A Life in the South of France

Feel The Fear....

2008-06-16T13:52:00.002+01:00

For the last 8 years my dogs and I have walked in the woods nearby. We pile in the car whatever the weather and try to get the heart pumping and the blood moving. In fact I was rather pleased to read that doctors are prescribing a stiff walk in amongst the greenery to help overcome mild depression...could have told them that..I always come home with spirits noticeably lighter..until recently that is..

A dog walker posted a warning on a local forum that her dog had gone rushing through the bushes and disturbed a wild boar. The boar not unnaturally irritated had gored the poor dog who survived but needed extensive surgery. Now, of course, I tread very lightly along the paths and shriek hysterically after the dogs should they stray from my side. In one rather dramatic incident I heard a rasping cough and sprinted, for the first time in many years, a brisk 100 metres. H. was a little bemused at first then rather taken aback to discover I was prepared to leave him to the mercy of the wildlife. That took a bit of smoothing over, I can tell you. And the noise? Never did find out but I intend to put bells on my dogs in future..

How Was it For You?

2007-11-02T11:06:00.000+01:00

Summer, that is. While not wishing to sound smug ours is still ongoing with the temperatures in the twenties during the day. It cools down at dusk but that's all the better to snuggle down into the warmth of the duvet with a good book...

And how was it for me? Think 18 visitors since Easter. Can you imagine how many sheets, towels and bottles of red wine that represents? How many breakfasts, lunches on the terrace, walks along the seafront. How many hours spent reminiscing, chatting, laughing? Now try to imagine all the corners that never got swept or clearing up that wasn't done, cars that weren't cleaned..so you can guess what I've been doing since the end of September when we waved goodbye to our last visitor...yes, a huge spring clean.

And working too as in paid work!

No sooner had we packed son's bags and delivered him to university in England than I found a job doing some teaching. I've been searching for years for something like this and, lo, just when I needed it I found the perfect job; tailor made doesn't even come close to describing it. I'm doing 10 hours one to one and I've also managed to keep on my private pupils and I'm still running my adults conversation course in the village. I miss my boy dreadfully but between ourselves this is more satisfying intellectually than the school run. (Hush my mouth!)

On Hold

2007-05-27T13:38:00.000+01:00

There's something about Spring that I can't resist; I spend my days in the garden centre and my weekends at rose shows and, to tell the truth, I'm more at home here than hobnobbing with the stars at Cannes though I was pretty sick at missing U2's free mini concert on the steps of the Palais des Festivals.

I'm putting my two blogs on hold now till the end of summer when I should be able to write and visit more regularly. I wish you a happy three months.. Be good!

Dining with Elizabeth Taylor

2007-05-19T08:16:00.000+01:00

I can't believe it's been a week since I last posted but time flies particularly when the Film Festival's on.

This is Cannes on Thursday. H. and I went and had breakfast in one of those beach restaurants with all these cool, sophisticated media types wearing shades and talking rapidly into their mobile phones. I tried not to be too wide eyed about it all but there was a definite buzz, a sense of excitement in the air heightened by the motorcades of black limos speeding up and down the Croisette with the police sirens blaring..but, sadly, every one's got tinted windows. And this is all happening at 9 am.

Obviously the stars were also having their breakfasts because we didn't see anyone famous or at least we haven't yet so, failing that, let me boast about the time I dined with Elizabeth Taylor and Roger Moore...yes, really..

It was nearly 20 years ago and H. and I were out for dinner in Valbonne. My Parents in Law should have joined us but they'd exhausted themselves in Cannes alternately sun bathing and hoping to catch sight of someone famous which, of course they didn't.

Just as we were about to order the door of the restaurant opened and in walked Elizabeth Taylor.

Now, there are many, many lovely women on the Cote d'Azur: there are beautiful buildings, sights and views but I have never seen anything before or since, natural or man made that was as beautiful as she was. Her radiance filled the room. Truly. And there was no entourage, no hairdresser, no stylist, no flashing of cameras. Just her posed for a few seconds in the doorway followed by Roger Moore. She would have been in her 50s then, I guess, and if I had had that beauty I would have minded terribly when I lost it.

So better to be ordinary, average, wouldn't you say?

I Can Do What I Ly-cra!

2007-05-12T07:56:00.000+01:00

It's been a long time, I know, and the gaps between my posts seem to be getting longer. I've been even more distracted by Son's final exams and I find the more energy I expend elsewhere the less inspiration I have for this. Still...let's get started.

Interesting, isn't it, the impact of other people's choices on our lives. Take this cyclist, one of an ever growing army of lycra-clad, leisure cyclists who are taking to the roads here. It's an innocent enough pastime keeping fit, enjoying the view with, at the end, the exhilaration of a goal achieved and good luck to them, I say. Except that this guy's choice is about to have an impact on my blood pressure.
He's riding well enough, I grant you, nicely positioned but we're going ever sooooo slowly up a long, steep climb that winds up a road frequently used by big trucks heavily laden with stone from the quarries so, no, I'm not going to overtake. With a sign I slide the car into first gear and follow him ever sooooo slowly. The truck behind me isn't laden but even so is having difficulties and his metal grille fills my back window. He'd like me to overtake...
Somewhere behind him a queue is forming while the cyclist, legs pumping, lost in a different world remains oblivious to the frustration and the exhaust fumes( maybe not so good for the health, then.) As the horns start blaring a lesser man might have slid gracefully to the side and let his convoy go past but our hero is made of sterner stuff and perhaps gets a kick out of all this negative energy so he slogs onward and upward.
And then the guy behind the lorry, the one who's tired of living decides to go for it. I swear, my passenger swears more and I don't like to think what the cyclist did but it was a dramatic moment as, truthfully, anything could have come round that bend at speed, hill, remember, and there really was no room for error.
I'd like to say that the driver had the fright of his life but of course he didn't..he swept by and disappeared into the dust, the road straightened up and widened a little allowing us to file past while the cyclist struggled on.
I believe quite strongly that he was having such trouble getting up the hill he should have let us past: even slow drivers will pull over. French friends disagree citing all sorts of stuff about rights and liberty. So where do the cyclist's rights stop and mine start? I was, after all, the one the overtaker would have pulled into should there have been an approaching car?
Would you have pulled over?
Would you have overtaken?

