe sixties, dazzled in the headlamps of rapidly developing technology

PNL

A lake a day feeling I like

2009-05-25T12:30:00.008+02:00

It's done. The long awaited event has happened. Two years after the possibility emerged the occurence has occured. All that talking and all that planning and it was really very simple and not at all exhausting. Wish we'd done it sooner and more often.

The bike ride that is! Every time we've been to Lac du Héron we've commented on what a brilliant place it would be for us to take the bikes, confirmed by the many unpowered two-wheelers doing the circuit. But the route looked tortuous, with many an opportunity for getting ourselves lost in the wilds of Villeneuve D'Ascq or, if we got that far, La Cousinerie.

Getting there by car is a trick we've only just mastered and, I've had one failed bike attempt when I didn't quite "get" the pumping up the tyres thing - no-one said you had to open the valves! - and Clare and I walked there in about 90 minutes and then persuaded Max to come and collect us in the car.

So, it is with a slightly ashamed face that I can report it took us about 15 minutes of cycling to get there. It was glorious in the sunshine and the route we took was leafy and traffic quiet, about 95% if it on dedicated cycle lanes. Then suddenly we were cycling alongside a sparkling expanse of water. Avoiding weekend joggers and uncertain where to walk pedestrians, I swooped onto the headland to enjoy the bench overlooking the lake but realised that Max, who was supposedly following, was nowhere to be seen. I got the feeling that this was like our invariable supermarket experiences together...

Rejoined we discovered that, in fact, the circuit for cyclists is interrupted by an enclosed reservation. Being good chaps we dismounted and pushed our bikes forward but after the fifth or sixth person swished past us we decided to get back on and to take it carefully and slowly. Indeed we were overtaken by any number of joggers. Couldn't quite make out what a careful cyclist could do in the way of damage, that a careless runner or even an inconsiderate walker couldn't.

Our return route took us along different cycle paths but we were soon home and barely perspiring, which may be less than ideal but suited me fine for a first time. Max is plotting a more energetic parcours next time but he may again lose me to the joy of the rustling leaves and the crunch of the gravel.

It was definitely lake day yesterday as, after Lac du Héron, we went on to have lunch with the Bopes and then accompanied them to an expanse of water in Wingles. It didn't appear to have a name but there was lots going on, it being one of those beautiful days when people emerge into the first real warm sun of the year and the sight of the otherwise-entrousered male leg is always something of a surprise. By the clubhouse I couldn't quite make out if it was a heat or indeed the final of the national French model boat racing competition. I hope it was the former as some 10 seconds before then end of the race all boats had foundered and the only angry waspish buzz was the intermittent sound of adolescents' wretched motorbikes. We strolled alongside the water and noted a young boy who was learning how to ride his bike without stabilisers, his father running alongside him. How he avoided being jettisoned headfirst into the water we'll never know. The labrador who couldn't wait to jump in one more time to fetch the enticing stick but who found it rather laborious to get out of the water. Yes we were relieved that we were watching from a safe distance when the enthusiastic mut finally made it back onto dry land!

We are fortunate indeed to have expanses of water so readily available for us to enjoy almost on our doorsteps. Water is so calming, so relaxing to walk or cycle next to. I believe we will be returning often for another fix of these fab facilities.

The Mosaïc Gardens and the Looted Ladder

2009-05-04T18:17:00.012+02:00

The arrival of friends gives us the impetus to do two things, at least, the first of which is to clean and tidy the house, and the second is to seek out places to visit and ways of keeping people amused. Thus it was with our friends and fellow francophiles, the Romans, who visited last weekend. They live in Kent just half an hour or so's drive from the Eurotunnel thus have a relatively straightforward journey to get to us that demands less than two hours driving plus the transit sous la Manche. This is unless you attempt to programme our address into most, if not all, Sat Nav systems, which deny our road's very existence and entice the unaware driver towards another JJ Rouseau in Vieux Lille. Our guests happily all enjoy the same initial, D, so we can refer to them as the three Ds, the smallest and youngest being D for Darcey, who is five and a half.

The weather was not quite as reliable as we had been led to believe it might be, but we risked an afternoon at the Mosaïc Gardens just 20 minutes drive away. As is often the case with "attractions" such as this, the written word can only give a one dimensional idea of the reality, but it sounded attractive and lent itself to a saunter in pleasant surroundings so we all leapt into the Romans' chariot - a Mitshubishi Pajero with impressively retracting wing mirrors - and set off down the A1.

The weather though only intermittently sunny, meant that fewer people had been lured from the shelter of their homes or the immediacy of their gardens and there was just a handful of cars in the car park. We waited five minutes for the arrival of the Bopes who were joining us , then made our way along the Deûle river towards the entrance of the park where their award for a welcoming reception was shown to be much deserved. Papa was provided with a free electric wheelchair - his back doesn't allow him to walk too far - and we were allocated audio guides in our respective languages.

And so we set off, not knowing really what to expect but it soon became clear that Mosaïc is a total delight, a jewel of a project that has been in development for five years, since Lille was European Capital of Culture in 2004. It's a series of conceptual gardens set in 33 hectares of parkland around a lake next to a river. Each garden is a work of art born of a collective approach and telling a story. It would not be an exaggeration to say that there is something for everyone from the sheer pleasure of a walk through this open space where the air is sweet and clean to the representations of the gardens themselves to the froggy chorus. As well as a more traditionally laid out picnic area, scattered around are tables and chairs both factory made and constructed from materials found within the park. It would not be difficult to while away an entire day with a picnic in this magical place. We will be adding Mosaïc to our list of things to do for our visitors. (Pics to be posted soon)

Our stepladder has been missing for 7 months. The plasterboard man took it away, ostensibly for cleaning as it was covered in hardened plaster, and despite many phone calls and messages it had never been returned. Yes we've listened to the promises to bring it back and been disappointed when it never reappeared. It's just a ladder though, isn't it? Yes and no: it's OUR ladder. Why should he get to keep something just because he has taken a fancy to it?

So Max went to the main Lille police who rang the man - Fred - and asked when he would be returning our ladder. He said he would be a fortnight as he was using it on a job in Valenciennes! That must surely be the best example ever of barefaced cheek! The police told him that this was not good enough and they would take things further but it's at this stage that everything becomes a little hazy.

The local Hellemmes police have been in touch to ask how much the ladder was worth and now the thief has offered us 30€ saying he no longer has the ladder in his possession indeed the employee who took it away to be cleaned is no longer working for him. He's probably worn it out since it was a domestic ladder and he's been using it on every job over the last seven months! Had he hired the ladder from us over that period he would have owed us a lot more than a paltry 30€.

All we want is our ladder back or, if that is not possible, an adequate amount to allow us to replace it. Watch this space, floor level only - we have no ladder.

Update: Discovered from photos after much searching that our ladder was a Black and Decker ie not just any common or garden ladder! It was multifunctional too. Not that we used it much for anything other than getting off the ground to paint etc. The local police have called Fred in on Thursday and have promised us that they will make him pay for a new ladder. So we have bought one in Leroy Merlin that isn't quite the same but will do and at 30€ off was a bargain, for him. Watch this space.

Latest update: He didn't turn up! Now WE have to send him the bill for the new ladder and wait to see if he will reimburse us... I wouldn't bother watching this space!

Handwashing purple napkins

2009-04-17T15:20:00.005+02:00

The house was full of fun and laughter against a constant background of CBeebies on a, seemingly, looped schedule. Strange how it can be quite so mesmerising. The dishwasher was either half way through or needing emptying; it seemed to be permanently full. There was always another meal to think about or to prepare. So today, whilst I was handwashing that rather nice Indian cotton purple napkin I had allocated my sister, Michelle, I reflected on the Wright's visit which, thanks to the channel ports blockade, had extended from six days to a week.

I 'd stocked up with essentials such as fish fingers, chicken nuggets (now in the bin - the "chicken" bearing no ressemblance whatsoever to the picture on the pack - you rejected well, kids!), pizza ingredients, Petit Filous, fresh full fat milk and Cheerios, apples, pears, oranges and bananas galore- food, food, food, turning on the overflow fridge in the cellar to accommodate everything.

Children turn a house into a home, effortlessly, and it is rewarding to see two small people feeling safe and secure (despite the much worried about steep stairs) and making at least an effort to eat the food set in front of them whilst taking over the territory with their fun and giggles, and occasional tears.

What did we do? Well, we didn't do anything major. There was a possibility of their going to Disneyland Paris but, sensibly, this didn't happen. There was an opportunity of going to a more local amusement park but we went to the zoo in Lille instead and let the children choose from the rides at the cute children's permanent fairground, Les Poussins. I hasten to add that the fair is cute and that this is not a qualification to get in! Of course, nephew Jude and niece, Savannah, would have strolled it had it been.
The weather was more than kind for the duration of the visit, allowing us to hold an Easter egg hunt in the back garden where the magnolia and cherry trees blossomed exhuberantly, right on cue. It also allowed for finger painting with - supposedly - water washable paints. One wash and a soak later and a scrub, and there are still traces on at least one T-shirt. Make note to self to contact those nice people at Lidl. We made pizza and the children composed their own toppings. The adults got what they were given!

For the adults, OK for Mummy, we went to Lille and checked out Zara Home and Maisons du Monde before taking the children to the playground at Parc Lebas - a big free hit. Thanks to the French fishermen's blockade we got to enjoy another day together and went for a walk around Lac du Heron and watched the simple delights of a pirateship-shaped play area being thoroughly enjoyed by those who are still enraptured by the uncomplicated.

The return ferry was rejected in favour of Eurotunnel and the excitement of a train, indeed a train in a tunnel UNDER THE SEA!!! The house is back to normal almost, though there is no doubt less joy and less unmitigated happiness, and no stray bananas on the sofa. I haven't looked underneath yet.

Thanks for the kisses and hugs; that much enjoyed supper you made, Jarred; for eating the awful pavlova which promised so much, presented well but ultimately failed; for enjoying "Peter Pie" still; for time spent watching Kung Fu Panda, Cars (again! - it's a classic and apparently your second copy); Liverpool v Chelsea (my, what a lot of goals -and Mummy and Daddy supporting opposite teams!); the Cheerios that were patiently poured into bowls each breakfast and just as patiently poured (dry!) back into the box.

Thanks for visiting and, come back soon!

Giboulées de mars - time to go back to work.

2009-03-31T15:17:00.000+02:00

It's interesting and amusing to compare sayings in different languages and traditional approaches to such natural events as the weather. In English we have March winds and April showers, in French they have giboulées de mars which can also, apparently occur in April. How very French!

Giboulées are heavy downpours, often associated with hail, whereas "April showers" conjures up something more refreshing and lighter perhaps. Anyway, both English and French have a phrase which warns against being overly previous with the discarding of ones winter garb ie "ne'er cast a clout till May be out" and "en avril, ne te découvre pas d’un fil. En mai, fais ce qu’il te plait". Seems as if the weather is supposed to be a month ahead in France then...well for a lot of France anyway but certainly not as far north as Lille! I've only just ventured my over-wintered fuchsias and geraniums from the outhouse and keep a keen weather-eye on the overnight temperatures.

Longer days, warmer temperatures and thoughts turn to picking up some more paid work. Here's a link to my mini work site where all my details can be found including a link to my CV. Any thoughts???? Click here.

Saturday Nite Loft

2009-02-16T16:03:00.006+01:00

In August last year Max and I were asked to "loft sit" for a colleague. See The Other Side of the Tracks. We almost didn't but something told us to give it a go and we had a ball pretending that we lived like trendy well off people in the centre of Lille with a view of the town hall from our gorgeous terrace. Last Saturday evening, Valentine's Day, we were invited to the official housewarming and again, when the day dawned, we were in two minds as to whether we really wanted to go. Neither of us is a party animal and making conversation is difficult enough in English when you are struggling to make yourself heard, so doing the same in French with a partner who is not the most outgoing person, was going to be a challenge indeed.

We left the decision open and dealt with other pressing matters such as a discussion about having Valentine's presents sent half way round the world at additional FedEx cost and other associated topics. We had decided on a homemade housewarming present; what else do you give people whose income and lifestyle doesn't require our interpretation of the taste they should or do have? They had adored the loaf of bread Max left awaiting their return before so we repeated the gesture albeit adorned with ever essential tea-towel (Habitat) wrapped in transparent cellophane and tied with a bow. Good tea-towels, it seems, are not easy to find. Let me expand on that. Expensive tea-towels are to be found in obvious places such as the homewares floor at Printemps, where a piece of cloth bore the unlikely tag 9€! We came to the conclusion that the well to do probably do their tea-towel shopping on dedicated weekends away in Paris. We settled for a pack of three from Habitat for 12€.

Armed with baked loaf, and tea-towels at the ready, we felt almost obliged to show our faces so agreed that we didn't have to stay all evening but would make an effort. Well surprise, surprise! We actually quite enjoyed ourselves and I am only disappointed that I have no photos of the evening to share. Of course we were familiar with the layout of the accommodation, probably more so than most of the 100 or so guests. The English speaking teachers we had been promised had not materialised and so we were introduced to various others but soon found ourselves standing to one side wallflower like, clutching flutes of champagne. The party goers were probably in their forties on average though the hostess's mother, who was in charge of the excellent catering, was a magnificent and youthful 75!

It wasn't long before word of my exoticism had spread and we were comparing notes on a piece of modern art with a charming smiling man and his pleasant wife. Can't you see the elephant, he grinned? Then a man, Edric, whose parentage was half Belgian and half French who had spent much time in England and now teaches engineering at Lille university, struck up a conversation with us. When someone is as competent at another language one can only be awestruck and jealous in equal combination. My mother is a little like that, having lived in the UK for all of her adult life very few people know of her origins nor suspect that english is not her native tongue. That is apart from one or two expressions and pronunciations such as, inexplicably, the word ladder, that continue to evade her.

The music was suddenly turned up and almost instantaneously the piste de danse was filled with couples dancing joyously. But they weren't just doing the usual party jig a jig, the wedding reception shuffle nor Dad dancing: they were Ceroc-ing - of that I am totally convinced. I've never seen such rhythm and ability at any UK social gathering and was transfixed at the sight. My research tells me that the word Ceroc comes from the French "c'est rock". How very appropriate. Of course the inevitable downside was that us merer mortals were clinging to the walls at the very thought of being dragged onto the dancefloor! The fear soon dissipated as more improvised and standard wiggling took over. Good heavens! I even managed to persuade Max to dance! He of course "doesn't dance", "doesn't sing" and "doesn't cry"- all of which I adore to do. I assured him that he would look sillier just standing looking at the dancers rather than joining them. Photo courtesy of Ceroc London's gallery.

Was it really midnight already? A few people had departed but the party was still swinging though we had had the best of it and, as the fashionably late appeared with, no doubt, expensive gifts having had other engagements earlier in the evening, we gathered up our coats, thanked our hostess for a fab time, and let ourselves out into the chilly nocturnal Lille.

