Feeding green caterpillars to the hens

We've had experience of hens before. When Max's parents lived in Rumaucourt they had a few in a  poulailler towards the rear of the garden during the more clement months and during the winter in a converted stall nearer the house. They were a scruffy looking lot though they did lay quite well much of the time.

A couple of months ago our new next door neighbours, Sylvain and Gaëlle, acquired two handsome looking feathered friends and installed them at the end of their capacious garden. Apparently they too are good layers with one or two every day albeit on the small side. However not since we've been feeding them during our neighbours' three week vacation somewhere in the deepest mid south of France. Nary un oeuf . We've been feeding them regularly with the mixed grain as requested plus

lettuce leaves and other quality kitchen detritus. I've even been picking the caterpillars off my sprouting broccoli and practically hand feeding the things to them: to no avail.

Max's mother is a bit of an expert and thinks that they are bored and so wont be big on the egg production front. Apparently it can be too hot for them too. And too cold. Perhaps the caterpillars are the wrong colour, size etc?

I suppose she could be right given that the two small daughters who regale in the space and wilderness that is next door's garden and play joyfully in it most days. The entertainment is rewarded by regular eggs. We are expecting the door bell to go any time now as the next people in this relay come for the keys. I cannot help but feel as if we have failed somehow. I bet they get an egg and it will be down to those tasty green caterpillars which I shall continue to poke through the fence.

21 August 10am
Nobody turned up so far to take the keys so once again I made my way with leaves, grain and broom to bat away the spider webs and...

Weekend audomarois

Three months have sped past without so much a thought of blogging let alone committing words to computer. So much time, so many events and so little summer; till recently.

We're not having a "main" holiday this year so we've been very hopeful of good times and good weather on the shorter breaks that we've enjoyed. They most recent being a weekend in the waterways and marshes of the Marais Audomarois based in Moulle in the Pas de Calais, sister to the Nord in the Nord Pas De Calais region. This was to be an extended version of the occasional get togethers we've taken part in with colleagues both present and past from Max's place of work, plus partners. Originally a "Come Dine With Me" event at someone's home and latterly at other events such as birthday parties (two sixtieths this year alone), it was at the first of these back in June that a plan was hatched to spend time away à huit. I was dubious to say the very least about spending time with people who, lets face it, spend most of their time gossiping about their work. Yawn. So it was, with some trepidation and the hope of lashings of rosé to dull the pain, that we set off that Saturday morning bound initially for La Cousinerie from where -thence sounds far too Swallows and Amazons - we were whisked to St Omer by one of the party and his wife.

Once arrived we waited in our "hosts'" ie the primary arrangers and local couple's, café bar for everyone to arrive, eased into the day by a "petite bière" for some but coffee for me. Early starts require copious amounts of caffeine to jump start the system. Already people were appreciating the ale and looking forward to sampling the local produce mostly from smallholders and independent growers.
A walk along well defined wetland paths later and we were in the forest having lunch. I quickly realised that this was not going to be a weekend of making do and camping fodder, baked beans et al, as the group gathered round to enjoy a locally sourced pâté, some farmer's cheeses and delicious bread albeit made by a new chain of bakeries, Boulangerie Louise, at a good price and to artisanal quality and taste so sought after by the French. All washed down by a quaffable rosé from a box. This was a good sign though I was wondering how far one small box of wine would go between eight...

A boat trip later we were soon in Houlle, next to Moulle, where one of the last remaining genièvre distilleries in the North is situated. We oohed and aahed over the introductory video and were on the point of ecstasy when the dégustation arrived and we were informed that, since 2012 is the two hundredth anniversary year of the founding of the distillery, we were to be presented with either a 20cl sample of the carte noire version of the drink or a recipe book attached to which was a slightly smaller version of the "cooking" variety. Being in couples we did the sensible thing of course and had one of each. The tour of the actual distillery was fascinating, the work of just five people using old and tried methods. It was inevitable that the shop saw good business afterwards, partly since their range is not widely available and eschews the bigger supermarkets,  and somehow Max found himself with a bottle of the red fruits variety and one of the 40% Carte D'Or (good for cooking too apparently).

Our gîtes were not far away and as soon as we were installed, some grabbed the opportunity to get rowing, two, promisingly, went back to St Omer to collect the food and drink, and I sat guard with the ninth member of our group, Pépette, the parrot. She arrived with the very best travelling accoutrements including a 200€ perch/backpack.

Our provisions arrived together with a portable electric barbecue. Tables were purloined from the empty gîte next door, chairs arranged and there was a frenzy of activity in the kitchen. Our lead couple had cooked al dente cauliflower and green beans from the area,  which were seasoned and dressed, large juicy prawns were décortiquéd and various plump sausages and cuts of meat were arranged on the barbie. A salad mixed and tossed, cheeses arranged ready for later consumption and soon the champagne flûtes were ready and primed for the beginning of a feast of good simple food.