Freakonomics

2007-05-03T11:04:00.000+01:00

H. always has a book on the go, anything from Harry Potter to advanced maths; he has broad tastes you could say.
Personally I wouldn't touch maths having comprehensively failed every maths exam I've ever taken. My mind scampers into the quiet, dark corners of my brain when a number comes into view and I'm as capable of calculating the area of my kitchen that needs tiling as doing the pole vault. So it's a good job I fell in love with a mathematician.
Imagine my shock, then, when I find myself absorbed in an economics book. It's called "Freakonomics" it's got a garish cover and it describes its author as a "rogue economist" who "explores the hidden side of everything" None of this would normally tempt me but H. would keep reading bits out loud...
All of the book is fascinating but just now with our attention fixed on grand parenting this was the chapter that was the most gripping: "What makes a perfect parent?" and before you prepare to whip yourself with the shame of bringing up your children the wrong way, don't bother because none of the following factors affect your child's test scores:
The child's family is intact
The neighbourhood
The child's mother works
The child attended Head Start
The child goes regularly to museums
The child is regularly smacked
The child frequently watches television
The child's parents read to him every day.
In essence then all the days I spent in museums, all the hours I spent reading to my children, keeping from vegetating in front of the TV didn't affect their educational progress at all whereas the fact that we're both university graduates, had our children slightly later than average and have masses of books did...

So I felt absolutely no guilt yesterday as I watched "Grey's Anatomy" with the baby on my knee.
(Don't worry, I'm not confusing parenting and grand parenting here. The baby spends many hours in my care as his mother works.)

What Empty Nest?

2007-04-27T10:58:00.000+01:00

As Son eased himself into his last year of school, H and I started talking about projects and plans for the time that would suddenly become available when there was no longer the need for the school run, the Friday night party run or the I've-just-discovered-I've-nothing-to-wear run. We were looking forward to the time when the fridge would stay full for longer than a half hour and the phone wouldn't be ringing at 3 in the morning because the party turned out to be "nulle" and they wanted to come home. Bedrooms would be tidy 24/7 and there would be clean towels in abundance...
Believe me, we intended to embrace the empty nest.

Except, of course, that life had other plans and here he is...bigger now than in the photo, our daughter's Christmas present to us all...
He's lovely, truly the best baby in the world which, of course, you'll have guessed for yourselves and he's slotted right into our lives as if he's always been here.
His Mum works part time so we get to keep him and play with him for two afternoons a week but when he's feeling out of sorts, howls for no obvious reason and won't settle I do think wistfully of the empty nest.
Ah well, one day...
And I'll spare you my reflections on being called Grandma...I'm much too young.

And Baby Came Too...

2007-04-12T15:13:00.000+01:00

To Grasse in the company of a 6 week old baby to deal with the importation of my Golf:

The surliness and intransigence of French bureaucrats are legendary so you can imagine how much I was looking forward to the encounter. From past experience I knew I'd be coming out of the Prefecture 2 hours later, sweaty, with elevated blood pressure and minus the paper I needed.
However, things have changed in the corridors of the administration and there now exists a system of priority so if you're young and/or attractive, well dressed, know the person issuing the tickets or in charge of a baby you take priority over everybody else.
I swear I didn't know this when I decided to take the baby but you have no idea how pleased I was I had.
Anyway, my number was called about 15 minutes later, after all the young and attractive people had gone through. .
The only problem was that I'd forgotten my electricity bill, my proof of residence, and without which it's simply not possible to obtain any official document. At that point as the clerk was about to send me home with the elevated BP, the baby turned brick red, opened his mouth and started crying, that shrill, new baby wail that cuts right through you like a chainsaw....
The upshot was that the clerk wisely decided to overlook the electric bill had the stamped piece of paper across that counter pretty quick.
The moral of the story, of course, is to borrow a baby next time you need to confront a French bureaucrat. I suggested to his mother that she could probably get a little business going renting out her son all in the spirit of enterprise...

Baby, You Can Drive My Car...

2007-04-03T12:20:00.000+01:00

I've grown accustomed to my body over the years which is not to say that given an awful lot of money and more time I wouldn't try to change a few things: like, say, a couple of centimetres off the boobs, a few more off the tummy and definitely a bottom lift and just don't get me started on my face. But I've never considered my legs in all this until I bought my new-to-me car which is so not the one in the photo..

Mine's a Golf and there truly aren't enough superlatives in the language to tell you how I feel about this car; next Valentine's Day I'll be sending it a card is what I'm saying.

Apart from being a fabulous ride bonus features include the fact that it looks like every other car on the road. This is useful partly because thieves won't want to steal it as long as I don't do anything stupid like leaving it unlocked with the keys in.

And partly because my last car was fluorescent green. It was so bright I was unmistakable so everyone everywhere knew where I'd been and who'd been there with me and then they'd tell me about it as in: "You were at the supermarket yesterday" Right..

