National Blog Posting Month.

"And now, the end is near;
And so I face the final curtain"

The end of the National Blog Posting Month is almost nigh and frankly my dears, I'm delighted; the last week has been a nightmare of stress and recrimination leading almost but not quite to the divorce courts.
Consider this: in October I mentally committed myself to writing a post a day through the month of November. Many people live the sort of lives where there's enough material to post three times a day so the whole challenge appeared almost ridiculously easy, a photo, a joke, an anecdote...all would be grist to my blog mill.
I already had some ideas tucked away in Word, files full of photos on the computer and stacks of albums downstairs if I ran short. I have shelves of folders bulging with recipes and know more village gossip than I should. (Me speaking French with a foreign accent doesn't mean I don't understand what you're saying!).
So I was poised for success, in with a stab at winning a shiny, brand new customised template; this was going to be my moment of glory...
When my son broke a vertebra...I blogged on.
Sitting in the hospital every day for 4 hours...blogging was light relief
Missing a reunion with a brother I haven't seen for years...the blog was solace.
Actually the daily post became a crutch, something to look forward to as H. and I changed shifts and barked instructions to each other over our mobile phones.
And when I started this I had no intention of sharing all that but please be assured that Son was in pain and uncomfortable but never in any danger. I would not ever take that lightly....
And in the middle of all that I switched to Beta.... and blogged on..
And what defeated me? Bloody technology! In the first instance two and a half days without a connection and then when I attempted catching up yesterday another half day sans internet. At the mere mention of posting, the computer would lie down and whimper.
And I truly am convinced H. will divorce me if I mention NaBloPoMo again..
Congratulations to all who finished.

And, please could someone tell me why, without me doing anything at all, the font or its size has changed again?

Aperitifs and NaBloPoMo

I'm hoping to post three times today so that whether or not I'm still in the running for the prize draw I will have finished the NaBloPoMo challenge. I forgot to replace the little picture too when I moved to Beta. Oh well....The breakfast post...let's go...

This is another very easy, very tasty recipe that I found in a Delia Smith cookbook. The recipe can be found on Delia's website:http://www.deliaonline.com though I've personalised it by making the pastry round the size of a very small drinking glass as that way the tartlettes/galette can be eaten in a mouthful. You can make them bigger too and serve them for lunch with salad.
Apart from the size my recipe is the same as Delia's and I use the Crottins de Chavignol goat's cheese. From a packet of bought flaky pastry (pate feuillete) I'll get about 12 tartlettes.
Made small these are perfect for those aperifs dinatoires where you invite people for a drink and they stay all evening..

It's Coming on Christmas..

except it isn't, not really. By my calendar today is the 28th November and a good, let me see, 27 days to Christmas.


The supermarket on Saturday was a nightmare, full of families....walking around together. Do you have this phenomenum where you live? You know where Mr and Mrs Dupont Go Shopping with the Entire Extended Family and they stay together usually in a group or sometimes in a Conga line and then they meet up with La Famille Lebrun and they block the central aisle of the shop chatting?.
You've probably guessed that I'm not a born shopper; I hate it, really do. Between you and me I think I'm slightly phobic.
The reason why the supermarket was so bad is that people are Christmas shopping. This is just so organised it's totally off my radar. I order stuff. As late as possible. Gift wrapped.

I'm wandering far from the point here which is that with the shops full of Christmas, decorations up, but not, thankfully, lit, trees for sale and posters advertising Christmas markets and it's still November I'm going to be bored with the whole affair by the time I reach the 25th.
It wasn't always like this..

10 Things I'd Never Do...

I've been tagged by Francis to think of 10 things I'd never do so here we go...

1. I'd never smoke again. I gave up about 10 years ago, went cold turkey and never, ever want to do that again.

2. I'd never wear jeans...for the good of the human race.

3. I'd never let fear stop me doing anything....I'm terrified of flying and have put off trips I should have made. Never again.

4. I'd never complain about the abundance of my thick, frizzy hair....particularly when standing next to someone whose hair was so thin her scalp was visible./

5. I'd never kill another person...self explanatory.

6. I'd never reveal a secret confided in me...though sometimes I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself.

7. I would never try parachute jumping or bungee jumping ...see number 3.

8. I would never drink more than 3 glasses of wine in a sitting...red face, Diplomatic Switch in off position etc.

9. I would never eat eels...gross, gross, gross....

10. I would never go back to the gym....boring!

I'm not sure if there's a time limit on these things but just in case I'm tagging Sarah, Colin, Jilly, Meredith and Pam

Red, Red Wine.... Goes To My Head....