94: An ecumenical weekend

2009-02-05T16:08:00.025+01:00

With the rain lashing down outside and high winds blowing across the north of France, it is good to remember our recent long weekend in Paris, when, for the most part, the sun shone brightly, the sky was blue and the air was crisp. We did awake to maybe 1cm of snow on the Monday morning, but that was soon washed away by the rain which fell all afternoon.

We ventured into the French capital on the day of the "general" strike. Foolhardy maybe, and Max's auto negative was in full twitch describing scenarios, which, though possible, were unlikely. In the event our train was indeed cancelled but the tickets were valid for any train that day and we found seats easily enough on the scheduled service just 30 minutes later than planned. Ironic then that this very train broke down just 500m outside Lille Flandres! After a short delay it moved again albeit slowly before coming to rest a hop and a skip away from the end of our road. I busied myself with the free newspapers and hoped the problem would go away and within 20 minutes, even on strike day, the engineers had sorted out the problem and off we went. On arrival in Paris our lengthiest delay was in the queue for Métro tickets, otherwise both our trains arrived just as we did on the platform. It is still well worth buying a carnet for getting around in Paris. Individually tickets cost around 1,60€ but in tens they are about 1,10€ each. There is also a daily ticket called a Mobilis which costs 5,80€ for zones 1-2 ie good enough for seeing the whole of Paris intramuros.

Our first chore as ever was a trip to Carrefour Auteuil where we stocked up on provisions though bizarrely there were no standard baguettes available. Call the pain police! It's an interesting branch of this international chain, just a short walk along Boulevard Exelmans and a cut through towards Le Parc Des Princes and there it lies disguised beneath a covering of green and pressed hard against the périphérique.

Thursday night - yay!!!! Well more like - nay!!! We are not big on going out but instead enjoyed a whimsical movie on DVD starring the currently ubiquitous Kate Winslett and a very enjoyable performance from Cameron Diaz. "The Holiday" worth taking a gentle and entertaining peek.

We were up and out relatively early on Friday. The capital was glorious just as it always is. Our route took us through Auteuil, past Radio France, along the Seine and across Place de La Concorde then through La Madeleine. We found a great little sandwich place for lunch, Planetalis in rue Godot de Mauroy. I discovered afterwards that it is part of a small chain but it gave the impression of being a one-off and the veggie sandwich with aubergine I had was delicious.

Being the end of the sales we just had to check out Galeries Lafayette and Printemps if only to see what was on offer for Max's work gear. Bit disappointing really and nothing like the bargains available in the UK. We did come away with a good work shirt though. We still hadn't taken any public transport and had walked for kms but we were a little early for our appointment with Tatie who was treating us to dinner so, we kept on walking!

Goodness 30th January already and we hadn't presented our voeux properly so it was just as well that we had time to find some flowers and a bottle of champagne. All was well! Dinner at the Royal Péreire was a simple affair with my salmon filet with rice being exactly that, fish with rice, not a drop of sauce and nary a garnish to be seen let alone a side order of lemon! Still it was beautifully cooked. We took the bus to the Gare du Nord to meet Rachel who was arriving on Eurostar for her very first visit to the City of Light. What a privilege to be able to show a rookie around Paree with every confidence that she would absolutely adore it!

Saturday morning we checked out the market in Auteuil - a tradition for Rachel to take photos of food markets when abroad - then an antiques/bric a brac fair before retracing our steps along the Seine showing Rachel the sights or rather taking her to them, or past them. A closer look at the Tour Eiffel, magically isible from the flat, then to Place Vendôme but our new favourite sandwich place was closed so, having admired the fabulous stained glass dome at Galeries Lafayette we ate lunch in their café with a view over Opéra Garnier. It was excellent value given the quality of the food and the location. Well worth considering making the effort to go up one more floor for great free views over the rooftops.

We decided against doing the tour of the Opera House as it was 8€ and we were all on an economy drive, but, thanks to Rachel's research, we did enjoy a couple of the original shopping arcades at Galerie Vivienne and then Passage du Grand Cerf. Then we walked around the Centre Pompidou-Beaubourg before arriving at Notre Dame where we mingled with the crowds, avoided a slide show but lit candle. It's an iconic location and although a little touristy, is still worth a visit. Less well known was our next port of call: the simple but deeply moving memorial that is hidden away at the end of the Ile de la Cité - a memorial to the 200,000 people deported from Vichy France to the Nazi concentration camps, the Mémorial de la Déportation.

We deserved our ice cream and hot chocolate served at Berthillon on Ile St Louis. We all swooned over the Carmel au beurre salé and my Agenaise was delightful too, a combination of prunes and Armagnac. I have to confess though that the Tarte au Citron à la Coriandre was either too subtle for my tastebuds or perhaps the coriander was just not sufficiently in evidence!

We had time for a visit to view the facade of the Institut du Monde Arabe admiring the intricacies of the glass facade and a quick razz around the bookshop where we found some great cards, before finally conceding defeat and blistered feet and Métroing back to the flat for dinner and a DVD viewing of "La Mome Piaf" - where else could it be more appropriately viewed? We had walked for kms.

Sunday, wasting no time in getting out and about again, we gave in to our aching limbs and bought a Mobilis ticket. We were soon admiring the stunning Place des Vosges, which, at some 400 years old, is the oldest square in Paris! Rachel was keen to see some of the Jewish quarter in the Marais and the shops in rue des Rosiers didn't disappoint. Next time we will stop for falafel or coffee and cakes. Then we queued in the bitterly cold wind to get through the heavy security at the memorial to the Holocaust, Le Mémorial de la Shoah in rue Geoffroy L'Asnier. Once through we found ourselves dwarfed by the Wall of Names: the names of 76,000 jews deported from France as part of the Nazi plan to annihilate Jews in Europe are engraved on several immense stone blocks. Only about 2,500 survived the camps. A small sign advised visitors to allow at least an hour for their visit. I imagined that the collection might still be quite small since the memorial was only opened four years ago. We emerged an hour or so later knowing that it would have easy to have spent the entire day, but that an hour was about as long as anyone could bear.

It was the 1st February and the first Sunday of the month, so many monuments and museums were FREE! We took advantage of the date and introduced Rachel to La Sainte-Chapelle , built for Louis IX in the 13th century, with its superb stained glass windows. Then, via the oldest bridge in Paris, the Pont Neuf to the Lou vre, (also free) entering via the pyramid and making straight for La Giocanda, Monna Lisa or the Mona Lisa. Take your pick. I doubt that Leonardo Da Vinci imagined for a moment five hundred years ago that there would be so many people straining with their digital cameras to capture the image of this small painting! We gave the Louvre café a miss and found a more reasonably priced establishment with more choice at - Aux Pains Perdu - on the rue Royale.

We had fancied the Musee D'Orsay a museum which saw a previous life as a railway station well before Tate Modern was conceived and another freebie to boot! Sadly for us, the biting wind hadn't put off the hardy crowds who waited patiently in line to get in to the Manet/Picasso exhibition. Changing our plans quickly, we hopped onto the RER part way to Place Charles de Gaulle/Etoile but soon realised we were going the wrong way! Soon rectified we emerged at Champ de Mars/Eiffel Tower which intersects with Métro station Bir-Hakeim. That prompts me to look up Bir-Hakeim, which turns out to be a battle in Libya during WW2. We must have been more exhausted than we realised because we promptly found ourselves going in the wrong direction once again, this time on the Métro! Emerging eventually from the labyrinth which is the exit from the Métro station at the foot of the Arc de Triomphe (another freebie), we just had to climb the 284 steps to the top... did we? Well, yes we did because although Max has been to the top before it was when he was a child so he didn't really remember but neither Rachel nor I had seen the view from the top. I say climbed pointedly because halfway up I felt barely able to stand! Yes, it was tough getting to the summit, and blimmin' cold, painfully cold in fact, but worth it. The view down the Avenue des Champs Elysées and the eleven - count 'em - other grand boulevards that radiate from its base was worth every painful step!

Thought just a walk away we were determined to make full use of our all day Mobilis cards and so took the bus to Tatie's where we would introduce Rachel and enjoy un apéro together. Were we finished for the day? No siree bob! We still had the Pigalle and Montmartre to taken in. Thank goodness for the funicular railway and Mobilis again! Montmartre was quiet and cold, far from the bustling tourist magnet it becomes when the weather is warmer and the restaurants spill noisily out into the Place du Tertre and the quick sketch or silhouettes artists plying their trade are a reminder of earlier residents and their cold garret studios. We couldn't not "do" the Sacre Coeur, so despised for so long after it was built to dominate the Parisian skyline, nor the terrace from which the city of lights is best viewed after dark as it spreads out beneath you and twinkles enticingly.

We took in the Champs Elysees on the way back to the flat and wondered how anyone could ever compare that thoroughfare with Oxford Street?!

Rachel left early on Monday morning insisting that she would be able to find Gare du Nord herself. We equally insisted that Max would go with her to be sure! We pressed an omelette sandwich on her - thankfully as the Eurostar was 3 hours late: snow in Northern France and SE England. It was La Chandleur or Candlemas, when the French traditionally eat pancakes, but our shop bought crêpes were dry and unappetising. We were rather fortunate as our next door neighbour back in Lille rang us to say she had made some and we were to promise to call by when we arrived home.

In the meantime Max and I only added a visit to FNAC to our list of achievements for the weekend and then enjoyed the bottle of champagne that Rachel had kindly arranged for Tatie and Henri. A fitting end to our exhausting but thoroughly enjoyable economical/ecumenical weekend.

93: Fourteen for supper and a winter wasp

2009-01-19T11:24:00.015+01:00

I've been feeling a tad janvierish. Well, it's that time of year isn't it. Then yesterday evening not only did I receive a jolly email from the nice people at Camelot telling me that I had some "exciting news" about my lottery ticket: I won £10, making a grand total of £20 since November 2005, but we had a wasp in the house. Yes, a stripey flying thing with bad PR. Isn't that a bit odd? Suffice to say the lonely insect is no more since being euthanased with an oven glove. Don't ask.

Saturday evening marked our turn to receive Max's team from work for the fourth dinner party. We've missed just one, ironically the one which would have been easiest for us to get to. Such is life. We somehow managed to accumulate the most people since the new régisseur started and Laurie acquired a boyfriend. We added in the Bopes to lighten the sociability load and, voilà, quatorze à table!

It went rather well I think, though it is always difficult to tell when you are the one doing the work! The pressure was on since the French equivalent of "Come Dine With Me", Un Dîner Presque Parfait became popular and now I could smell competition in the air!

Everyone arrived within a manageable space of time and we did the usual guestimate of whom to kiss and how many times. Then we cracked open the champers provided courtesy of some do where Max works and I got the blinis topped and served. After my first flute of fizz I toddled off to prepare the endive salad (with walnuts from our neighbours garden, and Roquefort) and got going with the chicken breasts with Parma ham, Parmesan and thyme. Max had pre-prepared the leek and lemon risotto so that it was not quite fully cooked and set on one side. Then I re-warmed the tartes tatin aux endives et Maroilles in the microwave and dressed with a little pile of lamb's lettuce drizzled with olive oil and lemon juice. Seating everyone took a few minutes - a little like a difficult jigsaw puzzle - as although we had managed to get two tables into the space it was just a bit cosy!

The main course was a bit of a production line too! I sliced the chicken, arranged on the plate and Max placed some risotto and I sprinkled the parsley. Renée tossed the salad!

The English cheeses went down very well in fact Max and I passed first time so that everyone else could serve themselves first and then it went for a second lap before it arrived by us again! It was a hasty collection of a good Cheddar, an apple-smoked Cheddar, an OK Wensleydale, some Welsh goat and something made of ewe's milk. Don't berate me! I only had the deli selection from Morrisons in Wimbledon. We offered oatcakes, Jacob's Cream Crackers and Hovis crackers together with Max's bread to go with said collation.

Oh, they enjoyed the Christmas crackers but didn't really get them. Half of the rather useful gifts were left behind and they didn't notice the paper crowns. They were lovely quality but hugely wasteful and I certainly wouldn't have spent £22 on a box full price. Sainsbury's note that faux leather is still only plastic not some lower grade of leather! There was one rather odd looking thing - pictured - that none of use could work out. Having discounted the racier possibilities we settled for a childs bracelet but since I have worked it out. Go on, have a guess! Answer at the end.

I should also mention that the team kindly contributed the wine - other than the large red I sank in advance of their arrival and that was from an opened bottle in the kitchen, hic! Serge chose three bottles of La Cigale vin de pays rosée par Gavoty, three bottles of Domaine des Huards, Cheverny 2006 and two bottles of Chateau Roquevieille 2002 Côtes de Castillon to drink with the cheese.

Then we decided to do dessert, coffee etc in the sitting room so that I could wack the crèmes brûlées à la chicorée under the grill without an audience. Renée had brought some home made macarons with her- the teensy French kind - so we offered those instead of the planned mince pies since I thought that our guests had had enough to eat and wouldn't really appreciate this most English of delicacies, and it meant I could give the Bopes a box to take home. They love 'em!

The WTC crowd certainly enjoyed themselves as, once back in the sitting room, they moved the sofas so they could all be together. Max's father was amazed: he'd never seen such behaviour. I was pleased that they felt so chez eux. I could almost see 8s, 9s and 10s in the taxis home... For those who are not au fait with the programme, click here for a link to the episodes we watched yesterday.

Renée and Jean-Michel left the next morning armed with the aforementioned pies, plus extra tartes tatin and créme brûlées plus some poitrine fumée that I bought by mistake. Max and I vegged out all afternoon only getting up to refuel on leftovers but otherwise slumped in front of Location, Location, Location followed by Come Dine With Me.

Quite satisfying in many ways, quite exhausting too. We had planned a buffet but sitting together around one albeit L-shaped table made it more convivial, more fun, more conversational, indeed more French!

(answer - a napkin ring!)

92: Love and Luz

2008-12-17T14:50:00.010+01:00

A week ago we were enjoying the warmth of both Gran Canaria and also of dear friends in their apartment at Anfi. Halcyon days! And now this week feels like a break in itself as, having only returned from London last Sunday, we travel back to spend Christmas in Grantham with most of the family.

Our journey was via the UK as even taking into account the add-on costs of Eurostar, the return fare to Gatwick, a night at the Hilton before an early flight then the return flight itself with easyJet, the total cost each was at least £100 less than had we booked from Paris or Brussels and then both of those options would have entailed a change in Madrid.

The week flew by and we avoided doing too much just for the sake of it, preferring to just "be" and to relax. Our outings were few, a look around the market at Puerto Rico, a couple of hours in Playa del Inglés to show Max where so many previous holidays and adventures had taken place, shopping in Carrefour where, as you queue to pay at the checkouts, you can enjoy a view of the sea, and a successful dolphin search boat trip. The latter tested my assumed sea-legs but it was worth it to see these joyous creatures as they surfed alongside us.