My only teeny weeny complaint, and I'm probably being picky, is that to push my foot down on the clutch I have to have the seat so far forward and so upright that the steering wheel is wedged under my ribcage and my nose is thrust up against the windscreen so that changing the radio station or just opening the window in this position would be tricky even for Houdini.

I've been doing a tiny bit of research and I realise that the fault is that my legs are too short..I'm average height but my legs are simply too short...and I never knew.

Life's Imponderables

2007-03-30T11:51:00.000+01:00

I missed my 100th post and with it the opportunity to celebrate..never mind, let's just sit here on the beach, feed the swans and watch the world go by...

I've spent a week spring cleaning the house and a few hours spring cleaning my computer and while I don't think of myself as a hoarder I do wonder where all this stuff comes from.
Here's an example from the computer..

How do you draw a blank?
How can there be a solo synchronised swimming competition?
Why is it called a doctor's practice? (scary thought!)
Why do kamikazi pilots wear helmets?
If a number 2 pencil is so popular why is it still number 2?
Why do we press harder on the remote control when the battery is dying?
And why do we drive faster when we're low on petrol?
Is a fly without wings a walk?
How is it possible to have a civil war?

Why did I save this?

Have a nice weekend.

"Every Man's Death Diminishes Me...

2007-03-27T14:14:00.000+01:00

.....For I am involved with Mankind" by John Donne

For Mr C.
They say that if you've got children or dogs you'll make friends easily. I can vouch for that; some of my closest friends now are those I met at the school gates and having dogs has had the bonus of introducing me to a whole bunch of other people whom I wouldn't normally have met. The interesting point about mixing with my dog walker friends is that while it's too tempting to talk progeny with other parent friends, believe me, no one's going to talk dog all evening.

One of the regular bunch a retired man well into his seventies was there in the woods every morning without fail. He had a bad heart and a bad hip but would roll on up the hill to the spot in the photo and sit on those rocks there catching his breath before starting down again. We chatted about dogs, about the weather, about life and, of course, politics. He died at the weekend following heart surgery. The strangest thing was that just before he went into hospital on our last walk together he told me his life.... we'd never talked about personal stuff..but now that I think about it I possibly spent more time talking to him over the last seven years than most of my friends.
I shall miss him.

Shopping and How I Hate It.

2007-03-20T14:37:00.000+01:00

From time to time my daughter will suggest a mother/daughter trip to town to do some shopping. The cynical among you will suspect her motives, I know. After all I'm the one with the plastic but, no, what's she's doing is attempting to share with me the sheer pleasure of standing in an overheated space rifling through racks of clothes searching for the perfect garment, along with hundreds of other girls who all look a bit like her. Later, of course, I'll be allowed to strike up a relationship with one or two other mothers outside the changing rooms while we wait...

What I've never told her is that I hate shopping. I'd rather spend the afternoon having root canal work done...WITHOUT anaesthesia. I hate standing waiting while she makes a careful choice between 2 almost-identical black t-shirts and I really hate it when she asks my opinion because I know that that's the one that'll end up in a ball on the wardrobe floor, unworn and unloved. But I go along because she's my daughter and I love her and, yes, of course I always buy her something..
I blame it all on my mother, of course, who knew how to shop and still does in spite of having rheumatoid arthritis, poor eyesight and high blood pressure. To see her and my daughter shopping together is a delight: they speak a language that I've never learned and have total recall of every garment they've seen in every shop...and their prices... and they're willing to walk miles back to the first shop they visited. Such dedication exhausts me...
So why this diatribe? I do avoid clothes shopping if I can so my wardrobe is, let's say, lean..I don't like too much choice or too many decisions. Give me too many clothes and at least half will end up in my ironing pile until I've put on weight, usually, lost weight, rarely, or just go off the colour.
Once upon a time I found the perfect black t-shirt that goes under jackets perfectly, fits beautifully with trousers or a skirt, can be dressed up or dressed down. It is lined, has a v neck and enough lycra so it pings straight back into shape without being too clingy. How I love this T-shirt.
Tragically one day I picked up a bleach impregnated cloth to wipe fingerprints from the door and I really don't need to tell you the rest...
Tomorrow I go shopping for a replacement. There goes the blood pressure.

The Best and Worst of Times.

2007-03-17T14:37:00.000+01:00

I should have entitled this "Call Me Jonah Part 2" because my life has become so bizarre I don't recognise it as mine anymore.
I have been laid low by my allergy to pine pollen because I didn't buy the medicine in advance..it's a little bit like Christmas; it happens every year but I'm never prepared.
So this story is yet another illustration of the same theme..
My mother in law lost a filling from a tooth and because life's busy and there's never enough time and it wasn't hurting anyway; you know how it is..she didn't get round to having it fixed till the poison from the abscess migrated to her throat and she ended up in intensive care. (And that's why I haven't posted for awhile).

The moral of the story is that we must look after ourselves with the same care that we lavish on our partners, children, parents and friends. If it had been my child, for instance, who had the allergies we'd have been having treatment long before the pollen appeared.

And the second moral is that when life keeps kicking your feet out from beneath you: go out to lunch. That's what I did. And it was great.

Just Call Me Jonah

2007-03-06T13:16:00.000+01:00

Last week I dashed over to see my mother. One of the worst things about living here is that we don't see our family often enough and the guilt I feel about it is a burden I'll always have. In a weak moment my mother once confessed that all she'd wanted was to be able to have her grandchildren calling in for tea after school....