Somehow we had chosen the only weekend thus far of the summer when both days were sunny and warm and we made full use of the opportunity to sit outside till the light had completely faded away before reparing to the séjour where we partook of our swag from the distillery as a digestif to round off the meal and the evening.

Another long walk along the canal the next morning had been preceded by a simple breakfast so it was only natural that we should want to sample a beer at the site bar before setting to with the lunch proper. Then after a foray onto the waterways by rowing boat, with some competitiveness and not just a little oar splashing, we, not least our two little otters, Serge and Max, were tucking into more pastries before setting off for home. Stopping for a cheeky snifter at the bar again, of course, to set us up for the journey.

L'entracte

It came, it happened, it went and now we have a new president and the prospect of the parliamentary elections, les législatives,  first round in three weeks. And running with the predictions of some months ago Franços Hollande beat the incumbent, Nicolas Sarkozy, into second place in the first round of the presidential contest and then extended his lead to take the presidency. Much was made of Marine Le Pen's relatively good showing in the first round though it was exaggerated to say the least. The far right had picked up a bigger share of the vote before shared between parties than the new helm of the Front National managed alone. It was, everything being equal, not a huge departure from the time when her father slugged it out for the party of false nostalgia, so, in that sense, the new broom has not exactly swept clean, merely cleaning up in the same places as they always did.

More interestingly Madame Le Pen has put herself up for election to parliament, for, dear reader (thank you!) this political beast is only a member of the European Parliament sitting not so far from the British Conservatives. What shame! Imagining herself a safe ride into "power" no doubt, in her adopted fief of Henin-Beaumont in the Pas de Calais, she confidently put threw her bicorne into the ring believing her beloved serfs would support her all the way to the Assemblée Nationale. Little did she know that her arch rival and complete opposite number, the leader of the extreme left, Le Parti de Gauche, Jean-Luc Mélenchon, who also found support in the presidential elections, would pitch his electoral tent slap bang in the Grand' Place of Henin-Beaumont, metaphorically of course. And even more interestingly, the latest opinion poll shows Mélenchon clinching the seat by a margin of some 10% in a second round duel with Mrs Le Pen. One can only imagine the fulminations at FN HQ. La bataille or perhaps ze battle as we must now call it following the first series of Ze Voice, is joined. Watch this space.

The Voice was very popular in France taking top spot on Saturday evenings with some ease I believe. Not difficult, admittedly, given the lack of alternative entertainment offered by the proliferous other channels. A careful mix of characters and talents both in the judging panel and the contenders ensured that the final was a decent competition between three singers of discernible talent. It is too tempting not to make a comparison with the UK version, which, if the press is anything to go by (answers by email please) was more to do with a duel between it and Britain's Got Talent (won by a performing dog). Would I be alone in thinking Mr Cowell has not really done himself many favours by his churlish putting down of the opposition? Those who have stuck with the newer programme have cited the fact that it is less glitzy, kinder, and more "real" than any of the ITV productions. Anyone who still believes that the X Factor, for instance, is primarily about talent are probably in a very small, or deluded, minority. It is about rating, it is about making lots of money for ITV and Simon Cowell, and giving embarrassingly inappropriately experienced "judges" a work and exposure opportunity. If the winner has talent then so much the better but is not obligatory. BGT's winning pooch and owner may have a brief career but post Royal Variety Performance, without an album to promote, whereto? Seems to me that at their worst these programmes are mostly about exploiting the naïve and feeding the pseudo celebrity machine which endlessly churns out "personalities" without any prerequisite to talent nor personality. I, for one, hope the BBC sticks with The Voice and, head held high, give it another series without the need for the false competition with ITV/Cowell.

The month of May in France is a highly punctuated affair. This week is the only week of the month that doesn't contain a national holiday together with various ponts ie days off bridging the holiday and the nearest weekend.

Meanwhile my wisteria is blossoming beautifully having been the recipient of a substantial haircut last autumn now the blooms are at the best I have ever seen them.

We spent a handful of very lovely days in Lower Normandy ie Easter Bank Holiday Monday in Houlgate by the sea followed by time with family in Le Neufbourg in the countryside and a visit to Le Mont St Michel just before the new park and ride scheme was introduced. Strictly speaking that has turned out to be park, walk almost 1km, and ride, but that is another controversy! 

The island sits almost menacingly a kilometre off the coast at the end of a causeway. The day we visited the sky behind loomed dark and almost menacingly - it could have been Colditz castle. Inside, the tourist excesses aside, the steep windy streets put me in mind of Diagon Alley or perhaps Buttermeade.