We were spoiled rotten. The apartment was a delight, easily the nicest I have ever had the pleasure of staying in. Situated on the ninth floor of Club Gran Anfi, the view from the terrace was sublime and we could easily have been on an ocean liner. Gracias gracias gracias. Muchas gracias.

Back via London where N&H offered us more hospitality. We missed out on the St Paul's Cathedral Carol Concert as our flight was delayed but we did get to check out another cathedral of sorts: one to commercialism - Westfield in Shepherd's Bush. It was impressive and perfect for anyone with spare cash or credit card capacity. Count me out! We had a lovely evening with Clare and attempted to work wonders with her central heating but since we were all a bit sozzled by the time we looked at the instructions I am not sure whether we have achieved anything much. Stay warm chérie! Thanks to Hamid for another authentic Bangladeshi meal in Queen's Park rather than Brick Lane. Thanks to Rab and to Janet for joining us for Sunday's best value meal in London at Chutney's in Drummond Street.

Luz was the name of our cleaning lady in Gran Canaria - a cheery soul indeed. We could all do with one! Cleaning lady AND a cheery soul!!!

Merry Christmas, Joyeuses Fêtes and as seen almost everywhere on our hols, God Jul!

91: Klass act?

2008-11-24T13:22:00.007+01:00

I really don't have anything against Myleene Klass. She always seemed to me to be the one with durable talent in Hear'say, and her classical training gave her an edge that others didn't possess. Recently though, she seems to me to have become the epitome of televisual dumbing down. Not only is she ubiquitous to the point where it is almost easier to count the shows she isn't presenting or being featured in, but she appears to have decided that having the "common touch" means that she has to call everyone "sweetheart". I hope it is not just me, but this young woman is surely in possession of a wider vocabulary, and doesn't it come across, in any case, as just a tad patronising?

Of course I don't know her personally and I have little doubt that Myleene is a lovely person in real life, so what I am bemoaning is her TV "persona": the personality facade behind which the real Myleene lurks. She may be the newest kid on the meedja block, but she is also in real danger of rushing unnecessarily rapidly towards her sell by date.

Latterly Miss Klass can be seen in virtually every single commercial break as one of the M&S advertisment posse alongside, amongst other stalwarts, the long lasting, Twiggy. Myleene recently provided the educated "totty" in Last Choir Standing; played second fiddle to Gok Wan in his latest televisual vehicle, Miss Naked Beauty, in which she appears to be wearing rather more slap than Auntie Gok should really approve of for his potential ambassadors; hosted Divas 2 yesterday evening; and is about to take over from Nicky Hambleton-Jones on (How To Look) 10 Years Younger. Poor Nicky's wings didn't spread any further than presenting this rather cruel and yet obvious programme that offered the scalpel as an easy way of retrieving faded looks and still she found herself dumped for the (7 years) younger model. There's a lesson there surely?

Myleene is losing her Klass. She is becoming just another girl done good pseudo personality with seemingly little discernment about the work she chooses to do. Of course she is a working mum too, a perfect one at that, displayed Demi Moore like holding her distended belly on the front of a magazine, yet just weeks later slipping effortlessly into the slinky designs she sports for her presenting projects. Does anyone remember the crumpled black binliner on one episode of Last Choir Standing.

Her almost impossible decision must have been whether to cash in on her current popularity and go for the quick cash or to play for keeps. Perhaps she has a game plan and we won't after all be seeing much of her in a few years. For her sake I trust that she has worked this all out and is just making well-payed hay whilst the celebrity sun shines. Otherwise Klass won't last.

90: An abbreviated adieu

2008-11-13T23:37:00.017+01:00

It was the first French funeral I had ever attended and I really didn't know what was expected of me or indeed what would happen. I knew that, contrary to J's wishes, his father had decided on burial rather than cremation, but quite what the funeral entailed I had little idea.

We arrived just before 1400 at the cemetery in Libercourt, a small town off the A1 from Lille to Paris. It is a typical French graveyard, though not on the edge of town as many are, and completely unlike the grassy regimented war cemeteries we often see in the media. Walled with gates, concrete pathways and gravel, they have always reminded me a little of municipal dumps and I suppose in some ways they are, though somewhat prettier.

Max and I were in charge of the floral tribute and learned that we should place it by the chapel just across the road. This turned out to be a brick structure inside the main gate and not unlike a large bus shelter: it was one bare concrete-floored room with double doors opened to the outside. We found a place for the flowers and retreated to the undertakers' opposite to await the arrival of the coffin. Standing there rather uselessly, at one point Max's mother took pity on a weeping solitary man and joined him to our sad little party.

We were in fact there to support J-M who was J's partner of almost two years. We didn't know J particularly well though we were saddened by both the manner and the fact of his passing. As none of J-M's three children was present, we became de facto chief mourners.

We made our way back to the shelter/chapel, where the coffin had now been installed on a gurney covered with a richly coloured cloth. We stood inside lined up on either side. It was only when the mourners came in one by one to pay their last respects that I realised why we were there. Keeping my eyes mostly on the floor or towards the coffin avoiding people's eyes I nevertheless was able to see that the dress code was smart-casual with the emphasis on dark casual. I felt a little overdressed in my suit and black tie. Most people advanced to the foot of the coffin, stood a moment or two in contemplation, touched the coffin either briefly or more lingeringly and some made the sign of the cross. Once in a while an over-eager hand would literally leave the coffin rocking and J's brother almost tenderly held on to the other end. J-M managed to get through the ordeal without obvious tears though J's father's red-ringed eyes and the one girl who could not hold back her sobs, stretched my ability to control my tear ducts.

It felt like an eternity with each extended gap between mourners seemingly the last till finally the funeral directors came to take the family flowers and to place the coffin in the vehicle that would convey J to his final resting place. Once again his brother surprised me when he carefully wiped the surface of the coffin where the flowers had been. We had heard he was a bit of a brute and not accepting of his deceased brother's sexuality.

The cemetery was still resplendent with chrysanthemums of every hue placed there, as is the custom, for Toussaint (All Saints Day) on 1st November less than two weeks before. In the dazzling early winter sunshine you could for a moment have believed yourself in a formal garden.

Not 50m from the chapel we came to a vault, a concrete lined grave, lonely in the middle of the cemetery and with no immediate neighbours. It seemed a rather functional unforgiving spot for someone who less than a week before had been alive although evidently deeply unhappy. Then the coffin was propped up over the opening on a metal bar. It was at this point that we were directed along a path and we found ourselves blinking against the brightness in a line up. Max's mother ducked out, as I would have done had I known that every mourner would then make their way down the line murmuring sinceres condoléances and shaking our hands. This must be something like the Queen feels on a regular basis though mostly for happier occasions. For me it felt somewhat fraudulent and afterwards I learned that some people had asked who the tall fair haired man was. At least for them I had added a little mystery to the day.

Then back to the grave, into which the coffin had already been lowered, to see J-M drop a bouquet of dark red roses onto the lid. That was a particularly poignant moment. That was about it really. We stood to one side with J-M for a few minutes then made our way back to his house for coffee and chocolate biscuits. No words of caring and love had been said. There had been no ceremony of any kind, though I suppose we had taken part in a rite of sorts. Later on but before dark, J-M returned to say a final farewell when he had the cemetery to himself and all the mourners and family had departed. Perhaps then he was able to take time to think or to say the words he needed for his own fond adieu.

This was a life much grieved but perhaps the least celebrated I can remember. Perhaps there hadn't been too much to celebrate? J was 29.

89: Yes we can! Yes he did!

2008-11-05T13:11:00.010+01:00

It could have almost been an anti-climax but this morning there is a feeling of euphoria in the air, a feeling of change and possibility, the beginning of a new era. I cannot for a moment pretend to know much about US politics but I do know that the Bush years have finally been swept aside and his much discredited two terms will soon be consigned to the history books where they belong. Barack Obama represents something different, something fresh and exciting a huge antidote to what went before. He's the first major leader of the western world who is younger than I am, yet his appeal is broad across ages and cultures except perhaps the white vote which still had a majority for McCain, a decent man whose conceding address was dignified and magnanimous.

I instinctively supported Hillary Clinton but saw that her experience meant that she is linked inextricably to the past. I wondered whether, having accepted the Democratic presidential nomination, Obama should choose the New York senator as running mate. He didn't, and the supposed "dream ticket" never was. He was right. It would have been as distracting a double act as it would have potentially been a good one. Will he now appoint her to a senior position in his government. Perhaps that is where she will be able to do most good rather than in the "non-position" that is the Vice-President's role.

This takes me back to 1997 and the long night when Labour swept away the tawdry Tories. We were then full of hope, and it is fair to say 11 years later that some of those hopes have been dashed, some of that expectation not realised. Much of what the Labour goverment has achieved is not well communicated and languishes hidden away in boring black and white whilst the new Conservatives' slick PR and colouful marketing grabs all the headlines.

Obama has four years, possibly eight, to turn the biggest democracy in the world around. Let's all give him the space and the support he needs and accept he won't be able to work miracles.

88: Paris in the autumn sunshine

2008-10-14T16:04:00.010+02:00

We've just returned from a weekend in Paris where the sun shone as if it were July or August and the cardie I had packed remained resolutely in the suitcase. What's not to love about Paris? As much as I adore London and Barcelona and New York and Berlin, there is something about Paris that remains a constant draw. Max is not convinced perhaps because being French he has something of the distaste for his capital city that some in the UK have for London. Is it jealousy? Is it the apparent rudeness of the Parisians compared to the warmth of those who live in the country? I put that down to the additional stresses of living and working in any major city where your time and money are soon spent getting too and from work and enjoying at least some of what being in huge cultural centre offers.
We ate on Friday evening at Le Fetiche in Auteuil - we've been going there for a few years since the brasserie opposite lost its appeal - and I was taken aback at how expensive it has become. Two salads and two beers in total came to 36€. Later in the weekend we were taken out for drinks and I enjoyed two 25cl glasses ie less than a pint in total at a price that equated to approaching £10 a pint! Of course it is beautifully served in the correct glass at your table but that seemed somewhat excessive.

We discovered the Musée des Arts Décoratifs almost by accident. We'd been heading for the Musée de la Publicité only to find that they both were to be found at the same address ie part of one wing of the Louvre. We didn't ever find the Advertising Museum but the Decorative Arts collection was a delight taking us from the Middle Ages right up to the 21st century along galleries of carefully chosen object and numerous room settings. The views from the windows out onto the sun drenched Tuilleries Gardens and across to the Louvre were simply stunning.

After a refreshing apéro of champagne, we made dinner at Max's aunt's place - a fairly successful rösti with smoked salmon, fromage frais and coriander followed by a risotto of leeks, bleu d'Auverne, garlic and walnuts.

On Sunday we took ourselves along to Le Mondial De L'Automobile 2008. where we indulged our dreams a little by sitting in rather less ostentatious cars than some might have thought! The Smart Diesel for example, and the newly revamped Fiat 500. It was, as expected rather crowded, as many I suspect were not in a position to buy or replace but had allowed themselves 12€ of mechanical fantasy.

Then we visited Le 104 an arts centre opened in the Municipal Undertakers building in a rather run down area of the city. There wasn't a lot to see apart from the magnificent building but eventually artists will rent the studios and exhibition spaces and the public will be encouraged to come and watch and ask questions.

Unusually, the big department stores were open on Sunday offering big discounts and promotions. The debate continues as to whether or not Sunday opening should be become a regular feature of the weekend. My vote would be for opening but perhaps turning the current situation on its head ie have a set number of Sundays when the stores had to close.

87: Two hundred bulbs of garlic, and a Greek Isle...

2008-09-15T12:04:00.006+02:00

We spent the weekend at Max's parents and took the opportunity to avail ourselves, as we do every year, of one of the local delicacies ie smoked garlic. Originally garlic from Arleux was smoked to prolong its keeping but it has become a speciality in its own right and famed across France, indeed there are calls for ail fumé d'Arleux to be allowed to register its own appellation d'origine. There are just a few producers left, most of whom operate smallholdings growing the precious crop. They tend also to offer other produce throughout the year to the general public and bargain fresh lettuces are to be had during the summer months as well as tomatoes straight from their kitchen gardens. But back to the garlic. It is available in tresses in three sizes: 20, 45 and 90, the more garlic bulbs the smaller they become though we bought a 90-er for ourselves and one for the bopes (beaux-parents) and they are a very reasonable size. For those doing the maths we also bought a 20-er for our neighbours here in Hellemmes.

On the subject of local produce, I , for some reason, was suddenly struck by the thought that I have never knowingly see endive being grown around here although this is the world's biggest producing area of this wonderful and versatile salad vegetable. How could this possibly be? So on to the internet it was and I discovered that endive, or chicory is a member of the sunflower family and that the pale and creamy tightly-packed leaves are produced as secondary growth on a root that can also be used ground and roasted to make a drink. We don't see the familiar endive in the fields because it is either grown inside or forced under a covering of soil or sand. More when the season comes!

Greek island. OK, I confess. We went to see Mamma Mia! with the bopes in Cambrai yesterday afternoon. We all LOVED it - me for the second time. No wonder the film has done so well in the UK (the cinema was only 1/3 full yesterday) as it just the antedote needed for the disappointing summer we have experienced. No marks for cinematic excellence nor for the tenuous storyline. Full marks for making a lot of people very happy.

The other side of the tracks

2008-08-10T11:12:00.004+02:00

Damn and blast! Wasted an opportunity last week. We had the perfect "Hello" scenario ie looking after a million euro pad in the centre of Lille we could have passed off as being ours. Peter and Max at home. It could have made the perfect chez nous story. Loft living urban, regeneration, forays to the shops, walks around roads and areas otherwise only driven through. Hermès headscarves and toypoodles tucked into Louis Vuitton poochbags as we teetered around le Vieux Lille checking out the designer shops. Oh well! Back to the other side of the railway tracks - literally - and reality.
BTW yes that is a dead cow sprawled on the floor...and one more thing, it only just struck me why the french version of Big Brother was called Loft Story. Yes, being a bit slow here. It wasn't because the fascinating daily interchanges played out in a loft - oh no sirree - 'twas a play on words or rather because of the way the French automatically pronounce "love" as "lowv" not "luv". Geddit? Yes, Love Story! Going for a lie down...

Tripping. The light - fantastic!

2008-08-04T11:23:00.000+02:00

A week ago yesterday was one of those balmy evenings we have been dreaming about but till now have yet to experience this year. And what better for a sultry soirée than a spot of argentinian tango in the Vieille Bourse next to the Grand' Place in the centre of Lille? There is something completely seductive about tango: something that merges control with passion, chill with chili! Somehow we found ourselves lingering for an hour and a half mesmerised by the sight of maybe 30 couples as they moved across the dance floor.

Then yesterday we went for second helpings. The evening not so balmy indeed it was drizzling yet the dancers were still a-strutting their stuff across the rather damp exterior dancefloor. Some went barefoot to avoid mishap. This time I got photos! I overheard a Brit moaning that there is no culture in the UK. Something of an exaggeration but certainly the dance and the venue are something very special.