The whole trip was organised pretty much at the last minute as H. does have to pick up the slack: walk the dogs, act as taxi driver and chief cook and bottle washer as well as juggling his own stuff.
I also wanted to do it on a shoestring.
H. was generous and donated a handful of air miles, the ones he saves for that exciting trip we're always going to take..I managed to find a good deal on car hire; a car is essential - there are shoestrings and shoestrings and so I set off with a light heart.
My first day there and a fool trying to beat the lights drove into the side of the car. As I write I can feel my blood pressure rising...And, of course, I hadn't taken the extra insurance. I usually do but this time I didn't...so to save some fool a three minute wait at the lights it cost me 600 pounds!
And on top of that my allergies kicked in. Just don't talk to me about Spring....

But it was lovely to see Mum and in spite of all, we still managed to have a good time.

Looking for a Good Read

2007-02-23T09:40:00.000+01:00

Antibes has almost everything. It has the sea, sandy beaches and a highly atmospheric old town which is buzzing with vitality. People actually do their daily shopping in the big, covered market and, while there are a fair number of souvenir and gift shops, the impression is that the town is alive with ordinary people going about their lives.....until you go look at the super yachts belonging to the super rich that is. But that's a story for another day.

Depending on traffic it takes me about 30 minutes to reach Antibes and, regardless of what I have to do, I always take a walk by the sea. I feel refreshed afterwards.

This particular day I went to stock up on books. We're quite spoilt round here because we have an English bookshop in Valbonne, 5 minutes from home, and Heidi's in Antibes and the good thing about Heidi's is that she has a big selection of second hand books so whenever I'm feeling lazy and am looking for an easy read ( crime usually. I'm a big fan of Patricia Cornwell, Kathy Reichs et al) I head on down to Antibes..

The walk runs round the old town on the sea side and is lovely. The house above looks over the sea on two sides and I'd love to live in it...it's a stone's throw from the things I like most.

Carnival.

2007-02-20T14:07:00.000+01:00

Say Carnival and the elegance of Venice or the fleshy temptations of Rio float into mind but here on the Cote d'Azur we too have our version of Carnival, a boisterously colourful affair that involves thousands of flowers, loud music, dancing and hugely high spirits. I was in the city centre yesterday and the streets were packed with holiday makers and school children all set on having a good time.
People complain about the money it costs and, no, it doesn't pay its way and then there's the extra traffic etc etc but I'm all in favour of anything that lifts my spirits and brings smiles to every one's faces. Life's too short to be a grown up!
The shop windows are brightly decorated for the occasion. This one's a chocolatier and confiseur, full of bon bons and hand made chocolates grouped round this Venetian mask. Isn't it sumptuous?

The local schools usually celebrate Carnival on the Friday before the February holidays and the children are allowed to dress up, eat sweets and dance. Parents are allowed in if they're prepared to dress up too..
This is an old photo of my son dressed up for carnival. I've included it because he celebrated his 18th birthday last weekend and is now legally an adult which explains all the agonies of nostalgia I've been going through this week...

Everything Stops For Tea

2007-02-16T23:34:00.000+01:00

A sudden bout of nostalgia and a dull, damp afternoon sent me scurrying for comfort so we lit the fire and I invited our British neighbours round to join us for afternoon tea as we're still an alcohol free zone here.
Every Sunday when I was a child my mother would prepare high tea for us and our grandparents and she'd always make a Victoria sponge. Sunday can't have been much fun for her having to come home from Mass and start preparing the Sunday roast lunch, clearing it up and then starting on the tea..
Tea time is also a good opportunity to show off some of my nice porcelain which spends far too much time languishing in the cupboard.The rose plate is Royal Worcester and was a present as were the pretty patterned demi tasses. The lovely white pot and cups I bought in a junk shop. It's made from wafer thin porcelain and is a lovely example of art deco, just look at the shape of the handles.
So I made a plate of smoked salmon sandwiches, a chocolate sponge, (thanks, Nigella) and a nice pot of PG Tips tea, strong and refreshing. There are few British foods that I hanker after but I couldn't do without tea
In fact it was all such a huge success that I'll do it again next time it rains on a Sunday.

Am I Losing My Mind?

2007-02-13T16:11:00.000+01:00

H. says definitely not. Staring vacantly into the fridge for minutes at a time, forgetting everyone’s birthday and not being able to figure out the manual for the new dvd player, worse, not even wanting to figure it out are, according to him, the results of a busy, busy, overstressed, too-much-going-on life.
My doctor said the same thing when I ever so casually brought the subject up during a consultation about something else but she was prepared to do some easy tests there and then if I was worried. WORRIED? ME? No……I’ll go with the busy, overstressed life thing.

But the trouble is…I can’t. I can not actually believe that 10 years ago when I was juggling part time work with the management of the home, running everyone’s lives, and I knew the children’s school timetables off by heart; that time when I had a memory and could reach the end of a sentence without my mind veering off into greener pastures, I simply can not believe that I was less busy and less stressed then than now.

Frankly, the first time I reached into my mind for my mobile phone number and found myself staring into black nothingness I was terrified but, strangely enough, you become accustomed to writing things down, to having a calendar in every room and to making lists.

And the most amazing thing is that if you do dare to share it you’ll find that most of your female friends are secretly wondering if they're going mental and they’ll understand when you forget their birthdays…

But It's Not Lent...