This photo is listing strangely to the right, a fine example of art imitating life.

This is a recommendation: in Auchan yesterday there were two wines on promotion (buy a case, get one free). Knowing very little about wine I chose the one with the pretty label in French. Yes, pathetic, isn't it? And the one I chose was not this one....no I chose the Cotes de Rhone of which we now have 12 bottles and, just because.... I picked up a bottle of the other one and I know you can guess the rest:

the Cotes de Rhone, and I'm being kind here, is mediocre while this one above is brilliant, that famous wine tasting adjective meaning "slips down easily."

So, if you live near Auchan check it out and do not be put off by the English label or the garish cock on the bottle.

The Liberation of Opio

When we first arrived here this was a small, sleepy, staggered junction carrying little traffic during the day once the "rush hour" was over. Yes, look at it now, busy, busy, busy...it took me around 5 minutes and 5 shots to take a photo without a car on it with three friends stopping to offer me a lift as I stood there.If you look very, very closely you can see two engraved rocks on the roundabout. These are plaques commemorating the liberation of Opio by the Allies on the 24th August 1944.

I was chatting to one of the shop owners who's always lived here about the changes she's seen over the years and she described the scenes of joy as the Allies marched in, all on foot she said. She was a child and with her brother and sisters ran down the lane to the road when they heard marching feet. Their father called them back because they could not be sure which army it was but heedless the youngsters ran towards the soldiers who were throwing armloads of chocolate and chewing gum to the crowd that had gathered to welcome them.

Every year there's a ceremony to commemorate the event and to remember those who fell during the fight to liberate Provence. Here is a link to the Mairie web site for anyone wanting to see last year's ceremony.

On another subject: I changed to Beta yesterday and wish I hadn't. My navbar's turned French as have the instructions for commenting. Big Sigh. If any other expat bloggers have had the same problem, I'd love to hear from you...Now I'm off to notify the help group.

A Sweet Tooth.

I've already posted about the basket of chocolates and bonbons from Florian we were given. It was so pretty and the contents so mouth wateringly good that we took ourselves over for the guided tour.
It's a 20 minute drive, practically on the doorstep but we've never been. Isn't that always the case; we'd lived here 10 years before we went to the carnival in Nice(colourful, lively and not much like Rio!)

The weather's cool and very wet here today so these seemed just the thing to get the day off to a reasonable start.

We were taken round by a young woman who spoke English fluently. She explained clearly which products are made in Pont du Loup and how they're made. For instance I used to know how these beautiful oranges confits(fruits preserved in sugar) are made, how long they're steeped in syrup but I've forgotten, distracted by the sight of their glorious intense orangeness. The temptation to reach over and take one was acute and the smell...

The displays are a delight and, of course, you end up buying far more than you intended.
We took the opportunity of stocking up on small gifts; I bought packets of the oranges confits and the presentation packs of jams, rose, violet and oranges ameres(marmalade) but if ever I want to give a spectacular present I'd go for the display of fruits confits: it's good to look at and has quite a variety of preserved fruits.
Les Bonbons acidules are boiled fruit sweets which are also made here, nice but my passion is for chocolate....

Le Troc.

Pretty, aren't they? We went out trocking the other week: "trocking", Franglais, a verb meaning to visit the Troc, a warehouse type shop stuffed full of things other people don't want anymore.

It's the thrill of the chase that draws me, this idea that somewhere out there waiting for me is a lost Van Gogh painting or Clarice Cliff vase. Judging by the semi casual way that we all rifle through shelves of tat, while keeping a close eye on everyone else, I'm not the only one....

Last time out I picked up these. They're Staffordshire ironstone with different backstamps so although they're quite similar they're not from the same set. I bought them because the green matches a strip of tiles on my kitchen floor and they'll fit perfectly in a little display niche...

And when I'm bored with them I'll sell them on...

My Walk Through The Woods Part 2

Photo 4

Imagine we're at the top of the hill coming down because no matter how I feed in the images they come out this way or random.

Now these blocks are the vestiges of the Camp Roman nicely positioned in front of a 20th century antenna. Disappointment with acute breathlessness was my reaction the first time I scrambled to the top but now, the view, oh my the view. Worth every pounding breath.