Atonement

2008-07-30T15:32:00.004+02:00

Atonement Trailer
Vidéo envoyée par FocusFeatures

Wow! What a wonderful film. It was Merchant Ivory with added depth. It was Bridges of Madison County with less schmaltz. It was Saving Private Ryan with less gore. It was just brilliant.

The cinematography is excellent and the leads, James McAvoy and Keira Knightley, very easy on the eye.

Not sure why I missed this one when it first came out but the lovely people who organise and run cinema in France regularly put on a season and this one is of 53 films released so far this year at only 3€ a pop! Later in August there is going to be another week of 4€ tickets for new stuff. Makes you proud to live in France where cinema is known as the septième art after Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, Music, Dance and Poetry.

Pyrrhic Eurovision Victory?

2008-07-18T16:58:00.004+02:00

Couldn't resist this but sometimes schadenfreude can be such fun and it is an opportunity to post this picture...! For some reason only known to a greater power than me, I found myself checking on the success of the winning Russian entry to the 2008 Eurovision Song Contest, Believe by Dima Bilan. It appears that not that many did despite heaping points on the song on the night. It has been atop the Russian charts ever since perhaps to be decreed a permanet feature but the only other world chart it has managed to creep into is - some irony here surely - Sweden! And there it peaked at number 28.

Take it away Dima! Watch the video here

Have a wonderful weekend all my readers - both of you!

81: Home

2008-07-06T15:09:00.007+02:00

We just got back from a long weekend/short week in Lippstadt in Germany: my place of birth. Is it something to do with getting older or do I love it more with every visit? As a child I spent a number of summers there staying with family and it was always a bit of a chore, a bit exciting but a bit nerve-wracking having to get by in another language. I even spent some time on the road with one uncle who was a lorry driver - now sadly deceased. These days when we go it is to stay with my first cousin in her delightful flat near the centre overlooking some very well kept ruins - NO I refer not to myself but a wonderfully preserved abbey.

I saw not a trace of doggie doo on the pavements and only a tiny amount of litter, fabulous facilities for cyclists and pedestrians alike and lots of people waiting for the green man even when the road was quiet.

On the Sunday we took a summer fete in a tiny village where we were unexpectedly serenaded by a group singing celtic songs rather beautifully. The place was called Gut Hauswinken and was in the middle of nowhere. A small grouping of renovated typical farm buildings containing a cultural centre of some repute. Unlikely but very lovely. The sun blazed from a cloudless sky that day. I remember it well because it was the last time we actually had any sunny weather!

We traveled (there and) back by train - a practically incident free journey - ladened with essig essenz, pflaumenmuss but no new Birkenstocks. I have to admit checking out estate agents....

80: Much ado about nothing or is it?

2008-06-08T11:52:00.010+02:00

Almost two months since I put finger to keyboard - how did that happen? So much to comment on and so little to say I s'pose. Boris is now mayor and nothing untoward has, so far, happened, Hillary Clinton has conceded the Democratic candidacy in the US, SuperSarko has seen his star start a slow rise in the opinion polls and Gordon continues to shuffle along seemingly at a loss as to what to do. By the time I get round to writing my next entry will the price of oil have gone up so much that we will have effectively been forced to reduce our personal carbon footprints? With figures being bandied around about a premium to be paid on transatlantic flighs I begin to wonder if the idea of a long weekend to New York New York is something that will soon become a distant dream rather than the real possibility it once was. Perhaps that was just a moment in time. Indeed looking for a flight to the Canaries for December I noted that the tax alone for indirect flights from Paris was 177€.

Enough of the politics! I am well into the second month of relative inactivity since my contract with Better Bankside ended. Partly self enforced with various excuses and partly because I haven't really done much about looking for another contract. There has been a minor step forward in that there now exists a "micro" site dedicated to the working me! Check out the Newman-Legros Solutions page. There are possibilities in the pipeline but so far nothing concrete.

One of the brightest moments recently came during the visit of Ange and Pat when we took in the Sex And The City movie. I realise that some might be shocked or maybe just surprised at my predilection for such fluff but I am a SATC addict and have the complete boxed set of all 94 - count 'em - episodes. Actually my sister still has some of them on loan. Despite some of the less than enthusiastic reviews this is a FUN film and an escape from the mundane. Indeed the cost of getting to the actual place becoming increasingly prohibitive perhaps we will be reduced to watching old re-runs of Cagney and Lacey and I am already looking forward to owning SATC on DVD.

So what's coming up? A trip to London during which time we celebrate Angela's Freedom Pass. We hope to see The Common Pursuit at the Menier Chocolate Factory whilst in town. There are any number of reasons for seeing the play not least because Nigel Harman is in it. Then later in the month we are in Lippstadt, the town of my birth some 48 years ago. I hope to take advantage of our stay by buying, not Manolos, new Birkenstocks, another bottle of essig essenz and some 4711. I know how to live...

79: Mayorial musings - London and Lille

2008-04-15T13:55:00.011+02:00

I have to admit to less of a growing respect, and more of a diminishing despair about the foppish (Alexander) Boris (de Pfeffel) Johnson, candidate for London Mayor. I discovered his full name recently and this has for some strange reason made him slightly less unendearing.

He does appear to have grown in stature as the campaign has unrolled though I still cannot believe he could do a good job of being in charge of the UK capital. His assertion that there needs to be new blood at County Hall and claim that he is the one who can provide it, has struck a cord with many for whom Ken Livingstone was a compromise candidate or maybe even a protest one.

Ken is looking a little tired after 8 years in the post: it is a demanding job. Even so the polls are looking close, too close to call. How ironic would it be if the man elected first time around in spite of the Labour party, may lose office third time around because he is their official candidate? There can be no doubt at all that the Labour government's current lack of popularity will be to Boris's benefit.

I cannot help but think that the lack of interest in politics and the political system must be playing more than a small part in this too. Boris is, if anything, less the Tory candidate and more the non-candidate, the character candidate. Against Ken the consummate politician and Brian, probably the best all round candidate but the one with least personality, one can start to see the appeal...

Whereas here in Lille, we have recently re-elected Martine Aubry to lead us. I say "we" because I count myself amongst those who gave her their franchise. Somewhere in the top ten of popular politicians in France (Betrand Delanoë, re-elected Mayor of Paris is number one), Martine has garnered respect rather than popularity during her stint in Lille. Indeed this morning she officially succeeded the pépé of the Nord, Pierre Mauroy, to the presidency of the LMCU (Métropole Communauté urbaine). Mauroy now an octagenarian, is largely credited with revitalising the town we see today and was instrumental in securing Lille's place on the Eurostar network. Merci Pierre! If not for him we would perhaps not be living in Lille today. I look forward to being as grateful to Martine.

78: Little Mouse

2008-04-15T13:48:00.007+02:00

Small and serious on the Paris métro,

Clutching his souris peluche, a little wan

Touched an ancient need somewhere deep,

He met my eyes briefly, looked away,

And there I was in the pushchair,

Forty five years ago,

And maybe fifteen years too late

To contemplate my own little mouse.

77: A place in the sun - special?

2008-03-09T14:42:00.005+01:00

It is with some relief and slight disappointment that I have to report that I am not going to be taking part in a Channel4 programme. Having spoken at length with the producer/director a couple of weeks ago I was all set to be filmed as I arrived at St P's International and had it in mind that perhaps they would stand me a glass or two of champers in that grotty long bar. I wonder if they realised that I have recently received my Carte Blanche from those lovely Eurostar people? I now have access to Le Salon - the business class lounge - where it was almost too embarrassing to help myself to the drinks and snacks made freely available. I am sure I will get over that and plunge in!

I really didn't get the premise of the programme though. How interesting would 30 minutes dedicated to people who travel from France back to London on Eurostar be? I suppose they really wanted an angle and I don't really have anything that fascinating to say... I was in any case beginning to wonder what the quid pro quo would be. It all seemed a bit one way.

Anyhow, apparently they found someone who does the commute more regularly and who lives in the Pas de Calais. I have my suspicions that they confused PdeC with Calais itself. They hadn't done much homework because they didn't know there are no season tickets available on Eurostar and that the train only stops twice a day at Calais making travelling from that station tricky.

Still, on reflection, I realise that there is nothing more popular these days than being a voyeur into someone else's life - why else would anyone want to read this blog? - but there wouldn't have been much substance in the programme. I shall be looking out for it with interest nevertheless, though we cannot, as yet, receive Channel4 via our satellite. Roll on FreeSat!!!

76: Let there be light!

2008-03-09T14:29:00.006+01:00

Progress has been made at Chateau Newman-Legros and, all of it, during my absence in London! Our kitchen hitherto slightly cave-like is now receiving shafts of daylight which give it a completely different atmosphere and will save on electric bills too. The picture alongside shows light cascading into the room, just the start of the transformation as we have yet to dismantle the false ceiling and allow the light to come directly in. The skylight - 1m x 2m - forms part of the new roof above the kitchen which was previously covered with corrugated cement/asbestos sheeting somewhat worse for wear. Now we have spanking new rather industrial double skinned insulated steel sheets. If you say it quickly enough it could almost pass for traditional hand-baked terracotta tiles...

On the first floor the beginning or even the middlings of a bathroom which which pertains to our bedroom. We spent time yesterday perusing tiles and debating where the tiling should end and whether we could match two types. Such is the excitement of home improvement. Looks as if we shall be opting for mosaic in blue or green or blue-green with, perhaps some old-fashioned bevelled white oblong tiles.

Now if only the recent £50 premium bond win had had a couple more 000s!

75: A Tale of Two Hats

2008-02-29T17:49:00.009+01:00

I had forgotten how bloody miserable London can be in the rain and I am sitting here in Southwark "at the controls" of The Audience Club for the last day turning the lights on early as the light has seeped away from the day and it is almost evening.

This has been an interesting experience which has involved me wearing my Better Bankside hat every morning and my The Audience Club one every afternoon though the two have inevitably overlapped a little.

Angela is back in the wee small hours tonight - we may go and surprise her at the airport! - and I shall be relieved in more than one way of my responsibilities. It has been frenetic, almost stressful, and certainly has left me with a stiff neck at the end of each day spent staring at the computer screen whether it has been writing copy for the BB E Brief or uploading new shows onto the Theatre Ladder - join up if you want find out what that is!

It has surprised me at least a little to discover just how difficult it is to entice people to go and see a show. With seats to fill and venues to support I even resorted to special offers giving 4 tickets for every 2 paid for. I say "paid for" but in reality it is only a booking fee so 4 tickets for 4 quid!

What can you do? Are people really quite so despondent. Are they perhaps just choosy about the shows they want to see ie I wonder if Sound of Music would have much trouble selling out at £2 a ticket? Can they not be bothered to go slightly out of their way to see some creative piece say in Hackney or Croydon?

I wonder if in fact it is not just indifference though there are people who saw "free membership" and signed up with brusque alacrity and yet have booked to see precisely nothing in four months. Perhaps the telly has been especially great over that period (Life On Mars was repeated), or perhaps - like someone who once joined the ICA because ie me and I didn't go once in that one year I was a paid up member - it felt good to belong to something "worthwhile".

Thinking back I remember now that the call of home after a long day in the office was always louder than the gentler enticements of culture, be it yer actual thinking stuff, or the pub kind. Nothing changed there then. Just shows there are some things you can't even give away.

74: Does anyone give a toss?

2008-02-03T11:47:00.000+01:00

It took only a few hours for the long-awaited news to slip out that Sarko and Carla had finally - two and a half months after meeting - tied the knot. Some have been waiting for much longer and still wait. The bets are now on as to how long their union will last with favourite currently that they will split by the end of the year. The Sarkozy Circus trundles on.

Let's hope that the happy couple took time out from their celebrations to partake in the tradition of La Chandeleur when crêpes are consumed all over France to mark what we know as Candlemas the day when Christ was presented at the temple.

Let's hope that they tossed their pancake with one hand whilst holding a coin in the other to ensure prosperity throughout the year. Let's hope that they managed not to drop it as this toowill bring good luck. France needs both.

Super Sarko is onto his third marriage, so one can only surmise that he believes in it. It is her first - so maybe she is a convert. Sadly he continues to deny access to those rights and obligations to same sex couples whose only alternative is the ground-breaking PACS which has been left behind by most of Europe, and which affords only 17% of the rights of married people. One wonders why, given his poor track record, the happy couple didn't choose to be PACSed...

Thought the pancake's shape is supposed to represent the sun returning to herald the end of winter (seasons must have changed surely), if Petit Nicolas is to avoid tossing a pancake into his own face - better the role of ringmaster at Cirque Sarko than clown - he would do well to direct some sunshine on inevitable full equality.

73: Champagne charlies

2007-12-01T17:59:00.000+01:00

St Pancras International is currently something of a disappointment. Long awaited and feted as a destination in its own right, this magnificently restored building is an architectural gem. Sadly much of the extensive media coverage and marketing has been frittered as so few of the promised amenities are yet open. A day after Eurostar's first paying passenger service arrived here there was but a handful of shops open. A fortnight later maybe a third are in business. I was invited by Angela - who took pity on my one-wheeled bag and turned up with a spanking new valise - to partake in a flute at the longest champagne bar in Europe. It is certainly enjoying early success and we are grateful to the people who permitted us to join them as seats were at a premium.

As champagne bars go this is nothing special, relying soley on the location with nary a thought to service or presentation. At £7.50 for a flute of house fizz I would have expected the sparkling liquid to have been placed in front of us, at least, if not poured, yet our glasses were unceremoniously plonked in front of us without as much as a paper coaster to take care of the dripping condensation. The manager explained that they had taken the decision not to use coasters as they might look "untidy". This concession to style over substance is surely an opportunity missed, it seemed to me, thinking whistfully of the great German beers for example that arrive at optimum temperature in the right branded glass around which has been placed a branded ring to prevent dripping. If a "lowly" beer can be thus proudly proffered then doesn't the prefered drink of celebration, of luxury, of good times, deserve at least as much? He commented on how they had been the "victims of their own success". Later I wished I had retorted that it is sad how so many can be satisfied with so little.

I still wish St Pancras well. Once fully fitted out - some benches might be nice - and with all the units open, it will be worth a look beyond the in-the-face magnificence of the Barlow shed. For now I cannot see non-passengers making early return visits. As for the champagne bar, expect it to be openly offering cheaper alternatives before long. Perhaps it could become the longest coffee bar in Europe?

Not with a bang - with a cupcake!

2007-11-16T16:26:00.000+01:00

Leaving London for Lille on Tuesday evening I travelled on what was the last ever Eurostar to leave Waterloo International. We were promised celebrations and an evening of festivities and somehow I managed to get it into my head that we would be offered mementoes of the Waterloo years or even a glass of champagne. What we actually got was... a chocolate cupcake!

More soon.

Autumn in London - Hi Ho Hi Ho

2007-10-15T17:29:00.000+02:00

Yes it's off to work I go!