2007-02-07T08:42:00.000+01:00

February is a special month chez nous. It's the month when friends are invited for tea and cake or coffee and biscuits. Connoisseur-like we debate the merits of Perrier, Badoit or San Pellegrino: San Pellegrino every time, it has a "purer" taste to my mind. Our shopping bills are halved and it's not even Lent.
Every February H. gives up wine (we drink nothing stronger)....to prove that he can. Living here slugging back a glass of the red stuff with dinner can easily become two glasses, half a bottle until we reach: "no point in putting the cork back in that" and we're talking bottles which is too much especially after Christmas and all the extra joviality.
It isn't difficult to do but it is harder to restructure our social life around it; friends approve of the idea but don't necessarily want to spend their Saturday evenings nursing a glass of fruit juice or being made to feel guilty sipping their glass of choice while watching us drink fizzy water, so good for the liver you know.
In March it'll start all over again, a glass of red with dinner and so on till we reach next February and we do the whole thing all over again...
And the photo? A friend introduced us to this last Summer and it slips down so easily I had to share it. It's a Spanish fizzy white wine. It's light and has a pleasant taste though not at all sugary. It's exactly what you need when you're sitting in your garden one warm, still evening watching the sun go down. The next best thing about it is its price which is why we bought a box of it ready for the warm weather.
Why did H. choose February? Because it's the shortest month, of course...

Gourdon the Saracen

2007-02-03T16:20:00.000+01:00

Meredith proposed that we should all post a photo of our home towns or villages and, obedient as I am, I was just browsing through looking for something appropriate when I came across these.
They're not recent photos. I took them last October during the Indian Summer which faded into Indian Autumn and thence to Indian Winter and have never got round to posting them.

The 3rd photo shows the village from the road perched on its crag safe from invaders from the sea. It's called Gourdon the Saracen and these days it's been invaded by tourists and the old houses have been turned into shops and boutiques selling all sorts of local products.

The village is lovely with a handful of winding lanes filled with houses whose stones are easy on the eye even in the dazzling light of high Summer. There's a Chateau with a gem of a garden designed by Le Notre and featured on the BBC, no less, and on a clear day there are the most breathtaking views both from the Chateau and the viewing table.

I stopped and had a cool drink at the cafe/restaurant which, I promise wasn't the one in the fly-in-a-pizza incident.

PS Thanks for all your comments which I really do love reading.
Browsing through this two days later (sometimes I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer) I hope no one thought I actually live here because I don't. Where I live's much more ordinary but at least the roads are less suicidal...
Meredith: the path is called Chemin du Paradis which has to be the biggest misnomer ever as it's a, in theory, 30 minute slog up a near perpendicular, rock strewn path, the sort where you put one foot forward, it slips and you end up grazing your knees.
But the view is superlative.

Winter in the South

2007-01-30T12:09:00.000+01:00

Winters here are mild, one of the reasons Queen Victoria sat out the British Winter in Cimiez or Grasse. Even so every year we do have a cold spell lasting from a day or two to a month and last week it hit us forcing me to bring my lemon and kumquat trees under shelter and wrap up my paeonies which are budding already.
Sunday, however, was a day sent from heaven. The mercury had risen and an overnight wind had cleared the skies.

I would have liked to have gone down to the coast, taken the day off but duty dictated we stay at home with a mountain of small administrative stuff that had to be tackled. Soooooo booooring(yawn)

After lunch, bored rigid with paperwork I headed outside into the garden to get my daily dose of vitamin D. My garden tends to grow in spite of me and though we have a respectable rectangle of lawn and shrubs under the terrace much of the rest is allowed to proliferate as it wishes. We say that it's more environmentally friendly and attracts more bees and butterflies but really we simply don't have time for everything...

I discovered that tiny violets are pushing through the grass already; one year they formed a purple carpet right across the garden. The viburnum is blooming too but the king of the garden is the mimosa. Natives of Australia these grow here like weeds and are a splash of vivid colour in the depths of January.

The final photo is another view from the back of the house looking north to Pic de Courmettes. The olives and pines belong to our neighbour and though it may look rural he's busy building his house just a little to the right of the picture.

Pity.

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast...

2007-01-27T11:38:00.000+01:00

One well known fact about France, apart from the great food and wine, is that to drive in France is to take your life in your hands and that there are days when staying home is definitely the safer option.

I passed my driving test two weeks before leaving Britain and so the mayhem here was something I quickly became used to. H. however never really got to grips with finding either oncoming traffic taking short cuts by borrowing his side of the road or drivers aggressively tailgating him. And then there were the roads themselves: narrow and winding with the camber often carrying you in the wrong direction and the surface dissolving in showers of rain thus wrecking your tyres.

Jacques Chirac resolved to fix the problem and deaths from traffic accidents have gone down since the initiative has passed down to local government. .
Above is one of the ways to curb excessive speed which has caused a lot of chatter round here. It warns drivers very clearly about the presence of a speed camera. Neither the warning or the camera which has violent yellow and black stripes is missable or, if you do miss them you should consider having your eyes checked.

There are two of these babies on roads that I regularly use and they are both situated before accident black spots. The local Conseil Generale is on record as saying that he's in the business of preventing accidents rather than merely punishing offenders though many people find this difficult to understand and claim that the cameras are there to make money. I don't quite follow the reasoning as it seems clear that if you break the rules, you pay the price and no one is actually forcing you to break the speed limit. In any event the number of road deaths has decreased so something's working.
It just goes to prove that when you hit someone in the wallet, their hearts and minds will follow!
How does it work in other parts of France or even the world?

Getting it Right.

2007-01-24T08:54:00.000+01:00

Back again after my brief spell as a hod carrier and general builder's dogsbody and I must say blogging's much more fun and doesn't get underneath your fingernails or in your hair...

I found myself googling French etiquette the other day trying desperately to find out what sort of gift is acceptable to take to an aperitif: a small bunch of flowers, a tiny box of chocolates, the same size of gift you'd take to a dinner?
What should have been a pleasure almost stressed me out and by the time I'd changed my clothes three times: casual jeans and sweater? black trousers and smart sweater? H. was ready to crack..It isn't, after all, the first time we'd been invited to aperitifs and I'm usually confident enough to deal with it but these are new neighbours so I wanted to get it right and we all know what sticklers the French are for etiquette.
Of course everything went well, the flowers were the right size, the clothes, casual trousers and sweater, mirrored theirs but their house, their house is fabulous, achingly stylish and oh so pristine so now I'm stressing about inviting them back...