As there are just the 24 hours in every day I don't go to the top often so this was something of a surprise. It's an experimental truffle field. When I was buying plants in September the garden centre was selling baby oaks, sprigs really, with the truffle embedded at its roots. Imagine your morning omelette with your own truffle shavings!




This is the reward waiting at the top looking north. I've managed to delete the south facing one!
It's strange to stand on the ridge at the top and look out over wooded hills to the sea and the sun then turn to look to the north, a much more forbidding scene.
The village at the bottom is Le Bar sur Loup with a chateau, a church, windy streets and fields sloping down to the river. It's sheltered there and at this time of year the gardens will be full of citrus fruit.



Time to go....this afternoon this is where you'll find me and my dogs....

My Walk Through The Woods.

Photo 5.I've had three tries at organising these photos in a logical manner but Blogger won't play..

Two weeks ago I took my camera with me when I walked my dogs and these are the result. I always, always follow the same route at the same time because I know who the other owners and dogs are likely to be and can allow my two to walk off their leads without running into Rottweilers off their leads or uncontrollable Pitbulls. My vet calls this l'autoroute des chiens because so many dogs use it.
Photo 1.

The circuit's called Le Camp Roman as there is evidence of a Roman camp at the top along with a more contemporary antenna(aerial) which this stony track services. The track's used by everyone, cyclists, runners,walkers, cross country runners and picnickers and, of course, the hunters.

The Mairie is constructing an olive grove too. As it's illegal to cut down olive trees this appears to be a place where unneeded ones can be replanted. Camping is not allowed because of the risk of fires but sometimes in Summer I've come across a few tents filled with 16, 17 year olds hidden in the bushes(surrounded by bottles of beer!).

Photo 2.

I divide the walk up into benches; going to the first bench isn't worth the bother of getting out of the car, the second is our normal turning round point. Photo 3 below shows the view looking up from 2nd bench.

Photo 4. shows the renovation of the old Bergerie where the shepherd and his sheep used to live. The building, made from beautiful stone was derelict for many years and is now being renovated by volunteers during the school holidays. The project is open to adolescents who wish to learn building skills and also serves to keep them busy and out of trouble during the long Summer break..

Photo 3

Photo 4. Photo 5 shows how the change in vegetation as we climb higher. This is just after the third bench on the slope facing south-east and the ground has become rockier and covered with plants like rock roses; the pines have been replaced by Mediterranean oaks some of which will keep their leaves through the year. All the plant life is low growing because of the dryness and is called la garrigue. It's attractive now but you should see it in Spring. The whole hillside is covered in white rock roses so it resembles a giant white bridal bouquet and it smells delicious...

We're about halfway up the hill at this point so I'll publish the rest tomorrow...

Tales From The Supermarket.

This was overheard in the supermarket queue.

I was 3rd in line staring around, studying the purchases of the person in front and wondering idly what they were going to do with 2 packs of salad and a box of those breadsticks with sesame seeds. I have been known to ask people how they're going to cook certain cuts of meat or fish. Why not? I think they're usually pleased to be asked....but it explains why my kids will shop with me, as in fill the trolley full of yucky stuff, but are nowhere in sight when I get to the till.

This particular day I was preceded by a French couple and in front of them two English women and while the cashier was not actually throwing the stuff down the belt, it was all moving at a brisker than normal pace and at the end of the belt a traffic jam was forming with cans and packets rolling into the tomatoes and salad. After a minute of this charmless behaviour the English woman asked the cashier clearly in perfect, though accented, French to please be careful. All done very reasonably. So the cashier desisted, the shopping was packed and the two women moved away whereupon the cashier broke into a tirade about the unreasonableness of the English, that she hadn't been rough...then the French couple joined in and the whole thing was starting to resemble a Greek chorus..the English, so bizarre, so unreasonable, so difficult because, apparently, they don't like their goods thrown down the belt...
And the French do?

I like Grey's Anatomy.

Thank you very much to CBS news for the loan of the picture,(I'll give it back later, I promise)

I am possibly the last person on the planet to hear of Grey's Anatomy. In my defence I'm not a huge TV fan, particularly of French TV, which is a good thing given the hours I already spend blogging and round here we, you know, make our own fun...... I am, however, a sucker for hospital dramas. I was loyal for at least a year to E.R. and even watched it in French as "Urgences" which really is loyalty. Gripping stuff and, yes, in a way it was educational and I like to think I learnt a lot. Given a pair of paddles I too can shout "Degage"and kickstart a faltering heart.