And this rather scary/scared looking pic heralds the new dawn with a new haircut! I wasn't expecting it to be quite so short but, hey, it'll grow soon enough. What is it about being in the hairdresser's chair that makes one feel so devoid of choice or power? I think another centimetre everywhere will be perfect. That should take 2 weeks the rate my barnet sprouts.

I am gainfully employed for a few months working just 14 hours a week for an organisation called Better Bankside a Business Improvement District in Southwark, Borough Market, Tate Modern, Vinopolis, The Globe theatre. Interesting area. It will be fascinating to be an employee again.

In the meantime not much to report from chateau Newman-Legros. Almost crippled myself removing the contents of the loft down two floors to the ground floor and then putting most of it out for the encombrants last week. Of course there was nothing of any real interest to be found except some more original doors which we may just manage to put into use again somewhere. I also managed to put my foot through a little piece of ceiling. Ho-hum.

We cleared out the dépendance on Saturday and put away the, scarcely-used-this-summer, garden furniture. Now we have plans to turn one end of the space into a garden room by replacing both the existing solid doors and the window with, well, I suppose we would call them French windows but, since whatever we buy will be French most likely I mean glazed double doors. Some clear sheeting on the roof and a bit of tidying and Petit Bob c'est ton oncle!

More from London coming soon. May be in Brighton on Saturday - ma foi it's expensive to go 50 miles if you haven't managed to plan way way in advance. Working on it...

Bisous à tous!

Le Marasme

2007-10-02T18:36:00.002+02:00

For no particular reason and not because I was feeling especially lacking in sparkle I found myself looking up the French word for doldrums. Now I am not certain if the term le marasme is used in the same way as its English as it appears to have more of a medicinal connection, but it can be used figuratively to describe, for instance, a sluggish economy.

Anyway enough of that. Summer has gone and autumn is here and, apart from a few degrees difference in temperature and the leaves turning glorious shades of gold and red on our maple tree, it has been a seamless transition. I wonder just how many hours less sunshine we have "enoyed" this year and how much extra rain we have seen fall in 2007.

A combination of disappointment with the weather, approaching retirement (still some way off yet within an understandable period of time rather than being too far off to be worried about )and the need for less stairs and more light at home, have led me to checking out the cost of flats in Mallorca. The good news is that they are affordable - just. We have no plans to up sticks and yet that thought is somehow sustaining.

On another front we have almost definitely decided that I should find temporary employment in London. We need some cash to make things happen in the house or else we will be living with zero progress for another year. I also need some motivation and this may just remind me what it is like to achieve and to be recognised for contributing to a team effort.

So, it may not be plain sailing ahead but there is a way out of the doldrums, une sortie du marasme.

Anchors away!

Natural Prozac

2007-09-18T20:50:00.000+02:00

I think I have just experienced a little piece of heaven. Two weeks of sensory overload in the Mediterranean. Sunrises and sunsets on mountains. A train ride through a valley of citrus groves. Turquoise sea. Ancient olive trees. Heavily scented figs made into jam and brought back. Pine forests clinging to impossible slopes. Irridescent bougainvillea, delicate plumbago. Sheet lightning, three forks of lightning and thunder simultaneously. Yellow hibiscus. Persimmons and quinces. Sheep will bells around their necks like wind chimes in the distance. Mallorca.

A two-week two-centre holiday in Mallorca has invaded my senses and left me gasping for more more more. I adored it.

Planned for about six months this was to be the answer to our need for a break away from the north of Europe and towards something approaching "summer". Each separate element of travel and accommodation and transport was booked through different suppliers; this could so easily have gone very wrong. But it didn't.

The French don't have as easy access to cheap air travel as do the Brits and though we are only a 15 minute drive from our very own provincial airport at Lille-Lesquin, low-cost from there is limited and flights otherwise expensive-probably because Air France have such a hold on the market. The answer lay north of the border in Brussels with scheduled flights on Iberia. This made for rather a convoluted journey involving Eurostar to Brussels-Midi, (quick tip - any Eurostar ticket with destination Brussels allows the holder to continue on to any other Belgian station), the shuttle train to Brussels International Airport, a flight to Barcelona and another to Palma Airport, Mallorca.

Having not flown for two years I was surprised that Iberia charge for everything. Their "fresh healthy" menu boasted a number of sanwich variations, all of them involving ham. I had almost forgotten that in Spain the pig is virtually a vegetable. I self medicated with 2 cans of Heineken, being an improved though not enthusiastic flyer.

En route to our first accommodation in Port Sóller we went wild in the aisles at the conveniently-situated Carrefour just moments away from the airport. Soon we were following the booking agency's good directions through two tunnels hewn through mountains and we arrived in Port Sóller easily enough. Tiredness, slight ambiguity and lack of light lead to us panicking for half an hour and attempting to break into a construction site whilst furiously attempting to reach the agent on the mobile. Phew! She didn't answer as our apartment was actually two blocks further up the hill. When, finally, we found the right place and threw open the terrace doors all the stress and frustration melted away and we knew we had made a great choice. The terrace has a panoramic view over the port and the lights on the water made it appear quite magical.

Port Sóller is a small and not overly commercialised resort, which still has a small fleet of working fishing boats. Most of the harbour has now been given over to a marina where some rather impressive, but not outrageously so, yachts sink their anchors. A quaint original (1913) tram links the port to its parent, Sóller some 2kms away, which in turn has its own antique train (1912) to connect it to Palma, the capital.

Being outside in the sunshine and eating outside is like having your batteries recharged. Waking every day to look out over mountains, forests and the sea is like taking a natural Prozac. How could anyone find this less than stunning?

Yes, of course we fell in love with the place and were soon leafing through property magazines to see if our new dream was realisable. It may be, but for now property is expensive, very expensive, and even a small place in a pleasant spot with maybe a bit of a view and some outside space is likely to be in the region of 500,000€ +++. That lottery win is long overdue.

We visited Sóller nestling in the valley behind the mountain that shields it from the sea and enjoyed its leafy main square with the aforementioned trams rattling through. We drove to Valdemossa where Chopin holed up with George Sand in a monastery and where the latter wrote a disparaging novel about Mallorca in the winter. Ironically this is now a top tourist buy. Apparently Michael Douglas and Zeta have a house close by. I can understand who though was not interested enough to go take a peek. The town is pretty and worth the investment of a morning but was too touristy. Come buy your Chopin teacloths here!

On the way back from Valdemossa we stopped in Deià where the writer and poet, Robert Graves elected to live until his death in 1985. He was perhaps most well known for his novel I, Claudius, which was made into a TV series by the BBC in the 1970s. We of course confused him with Rupert Graves of Room with a View/Maurice fame, and even Rupert Brooke, he of the The Soldier "If I should die think only this of me: that there's some corner of a foreign field that is forever England. ". One of the very few pieces of writing that has made me feel patriotic. I visited his grave on Skyros.

We duly did the train to Palma and a rare treat it was too. Shambling along the ancient track it wends its way through the mountains and groves of oranges, lemons, almonds and olives. We had the carriage all to ourselves. We took the rather less romantic coach on the way back. We have been to Palma before staying on one of those Easyjet inspired long weekends in February about four years ago. We stayed in a delightful old-fashioned hotel - the hotel Born - just at the top of the Royal Ramblas near to Zara, the clothes shop, which we visited every day! Palma is bustling and gorgeous with its surprising cathedral and royal palace right on the seafront.

Our week in Port Sóller over we left the apartment with only slightly heavy heart knowing that we had a villa with pool awaiting us. We took the mountain road as we had plenty of time before we were due to take temporary possession of El Clavet, and stopped off approximately halfway at the Monastery in Lluc high in the Tramuntana mountains. A brief wander around the medicinal garden where we lunched on our purchases from a stall set up by what might have been the local WI group. There were a lot of doughnuts being made too.

Cala St Vicenç, a small, very British, cove of jutting rocks, cliffs and small sandy beaches and turquoise water, was the nearest place to our villa. I wouldn't have chosen to stay there full time but it was nice to go and see the sea occasionally and to sit and enjoy a very reasonably priced cerveza grande. El Clavet is situated just outside of the resort in semi and rather splendid isolation.

El Clavet, I have no idea what it means and have not been able to find out. But as far as I am concerned it must mean something very special. Holidays for me usually require there to be a palm tree within easy view and there are five between the house, a converted finca, and the pool. Set back from the main road and reached via a long dusty drive lined by kiwi vines and persimmon trees, El Clavet is truly magical. One other place in the world has as powerful an impact on me: The Old Priory, Dunster in Somerset.

The house is set in the valley between two steep mountains, surrounded by lemon, fig, pomegranate and quince and cactus - that's the flora. As for the fauna there were hens at the back, one solitary pink (under the mud) pig - Naf Naf - and a drove of black ones with piglets. I almost forget the cats - two young adults and their two kittens all of whom ate well during our residence.El Clavet is my kind of house.

We were seven for week two and an additional car had been arranged. Consequently most of our trips out were split along national lines ie the Brits and the French. No matter. We ventured first into Port de Pollença, something of a disappointment but not a bad place, and not quite tacky but a source of "typical" Mallorcan souvenirs and postcards. Then we tackled the market at Alcúdia, - we didn't bother with its port - quaint, walled and ramparted, it was a thrill to buy locally grown produce including white onions, imperfect but delicious and cheap tomatoes and stripey purple aubergines. We ate well too.

Pollença, our nearest town of any size was a pleasant surprise. Almost as lovely as Alcúdia but less of an obvious tourist magnet, this little town boasts a flight of steps which climb almost to the stars and at the top I mused that there seemed to be less dissonance between the man-made and the natural as if dwellings had sprung organically from the ground. Of course it is probably more to do with their use of local materials rather than brick or concrete. On the subject of stars I have to mention that the clear night sky was almost as poridgey-thick with stars as I have experienced in New Zealand.

What a joy it was to imagine for those few days that this was how we lived, to dream that life could be like this always. All too soon of course we were hitting the road and I am back on the Rhodiola.

A first for this blog - two short and rather grainy videos.

Tripping up on the light fantastic

2007-08-12T11:04:00.000+02:00

Looking outside to yet another overcast day albeit one which is not exactly grey, more dull/bright, I wondered exactly where summer is hiding. We enjoyed a beautiful if unexceptional day yesterday and managed to eat both lunch and dinner outside for the first time this year. We did eat lunch and even breakfast outside in April but of course the days are still short and by dinner time it was decidedly chilly and dark! Yesterday we were still outside at 11pm though by then we had donned cardies or jumpers and were indulging in a small cognac whilst scannning the night sky for stars and meteorite showers.

Disappointing as the weather has been since April I wonder whether our expectations in general are unrealistically high these days. I don't think I mean unrealistic in the same way the meteorologists try and explain away our fixation with summer sunshine as being founded on our holiday experiences - hello! since when was a lighter shade of grey typical summer weather anyway? - but rather how we have become a bit superlative about everything.

For example, using the word "nice" is virtually sneered at these days. We are not allowed to have a nice time or a pleasant evening any more. These days we have to have a fantastic time or a fabulous holiday or a superb something or the other. And when we don't? No wonder there are so many of us popping some kind of happy pill or just putting up with feeling less than ecstatic.

Perhaps it is time to make "nice" acceptable again, to promote "pleasant" to its rightful place in our everyday vocabulary. With the pressure off maybe we will start to feel satisfied with a less than incredible, mind-blowing, mega, stupendous, brilliant time?

In the meantime I would be happy with some pleasant weather although I am trying to organise some Rhodiola to support my enfeebled efforts. Of course when we get to Mallorca in September the weather had better be amazing!!!!

Hotter than July - 1000+

2007-08-05T19:06:00.000+02:00

Just returned from a week in London to the hottest weekend of the year - warmer even than April maybe! - at 32C. And what a summer it hasn't been so far. Somehow, the weeds have flourished and spread yet the butternut squash which I grew from seed are at best disappointing and I wonder if they will indeed yield any fruit. Something of a life metaphor in there somewhere but, hey, it is too hot for my brain to disentangle it from the undergrowth that covers my vegetable garden. The slugs too are back in force chomping their away through some marigolds and dahlias. I am increasingly nimbyistic about such creatures realising that they too are battling against the elements for survival yet asking myself why they cannot go do it somewhere else.

London was the way it always should be but seldom is when one lives there ie fun! No rain that I can remember though I did once borrow Angela's rather decorative umbrella which features a kind of impressionistic view of Paris. I did not have the opportunity to unfurl it.

Apart from A&P's fun company I was lucky enough to eat out four times during the week. The Terrace Café at Somerset House is much to be recommended when the barometer is set fair and especially when a friend is treating you - thanks CW1. Having experienced the 20€ bottle of wine in even the most moderate French restaurant I find myself almost forgiving the £16.50 at the shallow end of their wine card.

Tas in Borough High Street if not fanTAStic - ha ha - was good value and tasty - the aubergine thing was dee-lish! - and nowhere near as ear-drum splittingly loud as Brindisa the tapas place on the corner. Why is London so NOISY?!

Friday lunchtime saw us in Kingston and following two capuccini at Carluccio's we found ourselves slurping down noodles in Wagamama - still dependable in the noodle world much in the same way as Pizza Express is for pizzas.

Nigel produced his usual delicious fare on Friday evening. It is not so much that the food is always so good but that he is exceptionally able to produce it with such ease and seemingly no stress. That is a real skill. New old recipe for the summer must be Delia's avocado soup, a pistachio coloured cold starter with a smooth and creamy taste perfect for whenever we have a modicum of warmth in the air.

I am tempted to mirror Charles Bremner and to announce that blogs will be sporadic over the holiday month of August. It is visit central chez the Newman-Legros with Polly and Ellen from tomorrow for five days, Dawn, Dean and Darcey for a long weekend then the return of Margaret for a week to include a long weekend in Paris. Then we head for two weeks in Mallorca. Bring it all on!

Oh BTW - I note with some incredulity that this blog has now been viewed 1001 times!

(Hors) Service clientèle

2007-07-23T13:27:00.000+02:00

Time to return to a hoary old chestnut for all living in France - bureaucracy! After a while you learn to give in a little and not allow the endless forms and attestations, delays and frustration to raise your blood pressure. Occasionally you need to let off steam and appropriately my latest encounter with the mediocrity which permeates the French public sector has to do with the world beating, speed record breaking TGVs of the SNCF whose customer service still runs as if steam trains chugged along the tracks. It is an excellent service and rightly the envy of many a country but I now have an image in my head of a fonctionnaire in the cab trying desperately to find where to put the coal...

I successfully booked three return tickets from Lille to Paris on the voyages-sncf.com website and received confirmation of the journey, my payment in full together with the seat reservations. I made the mistake of choosing the option to print the tickets myself and there lies the rub - only the aller tickets popped up! No matter what I tried the retour tickets just weren't available to print.

A quick email to the Service Clientèle elicited a rather unexpected response. Apparently the solution is for me to buy the return tickets again - no guarantee of the promotional price I managed to book - then, having used those tickets, to send them together with the confirmation, the email I received in response from online help team, and my bank details. So, that would be my money and my time being used to resolve the problem?