6 Weird Things About Me..

2007-01-20T00:28:00.000+01:00

I've been tagged by Tut Tut and I was tempted. I simply cannot resist tag games.

I read good novels through once very quickly so that I'll know what happens then ill go straight back and read it again so I can appreciate the writing.
I'm the musical equivalent of colour blind. It's rare for me to enjoy music though i wish i could.
Tigers are the most beautiful animals alive and I have nightmares about meeting one...in the flesh. Like they're so common here on the Cote d'Azur.
I always save a choice morsel of the tastiest part of a meal to finish with.
I'm just a bit scared of the dark. Since my children were babies we've left a light burning at night and we still do even though they're grown. We pretend it's on in case anyone gets up but we all know it's really for me.
It only recently occurred to me that I could leave the cinema if I wasn't enjoying the film. It was kind of..liberating.

Who will I tag? Let's try Claudia, Gigi, Astrid and Shaz.

My thanks for all your good wishes and encouragement during the building project. We're actually just closing in a covered terrace to make a bedroom for our studio where Daughter's living. It shouldn't be too difficult so we're doing it ourselves. Can I hear you laughing out there?

Something To Think about.

2007-01-16T10:38:00.000+01:00

The same friend who passed the piece about English killing you sent me this little number:

What Would Have Happened if The Three Wise Men Had Been Three Wise Women?

They would have asked the way.
They would have arrived on time.
They would have helped at the birth.
They would have cleaned up the stable.
They would have given something useful
and brought something to eat.

And What Would They Have Said Immediately After Leaving:

Did you see those sandals Mary was wearing and, my dear, that tunic?
The baby doesn't look at all like his father.
I heard Joseph's unemployed.
I don't know how they could live like that, what with all those animals in the house. Hardly a sanitary place to bring up a baby.
And the mule's seen better days.
I wonder if they'll remember to give back the lasagne dish...

Tell me, are we really like that?

I'm hitting the pause button for about a week. We're starting building work here and I think we'll progress quicker if all my brain's engaged instead of just a handful of cells (because the rest are all employed framing a new post).

I will still be visiting and commenting, though, I simply won't have time to write.

Love to you all...

Fat Doctor: Skidboot the Dog#links

2007-01-14T12:03:00.000+01:00

Fat Doctor: Skidboot the Dog#links

Never done one of these "link to this post" before and I'm astonished that it seems to have worked!

The video is 100% pure sugar but heartwarming to watch.
Anger, sadness and happiness leave me dry eyed but anything sentimental and I'll cry you a river...
Enjoy.
Angela

Tales From The Exam Room

2007-01-13T23:25:00.000+01:00

It's been a busy one, this week. Son's been doing mock International Baccalaureate exams and has thus had a totally new timetable that's had me running back and fro Nice like an idiot....all week. So even the mums get to do a practice run.

He's not tempting fate by telling us how he felt it went but he's plenty of remarks to make about his invigilators: noisy shoes, coughing too loud...anyone who's ever sat an exam will know. As an ex teacher invigilator these are some of my favourite stories read over the shoulders of innocent students:

Finding a piece of paper on a student's table with the words "Bo Peep did it for the insurance"...

Looking at an answer paper with what looked like a picture of Clint Eastwood from his spaghetti western days on. Next to it was the caption "Moses was outlawed.".

Another pupil wrote "He got on the train and it set off with a jerk..."

A favourite of mine was "He kept a giant Brian in a jar" Not a nice thought.

Then there was the time when because of a bomb alarm the school was evacuated except for the pupils taking public exams and the staff invigilating. It was thought that as that was the third alarm in a week and that as the school was a quiet place in the middle of the countryside it was unlikely to be an Al Quaida target. So comforting watching everyone file out...

But the best exam story happened in France when I was ferrying 2 teenagers home from school after a public exam. Neighbour boy answered his mobile phone and from the driving seat I could hear an agitated screeching noise coming from the phone and Neighbour Boy was saying No, No, I handed it in. No, I'm sure and was all the while rifling through his bag.
I braked.
He rifled some more and came up with his exam answer sheet which he had forgotten to hand in.
Remember this is a public exam here!
We went back to school and handed the paper in. Poor boy. Everyone knew ....and laughed.
Next week should see us back to normal or, in the immortal words of the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy: " once we establish what is normal anyway."

In an Ideal World....

2007-01-09T14:57:00.000+01:00

Weeks ago I read a very nostalgic post about how our childhoods were richer, more action packed and freer than the childhoods our children are having now.
I was sure Pam had written the post but I can't find it over there. Anyway it made me smile with a tear in my eye when the poster described all those days so full of possibilities when we ran about free as the wind unconfined by parental worry and we didn't have mobile phones either...
We roamed in twos or threes much further than our parents knew, raced around building sites and cemeteries and played chicken on the railway lines. Yes really. I've never told that to my mother who would quite likely die if she knew. I know I would.

I've given my children the best upbringing I could with as much freedom as I could but it's true they've never taken off on a summer morning with a sandwich in their pockets and the day laid out like a map before them. I've always been there in the background hovering...