Greys Anatomy first season dvds were selling at the local hypermarche and after a few moments of "Shall I? Shan't I?" I picked one up. It seems a sort of cross between ER lite and Friends and we all enjoyed it enormously lots of sweet moments and about the same number of sad ones...and I guessed the cliffhanger at the end of programme 8 while watching episode 3. We even worked out that Meredith Grey is in reality a lot older than her screen age but, sheesh, 37 that's a lot older.....it's the lines about her mouth...

Everyone's satisfied with the dvd though you'd think we'd have had enough of hospitals this week. And while the doctors and nurses at Grasse hospital were shorter on charm and dazzlingly good looks than GA they were certainly long on professionalism so a formal thanks to them from this grateful family.

Just the tiniest of tiny criticisms, though; Perhaps one day French hospital rooms will be fitted with curtains between the beds so that examinations can be carried out without the family at the next door bed staring at the unfortunate patient. It's true. Even when I had my babies physical exams were carried out under the gaze of whoever happened to be in the room. And if ever you should need a bedpan.....let's not go there.

PS I've just remembered this. When I had my daughter I was given a thermometer which I carefully placed in my mouth under my tongue reducing everyone to screams of laughter; it should have gone under my arm or in another place but let's really not go there...And I put it in my mouth. Bleh! Another example of cultural dislocation...

Le Beaujolais Nouveau.....and NaBloPoMo

Before the wine a very small rant....I was without internet for two days because of a DNS storm, like many other subscribers to Wanadoo/Orange. If you look here you'll find verification from half the expat community in the area! So, NaBloPoMo it really wasn't my fault. I would have posted if I could have....

Now let's get back to the wine. The Beaujolais Nouveau is traditionally released on the 3rd Thursday in November at midnight and when we lived in London there was a great party spirit as wine bars stayed open and cut throat competition to take delivery first...there were various events here too this year but because of the various ups and downs of the week we chose to welcome the wine at home...
If I'm going to drink red wine I usually prefer rich, heavy reds glowing like jewels in the glasses, wines like Chateauneuf du Pape or Barolo. I drink very little so the wine has to be worth it. I'm not normally a Beaujolais Nouveau fan and have in the past found it so thin as to be undrinkable but this year the Beaujolais was pleasantly smooth and very fruity and drinking it was no problem at all so it was a good thing we stayed at home.

Government Health Warning....

The conclusions from recent epidemiological studies have revealed that:

1. The Japanese eat little fat and have fewer heart attacks than the British or Americans,

2. However, the French eat a lot of fat and still have fewer heart attacks than the British and Americans.

3. The Japanese drink less red wine and have fewer heart attacks than the British and Americans.

4. The French drink lots of red wine and also have fewer heart attacks than the British or Americans.

5. Conclusion: eat and drink what you like. It's speaking English which will kill you.

A friend sent me this little number to show my English pupils. Not a chance....

Coffee....Grasse

Grasse is, of course, famous for its perfume industry and the flowers that go with it though things have changed a little since Catherine de Medici persuaded the merchants of Grasse to perfume their leather gloves. Now there are many factories making real and synthetic flavourings for anything from perfume to biscuits to yogurts. Sometimes when the wind's blowing in our direction we smell strawberries; confusing in January especially at 8 in the morning. So when the guide books tell you to smell the jasmine, take it with a pinch of salt.
We stopped off for a coffee in the Place aux Aires one Saturday morning and even though it's November it's still nice enough to sit outside and watch people buying fruit and vegetables for the weekend and then there were the flowers...
I can't resist cut flowers and the bigger and more extravagant the better. Lilies, highly perfumed, white in preference to pink are my absolute favourites, next roses but preferably garden roses. With the petals drifting onto the table they remind me of childhood. I love peonies too but would never cut them.
I chose a variety called Anais, white with a creamy middle, perfumed but not too heady. Gorgeous.
I took the 2nd photo a week later and now 10 days on they're still beautiful.
Thank you, Mr. Thierry Bayard who also sells his flowers in the fountain in Valbonne at the friday market. Do you know, he treated all his flowers like friends.

Thank you for good wishes for my son. He's doing ok.

Irony...