Got Max on the case and several phone calls later we have a promise of a return call this afternoon. Apparently the difficulty was caused by my having chosen to come back to Lille Europe rather than Lille Flandres ie we arrive back in a different station to the one we leave from. Given that tickets in France are booked as singles this seems dubious...

Steam emitting from my ears I have fired off emails to the Prime Minister, the President and - it hasn't come back yet so it may have arrived successfully - to the top woman at SNCF. Will it change anything? Will those people ever get to personally read about my plight, I doubt it somehow. I cannot pretend for one moment that my angry - but well structured! - tirade will make any difference in itself but maybe, just maybe, with time then things will start to improve. Vive la France!!!! Vive la révolution!!!!

Flaming June

2007-06-29T18:42:00.000+02:00

Going on for 19h00 and at last the sun is pushing its way through some fluffy white clouds and I could almost imagine that this is June and not early November. Mustn't complain? Why not? Yes, I agree that compared with parts of the UK we have escaped lightly and that we should be grateful for little mercies et tout ça BUT it really isn't how it should be - is it?

Tomorrow and indeed for the next 10 days the forecast is set for at least showers and at worst deluges of rain.

Accentuating the positive, my first successful attempt at sweet peas is looking like a success with an abundance of buds about to burst forth the next time something like summery weather calls by. Next to the pond the unidentified but enormous plant continues to burgeon - I wonder if whatever it is will be edible?

Having continuing problems with French workmen and the admnistrative bureaucracy. A pleasant enough fellow came round three weeks ago to give our kitchen (extension) roof the once over and we have been awaiting his estimate ever since though even three weeks ago the first possible date he would have been able to do the job - before we were anywhere near knowing the price - would have been early October. No wonder they are so lax with their paperwork. We are also expecting a grant from the region and three months of waiting have elapsed and as we are now on the threshold of the great summer shutdown it seems unlikely that anything will happen before at least la rentrée. Given that we shall need the money for the roof perhaps I shouldn't be too bothered about the delay?

Let's get positive again! The sales started this week and it looks as if some bargains are up for grabs. An article in the paper suggested that the discounts may reach 90% this season. Perhaps Max and I will be able to treat ourselves to something for our holiday in September when it simply must must must be sunny and warm for the majority of our break in Majorca. I prefer to spell it Mallorca - a remnant of my Spanish O Level I guess - but was going for the alliteration.

Will soon be back in London for 9 days to help a friend with a business start-up. Given my singular inability to find any enthusiasm nor motivation for my own it seems like a good idea. Not sure we have ever been apart for quite so long. Thankfully Angela has free calls to Europe!

Almost blue

2007-06-18T10:50:00.000+02:00

A wave of rationality and proportion swept over France yesterday when the blue tsunami failed to materialise and hence the massive majority expected for Sarkozy's UMP is not to be. Indeed the UMP lost seats overall and their majority will be less than in the outgoing parliament. Their highest profile candidate, Alain Juppé failed to secure a seat and thus has been forced to resign from Prime Minister Fillon's government.

For the PS this is almost a win and they can, with some legitimacy claim that the French people have voted for them to provide the checks and balances required in a functioning democracy. Given that 40% of those registered decided not to vote it means that something less than 30% of the French have actively supported UMP candidates. We now have a government with a good majority but not one which will allow them to ride rough-shod over the wishes of the nation.

Some asides. The FN again failed to secure a single seat in parliament. Their only candidate in the second round was the recently made-over Marine Le Pen, daughter of the irrascible Jean-Marie who declares his intention to carry on despite his party's abject failure.

Another snippet concerns Ségolène Royal, the PS candidate for the presidency. She was forced into announcing that she and her partner of 29 years, the lumpish and charisma-bypassed party leader, François Hollande, have gone their separate ways. This was an open secret throughout at least the latter days of the presidential campaign. Now the churlish and supposedly correct anti-Royal brigade are making subjective remarks about how she "lied" during the campaign by not revealing this sooner.

I am beginning to regret taking out a cheap subscription to "Paris Match" as it has turned into the official Sarkozy fanzine. Endless spreads of the French first family at different functions and oleaginous copy. I hope their circulation falls.

Cherry envy

2007-06-16T17:37:00.000+02:00

When will the grey skies clear and allow summer to start in earnest? Yes we have certainly paid for April ie ever since! And why do I have this interest in the sun? Apart from the "free" hot water we obtain when the day is bright, this year we have attempted to make more of the garden and it appears to be stuck ie everything is there and making attempts to burst forth but growth is stunted and unimpressive. One of the courgette plants has disappeared either because it rotted in the damp/wet soil or because - more likely - the slugs found a way over the blue pellets I had thoughtfully provided for their delectation. I have a mental image of a kamikaze gastropod dragging itself across the "mined" soil determined to sacrifice all. Anyway everything else though living is only growing timidly and the fuchsias look more end of September than mid June.

The cherry tree is having a year off. At least it has gone part-time and there are hardly any cherries worth harvesting. As I gaze across the neighbours' gardens from the upper floors of the house I note with some envy that next door but one has a tree that is veritably dripping with plump red fruit jewels. Can this be fair? There is no way they are going to be able to harvest them all so I guess many of the top ones will simply go to supplement the local wildlife diet. Too bad that slugs don't do trees, eh?

Not all is lost however as this weekend we are in deepest darkest France, or as deep as it gets in Nord-Pas-de-Calais - and that is surprisingly deep and dark with the far right's candidate coming second and thus in the second round of the general election tomorrow just down the road - visiting the Bopes. They have two cherry trees in their immense garden, one of which is equally heavily ladened. I did some extensive sampling this afternoon along with the raspberries which are also plentiful. I feel sure that we will be taking some home tomorrow in our 20 year old Corsa. Belated Joyeux Fêtes to the old lady who celebrated this milestone on 3 June in a garage near to where I am writing this. She is now fully fit and raring to go. We won't even touch on the bill but to say it was large yet generously discounted.

Something of the night

2007-05-08T14:22:00.000+02:00

The election is over and the recriminations begin. Sarko sunning himself off Malta on a friend's yacht is criticized both for this unapologetic display of luxury and also for choosing a top notch restaurant to celebrate his victory on Sunday evening before appearing on stage at the Place de la Concorde for a concert of celebration attended by many showbiz friends, and even - perhaps more surprisingly - by is wife.

Ségo was knifed in the back within moments of the result being officially confirmed by one of her reluctant lieutenants - the ceaselessly ambitious Dominique Strauss-Khan, who had at first put himself forward as the PS candidate, then declared himself available to be prime minister in a Royal administration and now - having rubbished the campaign he was supposed to be an integral part of - declares himself willing to become the new leader of the socialist party. Methinks he does self-sacrifice too much.

Somehow the question most needing an answer is left hanging in the air losing neither its freshness nor its pertinence. How has Sarko managed to convince a majority of the French electorate that he is now suddenly a more effective Sarko than the man who over the last five years has held considerable power in government? Plus ça change?

He is a good speaker - better than Royal though she was improving from her rather wooden beginnings - and a bit of a charmer. He exudes power and competence and has answers and solutions to everything that is thrown at him albeit in a rather pat fashion. He has more than enough confidence - that has never been in doubt- but as Ann Widdicombe famously commented about the equally suave Michael Howard, there is something of the night about Sarko.

To listen to the commentators and to the supporters of this president elect the mere fact of his election has somehow transformed the fortunes of the land. One thing is certain and that is the fortunes of the rich will be multiplied - not a bad thing as wealth creates jobs creates spending power etc etc - and yet his promise to be the president of the whole of France is just words. It will only be once actions have been taken and the nation has proof of his intentions that we will see who exactly is part of Sarkozy's France.

Royal warned that there might be protests should Sarkozy be elected and she was proven right. Of course those who should know better interpreted her words as a call to revolution and yet anyone who had bothered to visit the poor districts of Paris or any large town in France would know that the protests were either born of desperation that the man who epitomises in their eyes a France whose doors are firmly shut to them, or they were extremist anarchists who riot given any small reason.

We breath a collective sigh of relief with the news that that Petit Nicolas's election has persuaded the godfather of French pop/rock, Johnny Hallyday, to return from his self-imposed tax exile in Switzerland. The latter land being the alternative to the preferred Belgium where Johnny declares his heart to reside. Johnny's fragrant fourth wife Laeticia was the bringer of these glad tidings.

This is democracy and the right wing have secured another period of officer for their general. Time will tell whether parliament will be more balanced and will be able to provide more of a check to the president's ideas. Rarely in recent history has the reality of capitalism been quite so laid bare. President Sarkozy has promised a land where all have opportunities, all have rights and alongside those rights, obligations (so often ignored by the often least articulate who maintain their rights most vociferously ). Bravo monsieur le président. The right and opportunity of the workers will be to work more and earn more. The right of the elite and of business will be to keep more of what they already make in profit and in investment. That is not his fault but maybe it is the challenge of a fair and just presidency ie to give those who have least the most opportunities accepting that those with more can probably manage alone or certainly with less help. Being seen to be the champion of the more needy than the friend of the greedy could be the proof that France really needs.

Heat dust and lycra

2007-04-16T16:31:00.000+02:00

We have just waved goodbye to our frends Stu and Tiff - their second visit - after a 12 day stretch of visitors and now have 1o days "off" before our next invités arrive. The weekend was a success not in small part to the enthusiasm they both have and especially yesterday when we ventured into the unknown and went to see the Paris-Roubaix cycle race.
This gruelling challenge in its 105th year is also known as the "hell of the north" as it includes over 50km of cobbled roads, many of which are in the middle of the countryside and are not in the best state of repair.
We worked out that we were only about a 20 minute drive from the Carrefour de L'Arbre a notorious spot of pavé road and so set off with hats and umbrellas to shield against the August temperatures. We couldn't get too close as the roads were already closed off in readiness but the 4 km or so we had to walk to be in the midst of the cobbles was a pleasant Sunday stroll. Another person's enthusiasm indeed passion, can be infectious and we were strangely enjoying being in the middle of the countryside under the blazing sun with the dust rising around us. We found a likely spot in that seemed to be the Belgian supporters' area and took advantage of the reasonably priced beer available from an almost cartoon-like vendor whose Jack Russell entertained us as we awaited the first bikes.
Suddenly they arrived as if from nowhere and swished - or rather rattled - past us looking impressively fresh given they had already traversed some 240km from the starting point in Compiègne and virtually all of the pavés. Everyone was applauded. It was almost as if the arrival of the cyclists was almost incidental to the overall feeling of being there and enjoying the expectation and the camaraderie.
Back at home we discovered that if we played the recording back in slow motion we could catch ourselves on the television and we had confirmation that the pictured Stuart O'Hagan had taken the prize and we had participated or at least assisted in one of France's favourite sports.

About time

2007-03-29T13:35:00.000+02:00

The clocks went forward (spring forward, fall back) last weekend and I fondly imagined that for one hour France and the UK would share a common time. But no! This is not the case as the UK time officially changes at 1am whilst French time advances at 2am in their respective time zones. Funny old thing time. For instance instead of thinking "oh, I may have something vaguely interesting to blog" whenever that might occur, I though "it's about time I blogged again" since over a month as passed since last I added words to this site. I realise that I have just intimated that perhaps this may not be interesting. Whatever.

Almost an entire year has passed since we signed the papers and Chateau Newman-Legros became ours, a fact evinced by the annual main blossoming of the magnolia tree. It is a sign, a punctuation in a series of events, some recurring, and a sign that can make us look back or forward and to review what has or has not happened in the intervening period.

Ever guilt stricken at not having done something or at least not enough of something I feel slightly comforted that I have started to prepare the sitting room - enfin - for decoration. Yes stripping wallpaper is strangely therapeutic in an "off with old" "start from scratch" way. The need for relining is not.

The website software is on its way too, therewith to develop Newman-Legros Coaching. Rather later than imagined. I cannot say it was ever properly planned.

Our unofficial lodger was dislodged yesterday. A friend in need etc but not for too long and 2 months seemed rather longer than that. Then there was the car situation... He went of his own accord and will be back for at least a fortnight during May when, despite having an HGV licence he needs to undertake a course and acquire a qualification to drive a van. Where does French officialdom get off?

And next week a VIP arrives for their first visit. Yesm, finally, my maman is here for a week! Indeed April is abuzz with visitors and in May we have 10 days in the UK.

Oh, and the picture? the view from our apartment in Port Soller next September, our first holiday in over 2 years.

About time.

Collateral Damage

2007-02-26T09:20:00.000+01:00

Having initially fallen in love with the garden here at chateau Newman-Legros we soon came to realise that the shady arbour we fell for was the result of an overabundance of trees which had been left to grow overly and possibly illegally tall. Not only did we court danger with seemingly more frequent high winds but also the ground beneath saw scant light and was not other plant friendly. Of course there are also all those fallen leaves...
So, having considered getting someone in but done nothing about it - mostly because of the expense - we took up our 75 year old neighbour, François's offer of help and the loan of most of the equipment including a fearsome looking tronçonneuse- chainsaw to us. We had three targets which, at first I thought of merely trimming but then realised needed taking out completely: a tatty and ragged birch tree which was neither use not ornament being hidden behind three others its purpose expired some time ago; an unattractive conifer which did indeed serve as one half of Max's hammock support but little else, and what we think is a kind of maple. The latter was due only a slight reduction, the formers complete annihilation!
Of course we were more than glad for the help and presence of both our voisin and our semi-official lodger to up the macho load. That said it amazed me that both were so focused on their objectives that they seemed blind to anything and everything else. Theirs appeared to be a scorched earth policy ie if it is in the way ignore it for any and all examples of life be they nascent or more substantial suffered as collateral damage beneath their feet or at their hands. Despite my repeated - though not nagging mehopes - requests for care to be taken of, amongst others, my lavender and thyme, we will not see the irises in bloom this year. Tant pis! We have saved ourselves a pretty centime I suppose though I must source replacement chains for the chainsaw as a gesture of thanks to François.

About a mile away as we chopped Mr Le Pen was making his policies for his umpteenth bid for the presidency. Reading this morning on the internet I see his party would stop all benefit payments to the non-French and close the borders. Oh dear! Somehow I wonder if it isn't about time the French far right did a little clearing of their own garden as they are stuck firmly in the undergrowth with little chance of seeing the light nor of the reality in 2007.

I'm in love wiz zer veecar of deeblay

2007-02-17T18:48:00.000+01:00

Perhaps I shouldn't admit to this but it is true! And I know that anytime very soon now my heart will be broken when the series is no more. Now let me explain. French television is, to be kind, rubbish. Yes yes there are occasional masterpieces of the televisual art to be devoured greedily like the tiny and rare truffles that they are but grosso modo there is little in the way of original programming and a typical evening will centre on either a light entertainment show when the same troupe of artistes appear to flog their latest product, or a light-hearted discussion show in which the audience sits around the celebrities (often artistes there to shamelessly flog their latest product) who are "in the round" and encouraged to give their thoughts and opinions which are eagerly lapped up by the adoring publique. This is the kind of show I have taken to referring to as the "let's all sit round and clap" approach to cheaply produced TV. Did I mention that invariably these shows are as close to interminable as can be? Actually they do run for anything up to 4 hours. Yes every soirée is a telethon in France.