So.....last week I was having coffee with a group of friends from the village. We all have big children of about the same age and, of course, they're all of the age where we can't protect them anymore even if they were willing to be protected and, of course, they laugh away our advice and concerns because danger is a story to them having been picked up and dropped off all their sweet lives.
Then we mums took a trip down the nostalgia route and it transpired that out of the 5 of us, an American, two French, a Belgian and me, we had all as children been offered lifts by strangers.
Fortunately all of us had run away. And I never told my mother about that either but I don't know why. Looking back I suppose I realised that if I told then my days of freedom would be numbered.
Times are different now. There are more people, more cars, more possible dangers so I wrapped mine up in cotton wool and now I wonder how Boychild will manage when he leaves us this coming Autumn.

Fed Up and It's Only January...

2007-01-06T13:04:00.000+01:00

We picked Nice to have our Sunday coffee partly because it's a very lovely place to visit on a sunny day and partly because I've started a new blog called Nice in France Daily Photo so come over and visit when you've got a spare minute.

Yes, the Negresco. This is one of the world's great hotels situated right there on the seafront albeit with a dual carriageway out front (but the sound proofing's so good you'd never know). Here are some things I didn't know: that the hotel remains in private hands which is what gives it a certain individualism and its owner actually lives there in a penthouse apartment. The other thing I learned was that the owner, Jeanne Augier, has the most fascinating collection of paintings and sculptures on show in the foyer and galleries of the hotel and that visitors can walk round and enjoy it all.

It was towards the end of the visit that 2007 started to slide downhill: I threw my camera at the Renoir bronze of his wife's head. Yup. Really. I was taking a photo of the head when the camera started to slide through my fingers and while trying to grab it I managed to, well, throw it. I'll just say that again;

I.threw. my. camera. at. a. Renoir (as in famous French impressionist painter) sculpture. It hit the head and then the floor and burst open...It was fixable but doesn't work quite as smoothly as it did. The bronze was fine...

This happened just a day or so after starting the photo blog and receiving photoshop as a Christmas gift. Of course.

And just to complete the destruction of any other photo hopes Picasa has tidied my photos away somewhere and won't tell where. Yes, they are still on my hard drive so all is not lost but they're not so accessible there and then do I trust Picasa to look after them again? I like Picasa and more importantly I don't want to have to become accustomed to another software but it's time to back up the files.

And while pondering all this I caught this year's microbe: a flu-y stomach bug so I'm not really a very happy bunny.

This was supposed to go in the paragraph on the hotel but I forgot it and it's one of the things about Nice that enrages me....

Take a good look at the photo of the hotel frontage and let me point out here that this building has been classified as a National Heritage. Given its splendour how on earth did they obtain permission to put that extremely ugly door at street level? How can anyone think it's a good idea, except for makers of aluminium door frames that is.

I'm stunned...

The Vegetarian Option

2007-01-03T09:49:00.000+01:00

It's never been easy to find good vegetarian food round here. Even if you phone in advance and alert the restaurant all they'll do is slap an omelette on your plate and charge you more for the privilege. Vegetarianism is regarded as a fad, something you'll grow out of....

We have a vegetarian friend coming to stay this weekend and he'd like to take us somewhere nice for dinner. But where?
As it happened H. was chatting to a vegetarian at a Christmas party so he took the opportunity to ask for some recommendations and the veggie told him this story about a recent restaurant experience:
The veggie, called Paul, with his co workers had booked a Christmas meal at a local restaurant and, of course, he'd asked for a veggie option when deciding the menu in advance.

"Don't worry" he was told. "We'll do you something special"

Such enthusiasm is unusual and being a keen cook himself, he was looking forward to seeing what the restaurant would come up with.

At the restaurant the waiter slapped a plateful of lamb down in front of him. So Paul sighed a little and said he was the vegetarian.

"Oh" said the waiter "That's you, is it? We've done you something special"

And he took away the lamb and brought back a plateful of....rabbit.

Well they eat grass.

New Year

2007-01-01T10:04:00.000+01:00

A very happy New Year to you all. I hope it brings you whatever you wish for yourselves...

So what resolutions did you make?
I dusted off a few old favourites like I should lose weight. I do that one every year and, to be fair, I do lose weight but those lost kilos sure do stick close to mamma because one slice of chocolate cake will see them crowding back and they bring friends. Seriously I have to lose weight...
Apart from that....nothing. A couple of years ago I tackled the fear of flying thing and I'll now at least get on a plane. I don't enjoy it but then I don't enjoy going to the dentist either.
I suppose one good resolution would be to think before opening my mouth...I truly was never destined for the diplomatic service and while friends and family make allowances I can upset people I don't know very well. I'm far too embarrassed to repeat any of my gaffes here but the edit button is one thing I really appreciate about blogging.

The pictures above are painted by a friend and sold at the Christmas markets. I think those bears are so cute...

Housework Cuts Breast Cancer Risk....

2006-12-29T14:29:00.000+01:00

I bet it was a guy who came up with this one...

I'm away to fire the cleaning staff!

More Photos of Valbonne

2006-12-28T10:49:00.000+01:00

I couldn't resist posting more of my Valbonne shopping trip photos. I had such a pleasant morning down there dipping in and out of the shops and admiring the stalls and as we'd hit the streets early we pretty well had the place to ourselves for awhile.

The oysters up above are what we'll be eating on New Year's Eve, called the Reveillon. We've been invited to a party and everyone's to contribute a dish. We're supplying some oysters and a friend's bringing Coquilles Saint Jacques in Noilly Prat. I know I'll need the recipe for that one.

The tea pots were in a shop I'd not seen before but that's the trouble with Valbonne; shops open and close all the time. I bought two mugs in the leopard print. They weren't exactly pottery being much finer but not porcelain either. What I did like was the finish which made the leopard effect look opaque. It doesn't show up well on the photo. Anyway I bought the mugs (called les mugs in french!) for friends, my last Christmas gift.