You know that thing - irony? I got a load of it dumped on me today.
Yesterday I posted about the need for parents to watch their kids, what they do,where they go and who they do it with.
I've done that for the last 18 years just watched them; kissed their hurts, kept them close, checked out their friends, checked out their friends' parents. I've even covertly checked out the friends' cars: seatbelts tick, tyres tick. Their food: too much sugar, too many additives. TV programmes: violence, sex, bad language etc etc. You get the picture...the archetypical maman poule
Today my 17 year old who moves as lightly as a gymnast slipped, fell down the stairs in his own home and broke a vertebra.
Ironical, eh.

Parenting is a Thankless Task..

Time hangs so heavy on my hands I've undertaken the National Blog Posting Month challenge ie a post a day for the entire month of November. One positive point: it's put me in touch with blogs I wouldn't otherwise have found and on a good day I've bookmarked them....but today's not that day. This morning I came across a teacher in the UK writing about the violence among and between her pupils. It's a horrifying description and if you're that blogger please send me your address I'd like to continue reading your blog....

Because I choose to write about the pink, fluffy stuff doesn't mean that I'm not concerned about the world outside this charmed corner and I spent the morning mulling over that post, the state of education in the UK and here, and just generally despairing for the future. Did I come up with THE answer? Aside from 42, of course not or I'd be a television pundit, silly, and featured in "Hello" magazine not writing a blog.

When I was a teacher I blamed the parents, when I became a parent I blamed myself for my children's misdeeds and I still believe that parents should take responsibility for their children's behaviour after all we're the ones who had them.
These are my reflections from the coalface of parenting: that it takes constant vigilance, that you need to monitor them all the time, that to let anything slip by unremarked is to bring disaster upon ourselves. In short parenting is 24/7, a constant battle of wills, damned hard work and absolutely nothing like the cute smiley families you see on tv. And I wonder if part of the problem is that we simply don't want to work that hard and because we love our children and trust them we'd really like to believe that a sleepover at X's isn't teen speak for a drunken party with older boys and illicit substances or a trip to the local night club armed with forged identity cards. And no, I haven't had to deal with those particular nightmares mine were different nightmares...
Years ago I read a report by an American who foretold the continuing disaffection of youth and inner city violence and whose solution was so severe to my liberal self that I couldn't believe he was serious. He suggested the stopping of welfare to single girls who become pregnant was the only way of stemming the growth of the underclass.
I hate saying this but I begin to wonder.....
And I'm not going to start on my thoughts about the "blame" culture we live in or peoples' inability to own up to their actions.

11am 11th November

Above is the Cenotaph in Opio where wreathes and flowers were laid today at 11am by the Maire to commemorate the dead of the Great War.

Anthem For Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness ofpatient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Wilfred Owen.

My grandfather enlisted before he was 18 and survived the War but my mother told me he would never speak of it.

Touching The Past...Grasse

Something which still gives me great pleasure is doing everyday tasks in the midst of such beauty and in places steeped in the past. Grasse is such a city and I was there to buy curtain tape. How mundane is that! On the way back to the car I took a detour round the back of the old part.
The local Mairie's done well and many places are well identified with plaques explaining in French and English their history though maybe they went a little over the top pointing out that the Chevalier D'Artagnan MAY have lived there. To be honest if they'd left it in French I'd have believed he HAD stayed there.
I'd already come across the house above in the photo but whenever I'm in Grasse I always stop for a look because this is a 13th century house where Catherine De Medici, Queen of France, lived in the 15th century. Unbelievable, isn't it? I've been to the Tower of London and seen where Anne Boleyn et al. lost their heads but somehow this seems more immediate...

My Favourite Play...

I'm sitting here looking at a copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare which my mother gave to me in the Summer. It belonged to my grandfather and it's leather bound, published in 1916 by Oxford University Press and inside my grandfather has written his name and the date, 1918.
Very few family mementoes have survived the years. I do have some porcelain and, most important of all, the photos though there are so many without names....I wonder who they were and their importance...When I touch them I love the feeling I have of connecting with the generations who've gone..

This is my absolute favourite speech from my absolute favourite play, Macbeth. Macbeth gives the speech on hearing of his wife's death. They are the words of a man who risked all and lost all.



Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Macbeth, V.v.19-28 (Macbeth)

Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)

While on the subject of Shakespeare, last year we went to see the Reduced Shakespeare Company perform all of the plays in 90 minutes.....Hamlet performed as rap for example and Titus Andronicus as a cooking lesson. I don't know who wrote it but it's wonderfully inventive and hilarious to the point of painful. It was performed at the International School of Nice among other places.