So, thank goodness for Dibley, a little piece of English heaven served in appropriately sized portions and guaranteed to entertain. It is not nostalgia or even nostalgia by proxy. I have no wish to live in a small, incestuous village in middle England, but it has a gentle humour and is lightly played by a cast who rub along very nicely thankyou very much.

Of course it runs on a channel we have to pay for and is not dubbed but subtitled in French. It is almost impossible to ignore the text and we find ourselves both listening and reading, checking the translation.

Update: The radiators have arrived!!!! We are expecting them to be fitted on Monday followed by the solar panel. The suspense is almost unbearable. Meanwhile back at the window company the irritating person who manages the branch continues to take us for fools and lies to us as much as he tells the truth. Apparently the replacement windows(for the ones that were lost - though of course their (window) pain was equal to ours and it was as much as we could do not to rush over to Boulevard du President Hoover and console the delicate cherubs) have been available for days but he somehow only managed to get round to informing us today as he was awaiting a cheque from us for 4000€. Perhaps he had chosen to ignore Max who had told him in no uncertain terms that they would not get another centime from us till the windows were in and we were satisfied. I feel a strong letter to their parent company coming on.....

Stumbling home

2007-02-04T18:35:00.000+01:00

Since my last foray into the blogging world I have been to London, and Colchester the oldest town in England or something rather like that. Now I am back. Thank you Eurostar for cancelling my return train and rescheduling me just one hour later as it has entitled me to a half price return. I adore it when that happens.

London was the kind of fun that is almost impossible to experience when you live there and have to work to pay for the privilege. Meeting up with friends, admiring the sights, taking the transport without being in a constant hurry etc. Most of the niggling things that bug me in France exist in the UK and I was reminded of them. I was equally reminded of the extortionate cost of getting anything done to your home and how unreliable such persons so employed can be. Something of a relief then as I was starting to wonder if we had been specially selected to have the merde chucked at us sans cesse.

Good news for those who might be following the progress at chateau Newman-Legros; the rest of the rads are due to be installed week commencing 12 February together with the solar panel AND the sitting room windows are apparently going to be installed on 19th. I wonder if they will be changing the glass in the future bathroom and fitting the lockable handle to the garden doors at the same time.

Lille is a little sad having waved adieu to Lille 3000 till 2009 and to the elephants which played sentry along the Rue Faidherbe. So it is with a slightly self-assured pride that our maire, Martine Aubry, announced that she had negociated the retention of four of the pachyderms. Almost a herd rather than a pride. They were supposed to be making the trek back to India where they were to take part in film projects etc. So now we have big hefalumps and littlelumps and we will be asked where they should be displayed.

The presidential campaign heats up and Sarkozy is starting to look the moer serious candidate though Ségo has yet to reveal any real policies. My guess is that this will make or break her and she may find hersefl struggling to beat off the challenge of the "third man"who, surprise surprise, may not be Le Pen but a certain François Bayrou. Still plenty of race left but Sarkozy is looking like a winner with Bayrou maybe the kingmaker.

I used to be indecisive...

2007-01-15T13:25:00.000+01:00

..now I am not so sure.

With the annointment yesterday of Nicolas Sarkozy - or Nicolas Paul Stéphane Sarközy de Nagy-Bocsa to give him his full name - as the candidate for the major centre-right political party for the presidency the battle lines seem set for a confrontation between Sarko and Ségo, the socialist party nominee. The nearest challenger appears to be Jean-Marie Le Pen of the Front National yet he has still to garner enough backers in order to be able to run in the first round in April. To all intents and purposes, unless all those who are still undecided swing behind Le Pen, it will be Ségo and Sarko in the second round.

Unless of course the current incumbent, Jacques Chirac, decides to try for an independent third go. His wife, french first lady Bernadette, seemingly supports this possibility and yet how seriously are we to take the challenge of someone whose presidency has been marked not by its successes but by its singular lack of progress nor change. There are whispers that Chirac detests the idea of a President Sarkozy so much he would prefer to split the rightwing vote and let Ségo become the first woman president. There are others who believe that his effect on the vote would be less of a problem for Sarkozy who would still go through to the second round against Ségo. Would Chirac risk this kind of humiliation?

From my vantage point with the benefit of notional neutrality ie I cannot vote for anyone in the presidential election, I find myself recently reconsidering the way in which I would vote were I to be enfranchised. An early supporter of Ségolene Royal I am now beginning to question whether her, and her party's apparent unconditional support for the workers could ever make the changes necessary to drag France out of the doldrums. The latest suggestion from her partner and leader of the Part Socialiste (PS), François Hollande, is that people who earn more than 4000€ a month net (ie after social security contributions but before tax) should expect to pay more tax. He was rapidly slapped down by his "wife". It would be interesting to know just how well that was received by the man who might otherwise have been their presidential hopeful.

Having done a rough calculation I believe the equivalent salary in the UK is something like £38K before tax. Yes, higher than average but hardly enormous.

As someone who is about to launch himself onto the self-employed system in France selfishly, though I don't believe for a microsecond I would be subject any time soon to a "higher earners'" tax, I do believe in enterprise and in encouraging the creation of wealth in balance with the establishment and maintenance of the rights of both the employed and those who attempt to make a living themselves.

I am increasingly unsure that the PS have the ability to make any real changes for the good of France although their overall stance is one that is attractive in the longer term in a country where the kind of rights they aim to support and even to extend were affordable.

The idea of a woman president appeals. The need for change appeals more. Who is in a better position to make those changes and to incur the wrath of the "workers". Maybe it is time for the man who they are calling the French Thatcher. I cringe to think of it but wonder if there is indeed any other way.

With three months still to go it will be interesting to see if the electorate move away from their almost equal support for the two main candidates. One thing is certain and that is the voters see the contest as being Sarko/Ségo and it would be a challenge for any of the others to change that. Will they start to move in greater numbers towards one rather than the other. Watch this space...

Something about the number 7

2007-01-08T09:40:00.000+01:00

This is the first posting of 2007 and this blog has been hit over 700 times. Max and I celebrate 7 years together this year and the digits of the number of our house add up to, you guessed it, 7. OK all a bit tenous perhaps but then again believing in luck or, more precisely, good luck, is one way of being open to it and to enjoying it. Count your lucky stars they say. You might not even be aware of their existence nor what or who they represent if you did not...

Anyway, this post is a bit of a catch up and a little look forward too. I recently told a good friend that she should counter every negative thought with at least two positive ones: one to neutralise the negativity and one to move forward with. That is what I am going to try to do as well.

We have a tendency to see the negative first and are almost programmed to be negative, more especially when it comes to thinking about ourselves and our talents, abilities and potential. We are not this we are not that, we are so self limiting. We make endless, unrealistic and certainly unrepresentative comparisons.

So what were the highlights of 2007 in no particular order?

Moving into our new house and having various works done to it
Welcoming our friends and family to spend time with us there
The summer
Max getting a part-time job which then became full-time
Having a functioning shower-room on the 2nd floor
My niece being born and going to see her
Our long weekend in Paris
The kindness of our neighbours
Our French Christmas guest needing a training session in what to do with Christmas crackers!

There may be more and for most there is certainly a counterpoint or two (and when it comes to having works done, many many more!) that I have actively avoided! If I had to chose one as the most important or perhaps most satisfying it would probably be welcoming frends and family as one of the reasons for acquiring all this space was not to use it just for us but to throw it open to our extended family.

The new year has started well. Though Max might say it was pants (you had to be there). Our new windows are going in as I type and we will benefit from their insulation qualities both heat and noise though it is not really noisy here as our guests would confirm and I have become used to the sound of the street. On the garden side we are protected from most sounds by a natural barrier of gardens. The weirdly mild temperatures persist during the installation of the windows which, of course, is a huge relief for he who is at home and experiencing temporary lack of protection from the elements!

I shall be in London shortly in connection with some work - yes paid! - I will be carrying out throughout the rest of January and possibly into March. The only downside to that is we never can get to see everyone we would like to.

I am getting to grips with the complexities of being self-employed in France and am almost certain that - having thought the contrary - I am entitled to be taxed under the simplest micro-entreprise regime.

We already have one definite visitor arranged, others pencilled in and, we hope, both return visits and new visits throughout the year.

Oh! Almost forgot. Our television service provider has suddenly made TF1 available to us. Despite the overall quality or otherwise of French TV, not having TF1 has been a little like not having ITV! Perhaps that is not a bad thing but then again it is always nice to have the choice.

The end of the beginning and the beginning of une nouvelle année

2006-12-30T16:44:00.000+01:00

It has been a long year and a short one. Frustrating and rewarding. Fulfilling and disappointing. It has been our first full calendar year in France, 9 months of those with our own house and something like 7 months actually living in it.

I am not sure quite what I expected and so I do not know whether to feel pleased or disatisfied with our, and more specifically, my achievements over 2006. On balance I think I can forgive myself that I have as yet not developed nor earned anything from my own business. The kindness of friends and family has yet to meet bounds and it seems the getting used to being transplanted is quite enough for the moment. I won't, however, be allowed that luxury in another 12 month's time. If resolutions were the thing then earning some money would have to sit atop my list. Now all I have to do is to string together the moments of enthusiasm and positivity, the flashes of inspiration, to form a continuous garland of possibility and to create something both meaningful and real. No problem!?

Almost 700 people have visited these pages since I managed to install a counter. Some of those regulars, some purely by accident and some looking for I know not what. I hope they found something of value, just as I wish love and light to all who read these words.

Bonne année à tous!

A quote for Christmas.

2006-12-08T16:50:00.000+01:00

A post was overdue but I couldn't let this quote go without sharing it here on my blog. Good for all year round, it seemed quite poignant at a time of the year when we attempt to be more sharing and the spirit of the season evokes a greater degree of goodwill to all (men).

"Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could only do a little."

Attributed to Edmund Burke (1729-1797) English Parliamentarian.

Paris follows...

Magnificent in grey and orange.

2006-12-05T17:44:00.000+01:00

Our resources did not allow us the luxury of a summer holiday this year indeed our last time away was some 18 months ago when we had a great week in Marrakech. So our soujourn in the French capital was much looked forward to, and needed.

The lovely people at the SNCF shared their 25th anniversary celebrations (justifiably, as the investment made a quarter of a century ago in the highspeed rail infrastructure would be unthinkable today) by selling tickets at 5€ each and our fortune in obtaining them owed more to my inquisitiveness then anything else as they were being sold on the linked UK internet site when in France their site crashed, the phone lines melted and would-be cut-price travellers queued endlessly at railway stations around the country.

Checked the view from Tatieflat on arrival: yes the Eiffel Tower was still there and twinkling away on the hour (some Parisiens think it vulgar but they are probably the same old vampires who objected to the Tour in the first place). A sigh of contentment and the holiday was underway.

We rarely do a great deal in Paris: just being there feels such a huge treat. I adore the grandeur of the place, the chic greyness of the buildings, the ceramic frames around the advertising posters on the Métro, the feeling of being on a film set with a photographic opportunity around every corner.

This time though I was determined that we would do more with our time. So, after the obligatory shopping trip to Carrefour Auteuil to stock up the fridge, we headed towards the centre to see the Christmas lights at the Grands Magasins. I was immediately struck by how much orange there was everywhere, seemingly très tendance this year and the main colour of the better lights at Printemps. Somehow the French can get away with colours and colour combinations that would look at best naff and at worst tacky were they to be displayed in the UK. We took in the Fragonard perfume museum - worth a visit and free.

Friday evening we went to see "Une Vie en Rose et Noir" at the Théâtre Dejazet, near to La Place de la République. Essentially the life story of Edith Piaf, this sensational piece of theatre enthralled us. It could so easily have been a "Stars in Their Eyes" imitation but no, Nathalie Lhermitte remained blonde and tall for the majority of the piece. The fifty or so in the audience somehow managed to give an impression however, that of a hugely appreciative full house.

Sunday was the first of the month and so many of the museums and monuments throw open their doors for free. A slight exaggeration as most now have scanning devices and security checks but you get the idea. So on Sunday we were enthusiastic tourists. First stop La Sainte-Chapelle, built almost 800 years ago for Louis IX, a place of royal worship surrounded by intri cate stained-glass windows.

Then on to La Conciergerie where many of those, including Marie-Antoinette, were sent to await their fate at the guillotine. Then a half hour in the rain huddled together under an umbrella that threatened to escape, to climb the vertiginous stairs up the towers of Notre Dame cathedral. Even the announcement that the very top was closed owing to the blustery winds did not bother us and we had an excellent view of both gargoyles and the wider expanses of Paris though the Eiffel Tower was hidden in the clouds and mist.

After a quick late lunch at BHV we took a chance on the Louvre. I am almost ashamed to say I have never really been. I have been to the booking hall before it achieved its full magnificence beneath the pyramid but no further. The weather had broken and the late sunshine cast a fabulous light on the stonework of the building. The pyramid, perhaps Mitterand's best legacy, juxtaposed against the palace works superbly. I marvel each time I see it. Of course we often forget that in fact, in terms of architecture, it is the palace which is the more modern.

We "jumped the queue" or rather we chose not to join the 200 odd standing like sheep at the main entrance but found instead a group entrance through which we passed in something under 2 minutes or whatever it took to be scanned. There wasn't time to do much so we felt we had to go and see the obvious ie the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo. No need to describe either but what really impressed me was the building itself. It is astonishing! One gallery is almost half a kilometre long!

Later we emerged via the pyramid to see the moon through the glass before strolling via the Tuileries gardens towards the Champs Elysee where we took the Métro home. A wan looking little boy of maybe 2 or 3 carrying his precious cuddly rat arrived in the carriage in a pushchair. Max wanted to steal the rat. I saw myself many years ago a serious slightly sickly child. I experienced the hurt of another papa pang, but that is for another time.

On Monday following lunch in the 15th with Max's (ex)-Uncle (can you divorce your uncle?) - an entertaining raconteur with tales of the occupation and general condemnation of political figures and politics today, we walked back to Printemps to take photos of the lights and to admire the window displays.

We sadly failed to achieve our main mission whilst à Paris, which was to find somewhere that stocks the exceedingly delicious Poulain chocolate spread. Once tasted you realise that Nutella really is for kids.

Paname! On y va!

2006-11-28T18:02:00.000+01:00

Let the drizzle drizz. Let the wind blow. Let the temperatures tumble. For this week we are headed for Paris.

Without being disrespectful to the splendours on a smaller scale that make up the fine flemish city of Lille, I have to eulogize a little about a city with which I have been smitten since first I visited it almost 30 years ago.