The other milestone and highlight of the last few weeks has been Max's sucessful first full marathon run in the Route du Louvre starting in central Lille and ending not far from the site of the soon to be opened northern branch of the Louvre museum. It was a surprisingly good day weatherwise, perhaps too nice as he sustained a painful sunburn and I managed to pick up rather too much colour though did not succumb to my usual sunstroke after just minutes. 

Max about to cross the finishing line looking remarkably fresh given that he had run over 42km.

The finishing line was next to the famous terrils(slag heaps!), looking somewhat surreal in this picture. There are plans to plant some of them with vines and one has been equipped with an artificial ski slope.

 

And then there were ten.

Seconds out!  With round one kicking off - excuse the mixed metaphor - one month today there are ten candidates for the presidency of the French Republic left slugging it out in the, increasingly media-centric, ring. And that ten includes, Marine Le Pen, leader of the nationalist right wing Front National (FN) who, after months of whingeing about the "disgraceful injustice" of a system that requires 500 anonymous signatures from French elective officialdom for any given candidate to become eligible to stand in the first round, has scraped through. Not that it has done her any real good as the incumbent, Nicolas Sarkozy, leading the UMP, confirmed one of the worst ever secrets of the last four years ie that he would stand for re-election,  and has been stealing Le Pen's fire ever since.

François Hollande, the socialist party candidate is the man with everything to lose as he sees his long held lead in the opinion polls diminish to the point where the first round appears to be anyone's. Well, not strictly anyone's, as much as Marine Le Pen, François Bayrou, leader of the Democratic Movement, and Jean-Luc Mélenchon, leader of the far left Leftist Party, would like us to believe as they all, with roughly similar scores in recent opinion polls ie 12-14%, have a last dash chance of getting through to the second round. No, no, they haven't.

It is safe to imagine that a majority of the first round votes will fall to Sarkozy and Hollande and that those two will then battle it out two weeks later to becoming king, oops, president!  I have to admit to knowing nothing about four of the remaining contenders. Yes, I could be accused of sweeping them aside with little understanding of the electoral process and yet since they are likely to achieve less than 5% between them, you'll forgive me for not allocating them their moment of Le Log Lillois gloire. I will however give mention to the widely derided, Eva Joly, (left) the candidate of the Green Party. I'm not entirely certain why she should be so disliked unless it is because she is originally from Norway ie not "proper" French and yet a video of her (no, not that kind of video), explaining the Norwegian political system (which btw is a model to be aspired to) shows her to be a very approachable, affable and considered woman. She was Reader's Digest European of the Year in 2002. Perhaps that is why she is stuck at 2,5% in the polls?

The remaining four wanabees have dignities to retain as intact as possible and potential influence or perhaps even roles in government as seems to be the fashion even where coalition is not the determiner. Bayrou is vaguely centrist, sort of conservative in a nice-ish way, with some support but  he is destined to continue bobbing up to the political surface briefly, before disappearing again till next time. Pity. He seems, potentially, to be a man of some substance and gravitas with little of the showy politicky hubris of say, Sarkozy,  and more statesmanlike than Hollande has thus far demonstrated himself to be.  Le Pen has not managed to hold on to her advantage of last year when, briefly, she led the polls as Sarkozy has merely shouted a little louder  -mostly showmanship of course - about some of the issues dear to her ideology and to the prejudices of her followers. Think UKIP/BNP.  He has thereby managed to close the gap with Hollande but there is as yet little evidence of anything but a win in the second round for Hollande. Of course, events such as have unfurled in Toulouse play directly into the hands of an incumbent who can fluff up his feathers and make some political hay whilst that sad sun shines.

Le Pen has a brilliant idea about withdrawing from the Euro and going back to the Franc. A New Franc - or maybe Franc Nouveau (FN)? - would be worth exactly the same as a Euro and indeed on the international markets we would still trade in Euros, euro Euros rather than euro Francs. Simply genius!  We've been having a lot of fun with that one. Perhaps we could do away with old centimes and just call them new marines?

Sarkozy has told us that if we, I use the term collectively but excluding myself as I have no right to vote in this election, have the audacity not to re-elect him, then he will disappear from political life. Depending on which side of the fence you sit this is as much a threat as it is a promise. And is there anyone "better" to replace him from within his own party.  Then again the French just regroup and rename and voilà "new" party with "new" ideas.

Why do the French continue time after time to support their political elite when that elite has largely failed the country over the last three decades? Probably for the same reason that in the UK either Labour or Conservative governments have done their best/worst for many many decades. The current arrangement in the UK being an aberration although so many appear to see it as an abhorrence.

Just six weeks and a bit and we'll know whether the status quo will continue with or without a new person at the helm, or, and it's a very big or, perhaps the French will vote for something else.

Lost in translation

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!

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?

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

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?

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

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

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

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

Runaway Success

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

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

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

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

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.