Autumn Journal Volume V

Tut Tut kindly reminded me of the copyright issues surrounding my chosen poem so I've deleted it. You can find it here if you'd like to read it.
The photo is of the plane trees lining the bridge in Pont du Loup which has a nice Autumnal feeling to it..

Of Bread and Cakes

Yes....Sorry about this. More cakes! I think we're seeing a theme here: cakes and pretty villages. Actually I've just got in from line dancing and I'd like something sugary right now. The photos work just as well....
This is Duttos, the boulangerie and patisserie in the village. They make fabulous bread and even more fabulous cakes as you can see. Gilles, the cake maker, can do stuff with chocolate that's probably illegal in some countries(just joking) and has won competitions for his cakes. One year he made a giant Easter egg from chocolate and raffled it on Easter Sunday. I won it... 5 kilos of chocolate and I never took a photo. We shared it amongst the children of the neighbourhood and have never since been so popular or sought after....

Not For The Squeamish....

On Picasa you can clearly see the village perched up there on the rocky spur. I'm going to have to use the telephoto more, I think.

That village is called Gourdon and is around 15 minutes from my doorstep. One of the marvellous things about living in Opio is that you never get bored with the scenery; 30 minutes in any direction will show you something different... I digress....
There are a couple of villages in the hills behind Gourdon that I'd never visited before so off we went. The trip didn't start well; we were late setting off, the road was windier than I'd anticipated and when we arrived in Cipieres my camera batteries were flat and the village shop had just shut...Probably turning round and going home would have been a good idea.
Anyway it was a little past noon and H. suggested a restaurant review might provide food for thought(ouch!).
We ignored the perfectly good restaurant in Cipieres and headed back to Gourdon on the basis that we mightn't feel like tackling the windy road on full stomachs!
Gourdon's got a few restaurants but we chose a fairly basic one wanting to eat, pay up and go and I opted for a pizza. The rest of the family is pretty indifferent about them so I usually order one when I'm out...

If you're eating it's probably best if you stop reading now. Finish the post later...

I chose a Napolitaine, the one with the anchovies and it arrived cheese bubbling away and, oh my, did it smell good. The first two bites were delicious. I went to cut the third chunk and lifted it to my mouth and, there, stuck to the cheese was a fly. A cooked fly. Well, I studied it, turned the knife this way and that. I really did not want to believe..I said to H. "I really do not want to believe this is a fly. Tell me it's a bit of burnt crust." He said "it's a fly" Of course it was. Its little legs were sticking up in the air..
I could hear the ripple going round the restaurant...mouche...elle a trouve une mouche.. dans la pizza.
The staff were, of course, mortified, couldn't do enough for us and I've lived long enough to know these things can happen no matter how much care you take but the incident's certainly spoilt pizzas for me..
Good thing then.

Nigella's Raspberry Pavlova....For Everyone Who Helped!

Thank you for the advice via comments and email. I've had another poke round in the template but am, as ever, scared to mess the whole lot up so I'll wait for some answers to come from Blogger.

So this was the reward. I intended copying the whole lot out of my cook book but have just found it here. I'm thrilled to discover there's so many Nigella recipes on the internet so I'll be off to browse in a minute after I've persuaded you to try this Pavlova.

I think of myself as a bit of a dessert connaisseur and I'll gladly sacrifice any part of a menu to ensure I don't miss out on the sweeties. I've had some scrumptious ones but this is the best dessert I've ever eaten. Bar none..And, what's better, it's easy to make and it looks even more delicious when it's cracked round the sides so you don't have to aim at the pristine perfection of a white meringue. Great for slaphappy cooks like me!

Before you start cracking those eggs here's some advice: do NOT skip the chocolate chips and unless you're really pushed for time, make them yourself..it takes seconds with a heavy sharp knife. Second piece of advice then I'll let you get started: raspberries work best tastewise. There's just something about the marriage of raspberries and dark chocolate. Oh yummy!! My mouth's watering.

You owe me one, Nigella!

Help..A Technical Question..

No I won't cheat and make this my post for the day! I'll be logging in later with the real Day 5 post.