There is something about that city that immediately evokes an array of different images all of them lending themselves to be photographed, painted or captured in some way. I was surprised to put it mildy to discover that the reconstruction of the French capital was in part influenced by Napoleon the Third's exile in London during the 1840s and his goal to modernize and improve sanitation as much as it was deter revolution via the barricaded medieval streets. Haussman's work is still very much in evidence and gives a grandeur, a magnificence which makes Paris, for me at least, a majestic and impressive city in a way that London is not. There is a congruence about Paris which by its very lack makes London equally fabulous albeit differently.

So, back to the long weekend. Not having had a break since a week away in June last year when we went to Marrakesh, this is a long-awaited trip. Long planned too as I successfully acquired TGV celebratory tickets back in September and so the travel is cheap as is, as ever, the accommodation generously offered by Max's aunt and godmother. The sight of the Eiffel Tower from the flat always always moves me for some inexplicable reason. To think the Parisiens, or parigots, of the time detested the iron structure and looked forward to its early demolition.

Our time coincides nicely with the first Sunday of the month when many of the museum's and galleries are free. I have to confess that I have never really visited the Louvre apart from a 5 minute foray into the foyer once. It always seems so busy and I cannot bear crowded museums. Probably not much hope then this time as tout le monde et son chien will be trying to get in.

I have booked a show though. It is a bit of a surprise for Max. Inexpensive at only 14€ a ticket , and very much off whatever the parisian equivalent of Broadway is, the piece is entitled "Piaf, une vie en rose et noir" and is described as a play with music. A trifle obvious perhaps but whose voice captured the essence of Paris more than Edith?

Internecine Strife

2006-11-21T09:03:00.001+01:00

Only last week the Parti Socialiste (PS)voted for Ségolène Royal as their official candidate for the presidency in the elections which take place in April 2007. This put an end to months of speculation and brought the French presidency within the grasp of a woman for the first time.

Despite her convincing win with over 60% of the votes cast in a 80% poll and the margin between her and the other two candidates being some 40 points, there will, it seems, be a period of manoeuvering whilst the big names of the Parti Socialiste attempt to put themselves behind their candidate whilst also establishing some clear blue water between themselves and Madame Royal's iconoclastic approach to politics. They simply cannot understand why and how this political "lightweight" has swept all before her.

There are three battles going on in this presidential campagne. That between the two main candidates Ségo and, although yet to be annointed, Sarko and then the internal struggles in both the PS and the UMP of which Sarkozy is president.

Neither party can believe that the are have arrived at a position where the preferred candidate is one whose main attraction is the ability to bring in the popular vote without slave like adherence to the party doctrine. It is almost as if everything that has been agreed between the great and the good of each party has been sidelined. There is fury that Sarko is being seen as a shoo in and rather unsubtle reminders are appearing that the Union pour un Mouvement Populaire (UMP) is more than just Petit Nicolas as the diminutive Interior Minister is, not necessarily kindly, dubbed.

In a land where people actually appear to think for themselves and philosophising is still a popular past-time indeed a way of life the fact that none of the other potential candidates (including the current president) would appear to have an ice-cube's chance in hell of even getting into the second round of the election doesn't seem to have fazed the furious elite of the main right wing party. Would they put up a spoiling candidate and, inevitably, lose the presidency to Ségo rather than see Sarko victorious. Nothing would surprise me.

Perhaps in the past the oligarchy that runs France could have relied on votes because of their status but now things appear to be changing: the call for change is growing and there is an expectation that the new president will make a real difference and reverse the gloom the French are feeling.

It amuses me to see that the greatest dinosaur of them all, Jean-Marie Le Pen, leader of the National Front far right party, or maybe he IS the party as they too appear to be suffering from internal struggles, has convinced himself that his time could be coming and that he will be in the second round of the election. He appeared on television the evening of the PS candidate election and I have only one word of advice for him: don't. He appeared old, old-fashioned, bumbling, disagreeable. Politics have moved on and the past is not on the agenda. He might well bring change but not the change that the vast majority of the French want.

The mere fact of being a woman seems to represent change in itself and for that reason many are considering their vote. Perhaps reflecting what happened in the UK in 1979 although then the Labour government had seen its popularity all but disappear in the wake of union strife and the winter of discontent.

Pleased not to Pineapple Punch

2006-11-20T16:29:00.000+01:00

November is birthday month for us. Both Max's parents, my mother, his aunt/godmother, my young aunt, his grandfather's widow, my oldest nephew, my brother-in-law and assorted friends ALL celebrate their anniversaire in the month of November.

Being in Rumaucourt this weekend reminded me of the "treat" we are missing out on now that we have moved to Lille. Jean-Michel, Max's papa, owns and runs the village shop in Oisy-le-Verger, a few kilometers, wisely, from where they live. This Thursday evening once the shop closes at 19.00, he and maman will repair to the stockroom where , with all those associated with the business (helping, cleaning etc) they will gather around a trestle table on an assortment of chairs.

Then begins the imbibing of the Pineapple Punch. Martine brings this, her speciality, in a big saucepan, the kind with two side handles.

Now said cocktail could have the potential to be extremely quoffable, indeed fun. A drop of rum perhaps. Let me assure you that it is not. The recipe is very short and to the point: take a bottle of inexpensive sparkling white wine, add the contents of one tin of pineapple chunks. Done.

Somewhere along the line some ingredients have surely been forgotten, removed on purpose for whatever reason. The resulting concoction is as drinkable as it sounds. All sit around in happy mode - this is a birthday celebration after all - and accept a glass of Pineapple Punch, even daring to request not too much fruit. Can anything with such obvious "lumps" in ever be good?

Ladle into glasses and "enjoy".

How much a vote?

2006-11-13T12:21:00.000+01:00

Being a Brit abroad in the EU I have the right to vote in local and EU elections here in la belle France. I don't, however, have the right to vote in the general nor presidential elections. Rightly so as I am not a French citizen. So that leaves me the option of registering to vote in UK general elections as a non-UK resident Brit.

Not a problem. Except in order to register there is a form to complete, a form which has to be witnessed and signed by another British passport holding non-UK resident.

Right. I don't know any such person in Lille indeed I don't personally know any other British passport holding non-UK residents in France. I know some French people but that is it.

Possible solution, or so I though, would be to contact the British Consulate in Lille and ask if it would be possible for them to help ie to do the deed for me. A speedy response to my email of enquiry came winging back with their response.

They are able to help but for the statutory fee of 30€. Hang on a mo'. That doesn't sound right. So, I have to pay for a British official to sign my application to be registered as an overseas voter? Isn't that so close to a Poll Tax as to be, a... Poll Tax? Since when have we had to pay for the vote? Since being a rich person somehow qualified you to make national decisions perhaps?

I gave it a little thought - not much you understand - and made a decision. Based on the probability of there not being a general election any time before 2009 why should I rush into registering? The likelihood of finding another willing Brit abroad is good.

I subscribe to an internet site for expats (grimace), called Total France . It is excellent for requesting information and advice about living in France as a Brit and I posed the question of whether paying for this Consular service was appropriate. The responses were few in number and mostly offers to sign for less €€€. The question was raised whether having left the UK one should have or indeed be interested in having the vote still. Since I am not thus enfranchised in France then I think the answer should still be oui, or, more appropriately yes. Were I to be offered the opportunity of voting in (probably) Ségo or Sarko then I might well be tempted to relinquish the right.

On se tutoie?

2006-11-08T13:18:00.000+01:00

It's Wednesday and day three of our shower room installation. All is looking well though the room itself will require decorating and flooring indeed the ceiling is rather temporary too! Having plumbers in the house has been a bit of a challenge. How does one behave with total strangers having the run of one's home? Huddled up against the cold (the heating has not yet hove onto the horizon I sit with my computer in the kitchen on constant alert that they may at any moment ask me a question or need something from me. Indeed this has happened already on a number of occasions so I am less concerned about it now though I still have one concern. Vous or tu? Using vous is not unfriendly, merely respectful. Then again tu seems better with the younger one who must still be in his teens and wouldn't expect formality from someone very much his senior. Luckily I have not had to tempt a tu with the older one - though probably not more than late 20s - as it is the lad who does all the running around and otherwise they are together and I can vouvoyer with no risk at all.

Monsieur Le Chauffagiste was supposed to meet us on Monday evening to bring us up to date with progress and to give us a tentative start date for the installation of our gas central heating. He didn't show and since then has not replied to our calls and voicemail messages. What to think? Probably not a lot though it seems increasingly unlikely that he is going to turn up any time soon. Brrrrrrr.

One result to report which sadly does not bode well for the heating. We arranged a service call for our water softener after months of moaning to anyone who would listen that the blimmin' thing doesn't seem to have made any perceptible difference. Anyway Monsieur L'Adoucisseur determined that the evacuation pipe was too small and that the thing has regenerated but once since it was installed back in June. It should have happened on average once a week. So the upshot is that we have been enjoying water as hard as before. No wonder I couldn't get much foam out of my shampoo. All fixed now and working with noticeable results. Downside is that the person who fitted the device originally is also the person who is supposed to be fitting our central heating...

PS Saturday morning. The shower leaks

Pulling yourself together

2006-10-26T16:03:00.000+02:00

It has been a while since my last pseudo philosophical musing and so I am going to allow myself some further pondering in this post.

Have you ever noticed how attached we become to everyday things and everyday actions? We tend always to do certain things in the same way and not because that is the best way but because that is the way we have done it for a long time. I guess that is what we call habit. Well I fell into a habit recently and only when I started to question it did I realise that therein was a worthwhile lesson for me to have and to share.

It concerns the curtains in the main bedroom. There are two large window separated by perhaps a metre of wall, and the curtains are in pairs in other words a pair for each window. Inconsequently they are in a sort of swirly endpaper patterned material bought years and years ago in Alders in Croydon.

I digress. The curtains are hung on rails and have a pulley type open/close system via a loop of string. Both strings happen to hand down in the centre between the windows. For weeks I would attempt to choose the right strings to open the curtains in the morning so that with a simultaneous pull of both the curtains would swish open. I also, somehow, managed to persuade myself that if I succeeded in doing this then it would be a good day. In other words what I was doing was setting myself up to fail albeit on a very minor and insignificant task. If one set opened and the other did not then the day would be OK. If both remained stubbornly closed then, well, let's just say it was unlikely to be a red letter day.

One day last week, as usual I had made the bed and went to open the curtains , the very minor revelation occurred to me that in fact I should be looking at this in a much more positive way. If neither curtain opened then I had the opportunity to try again and the likelihood was quite high that I would succeed before very long, if one set opened then I had at least half succeeded and only had half the task to complete, and if both sets slid open then let there be light!

The point of this little fable is that we very often focus almost exclusively on our failures, on the things that didn't turn out quite right or were for some reason a disappointment. Far better to look for and to enjoy the successes in our lives that are there simply waiting to be noticed.

Did you hear the joke about the man who went to the doctor saying he felt like a pair of curtains..... Of course you did.

Bureaucracy is a French word

2006-10-25T15:21:00.000+02:00

Is it really over 2 weeks since I last put fingertip to keyboard and punched out a few words for this blog? Apparently so. Since then autumn has really set in though kindly and gently and the maple tree in the garden is now totally red, yellow and gold. With a puff of wind the leaves tumble and I try and scoop them out of the pond at least once a day before they sink to the bottom and turn into something rather less attractive. In the interval my translation work rather dried up, probably because my supplier got cold feet when she discovered I was not registered for TVA and so she couldn't recover 19,6% of my fees. Had I been charging VAT of course my charge per word would have been the bargain of the century but then again -given the excellence of my work (cough) - it already is! I have had one more document this week extolling the various wonders of Dunkirk a little too lyrically methinks to bear much relation to the truth, but then again the French language is somewhat more flowery than modern day English and part of the job of the translator is to work out what the hell they really mean. Also our friends Nick and Hamid (our second set of Civil Partners) were with us till this afternoon. We must be doing something right as everyone so far has professed to enjoying our home, our company and indeed Lille. They had a day in Paris - or at least a few hours given the drive there and back - and checked out the wonderful Swimming Pool Museum (thanks Alan H). So what about bureaucracy? We received another of those dreaded recorded post letters from the town hall in Lille yesterday. Monsieur L'Architecte de la Mairie doesn't like our new windows and wants us to change our project (not realising that our windows are made and ready to be fitted). He wants us to reinstate the upper lights on the ground floor windows, hide the very small housing for the roller shutters and,this is the best bit, have the windows in an unspecified dark colour. The window company first said they would obtain any necessary permissions, then changed their minds to say that none were needed. We thought we had better do the right thing and the window company nevertheless went ahead and made the windows. We are at stalemate. We only wish the architect would come and see the street. It is a hotchpotch of styles and changes over the last 100 years, and yet the great and the good who make these decisions (based on the town architect's recommendations) must think it is a quasi conservation area full of quaint little workers' dwellings which should be preserved for our patrimoine. Our proposals are inoffensive, neutral and improve the aspect of the house and yet we are penalised for bothering to go by the book. Despite the fact that our new windows would look almost identical to those in the house opposite we have been given a very CDGaullian "Non". The window company have "never heard" of the regulations to be found in the Lille Urban Plan. Right. They want to go and argue the toss with M. L'Architecte. We want him to too! Watch this window...

Lille 3000

2006-10-19T17:53:00.000+02:00

Struggled not to attempt an excruciating pun for the title of this post and - you will be glad - gave it up as a bad thing. Last Saturday evening saw the inauguration of Lille 3ooo a three-month festival of all things Indian/Asian in the metropolis. I had questioned the reasoning behind the decision wondering what relevance it had but once I discovered that Lille 3000 is to be a biennial event with a different theme each time I was more than open to its possibilities.

Taking coals to Newcastle came to mind as friend Hamid was with us, a Bangladeshi for whom we had to promise heaven and earth in order that he would be granted a visa to visit us.

Throughout the festival there are elephants standing some 6 metres high (20ft if you must) along the Rue Faidherbe running from Gare Lille Flandres to the Place du Théâtre. They stand majestically, in pairs facing each other, a dozen of them forming proud "trumphal" (there got one in) arches. The station itself is illuminated like some brilliant temple, as is the La Voix du Nord building in the Grand' Place.

Admittedly we did have to wait well over an hour but when the parade arrived it was superb and more than made up for the wait. The air was autumnal but not cold and we could see fire and coloured smoke moving intriguingly towards us in the Rue Nationale. Then suddenly the incessant chatter was masked by the noise of the procession which swept passed,

litterally swept though with fire, falla giants, over 1000 dancers, musicians and singers. The air was filled with spice and incense and the night throbbed to a Bollywood beat.

We took our time to walk back up towards where the parade had started in order to see the elephants in all their nighttime glory, bedecked in glowing jewels.

Of course there were some negative feedback on the local paper's website opinion page on Monday, but we thought it a huge success and hope that the standard is now set for the rest of the season. More information can be found on the Lille 3000 dedicated website.

Final photo courtesy of La Voix Du Nord.