I wondered if anyone could help me with this question. I've mailed to various blogger helps but have heard nothing...
If I try to link to other bloggers in my blogroll in the sidebar I get "Page not Available" for half of them so I can successfully link to roughly half but not all. There isn't even any order to it like top half works, bottom not. It's one link works the next doesn't...
I did change the roll to put it in alphabetical order but I've studied the code and they all seem identical...
Technology sheesh...
Any (helpful) suggestions would be welcome and I'll post a nice dessert recipe later in return!

St. Paul de Vence...an overview

Even if you've never been to the South of France you may well have come across photos of St Paul de Vence and/or its famous fountain. The town has come to symbolise the beauty of the Cote d'Azur and its hinterland.



Not for nothing was it a favourite haunt of Picasso, Matisse and dozens of other artists who paid for their meals at the Colombe d'Or with their paintings and sketches which are supposed to be there still. Nowadays you're more likely to run into the rich and famous in the restaurant though friends ran into Johnny Depp and his family in the more modest Cafe de la Paix(correction: Cafe de la Place. Am going mad) opposite. He heard them speaking English and came over for a chat....lucky them.

Day 3 and I'm Desperate!

Day 3 of NaBloPoMo and I've still got a few ideas for the next week but am seriously short of time...which is why today you're looking at a photo of my little patio garden.

When we first saw the house this was a tiny square of patio outside what would become the office. It looked promising enough but was covered in cobwebs and painted a dull beigey pink. As it's a dark, damp area in winter we freshened up the paint work and planted rhodedendrons. At one point I had four large ones in varying shades of pink which have been a joy though two succumbed to the cold unfortunately. Then I went retro and planted two hanging baskets which brought colour into the patio through the summer.

It works quite well, I think.

Of A Great Man and A Roundabout....

This must look as if I've really got into the theme of death but no, don't worry this is about a roundabout......and a memorial.

The French came late to roundabouts at least in this area. When we first arrived there were few indeed and at junctions Napoleon's rule of Priority to the Right still held sway.
The roundabout though is a much more sensible way of dealing with motor traffic; I mean no offence to Napoleon here.
Now they're everywhere and many are"sponsored" by local landscape gardeners and garden centres to showcase their work, an excellently practical idea which we all benefit from. In fact I've stolen a few ideas myself for my own garden.

Now to the second part of the story;
sometimes you come across a person who has the gift of living well (I don't mean in a hedonistic sense) who manages to cram so much into their life it makes you dizzy. Such a man was Coluche who started his career as a stand up comedian, became a film star, set a motor cycle speed record and stood for President of France. Impressive career but now listen to this: he worked actively to combat racism and in 1985 set up an association called Les Restaurants du Coeur. which helps to feed the socially marginalised.
In Winter occasionally their volunteers stand outside the supermarkets and ask people to buy with their shopping one or more items from a list. Such an easy way of giving.
Coluche had a passion for motorbikes and died at the age of 42 in Opio in a road accident.
His fans and there are a multitude have erected this memorial near where he died and every year on a Sunday near the anniverary they turn up here on motor bikes in their hundreds to commemorate this great man. You really have to see it; it's unbelievable. No one could wish for a finer tribute.

A couple of years ago after this informal service his fans left a sign naming the newly constructed roundabout "Rondpoint Coluche"and there the sign stayed, a reminder of a good man,......for a few months until the local Mairie, the council, quietly replaced the sign with the more geographically correct "Rond Point du Piol."

Something to do with politics, I believe. Coluche was, after all, a socialist. These days, it seems it's not enough to be good.

Toussaint...All Saints' Day

Today, 1st November is All Saints' Day and here in France is a public holiday. It's strange how this secular country with its clear separation between Church and State is quite willing to recognise religion when it means a holiday. Or is that me being cynical?

The day has been a holy one for time out of mind with the ancient Celts celebrating the first day of their New Year on the 1st November. The date and feast were then adopted by the early Christians who chose to gather together all their saints and martyrs and commemorate them with a group feast day.

In France the custom is for families to tend the graves of their dead and shops are full of chrysanthemums for that purpose. The cemetries are always beautiful and often the graves and tombs are covered in candles and those little tea lights. It's very moving.

A friend was invited to lunch with her neighbours one Toussaint and seeing all the beautiful pots of chrysanthemums in the shop bought one for her hostess who was surprised to be given a grave offering. Oh these foreigners. Clueless!

PS This is my first post for National Blog Posting Month. Does it matter that I'm blogging from France?