These jugglers were part of the amusement. They were doing well then a second after I took the photo they dropped the skittles!

Christmas Markets

2006-12-27T10:13:00.000+01:00

Christmas 2006 has come and gone again, all that preparation and money spent and today I'll be back in the shops refilling the fridge and cupboards.
That said we had a peaceful family day with lots of laughter. One of the sweetest moments was watching our smallest guest discovering Christmas. We took a moment to show him how to rip the wrapping paper off his presents so it shouldn't have been a surprise when he picked up a book and ripped the page straight out....

In the weeks leading up to Christmas most of the local communities host Christmas markets featuring stalls selling local produce and Christmas gifts. These photos were taken in Valbonne. We always buy our honey from these bee keepers as they also have a stall at the Friday market. I love their soaps, the shape, the smell and their mildness.

If you don't read French you'll recognise these. An American called Anne Sabin lives in Valbonne and makes and sells her own produce. As your Chief Tester of Good Things down here on the Cote d'Azur I can highly recommend the chunkies and banana muffins which we ate in the square with steaming cups of coffee...

PS The son of Darlene of A Walk in My Shoes was involved in a serious accident just before Christmas. His condition remains critical. She's constantly in my thoughts...

How to upset Parents..

2006-12-22T14:43:00.000+01:00

Now here's a sad little Christmas story that I found really quite difficult to believe or understand:

In France we have a wonderful institution called the Maternelle, a non obligatory school, for want of a better word for children aged 3 to 5 or 6. The kids don't have a formal education until the third year when they start prereading exercises but rather they learn through play and music and are socialised; taught how to queue, yes really, and how to walk hand in hand in a crocodile and how to share. I could go on and on about how marvellous they are but that's not the point....

Most children love being there because it's a safe environment in which to start moving away from maman.

A friend told me that her son's Maternelle teacher had decided to ban Father Christmas from the classroom this year. Her motives weren't entirely clear as there are no children in her class from other religions and, in any case, Father Christmas isn't a religious figure. She was also quoted as saying that in her opinion Christmas was becoming over commercialised so she was making a stand against it.. Try explaining that to a class of 4 year olds. And their parents. Particularly their parents.

So this is the situation; there are around 80 children in this school the majority of whom were partying with Father Christmas yesterday and this one class was going out for a walk with their teacher.......though they were allowed to have a bag of sweets to take home at the end.

I just wonder how much goodwill there was between that teacher and her 4 year old pupils and their understandably cross parents.

'Tis the Season to be Jolly....

2006-12-21T13:04:00.000+01:00

I suffer from 3 phobias:
I hate flying. To be more precise I hate my feet leaving the ground and even climbing on a chair is enough to induce a panic attack.
I hate paying bills but I suspect that may be universal and
I hate Post Offices, any Post office, anywhere.
With Christmas practically upon us I've had to steel myself and have spent more time there than I'm comfortable with....
Monday I was in the queue waiting to post cards and trying to eavesdrop the muttered conversation behind me when the door swings open and a voice shouts
Man: Whose is the Renault 5 outside?
Woman: Why?
Man: You've left it in the middle of the road and it's blocking all the traffic No one can move....
Woman: Well if there were two windows open I'd have been quicker.
Man: Bewildered. But that's not the point...
Woman bustles out.

Tuesday I was back with Daughter. I had a packet to send and H. wanted proof of posting. No big deal but the assistant tries to sell me a method of posting that costs twice as much. Basically it's the same service but I can follow the progress of the packet on the computer.
I appreciate the thought but my life is not yet so devoid of excitement that this is tempting and then she made the fatal mistake of turning to my daughter and saying: "You could do that for your maman, couldn't you. Follow it on the computer for her."
So I hit her round the head with my zimmer frame.....

Marmelade

2006-12-18T11:44:00.000+01:00

This small tree growing on the terrace in front of our guest annex is our pride and joy. I haven't got the greenest of green thumbs and most of what's in our garden has learned to flourish on neglect ...or die. I'm prepared to water and, occasionally, throw a little food at my plants so I don't expect such enthusiastic fruiting as this. The tree, a bitter orange, was here when we moved in 6 years ago and every year it's produced a little more fruit than the year before but this time it's really pushed the boat out.

Problem was what to do with it. It didn't feel right to leave the oranges to rot on the tree as I usually do; that they look so gorgeous hanging in the sun is my defence. I could only think of two things: marmelade or vin d'orange, orange wine. Sounds like a no brainer but vin d'orange gives me the biggest headache so I opted for marmelade. Just like jam but with less sugar, no?

No. Having borrowed a big pot I decided to double the recipe so eight hours later I'm still standing over the cooker watching the pot boil and this was Saturday evening!

I started at 2pm and ladled the last of the marmelade into the jars at 10.30pm.

The final tally was 3 blistered fingers and 14 costly pots of marmelade(all that electricity) though H. says it's the best. Good job with all those pots to get through.

The moral of the story is don't double the recipe!

Christmas Shopping.

2006-12-15T08:49:00.000+01:00

I've never been quite so far behind with my Christmas shopping as I am this year so I took a little trip out on Monday to Biot to see if inspiration struck.
Biot is yet another beautiful, perched Provencal village and its speciality is glass. There are several verreries just outside the village but La Verrerie de Biot is perhaps the most popular.
If you're in the area it's well worth a visit because you can watch the glassmakers making the glassware. It's quite spectacular though you wonder how they cope in high summer handling molten glass in a room full of furnaces. It's pretty uncomfortable as a visitor but at least we're able to pop in and out. There was little work going on on Monday, though, as we arrived just before lunchtime and the artisans were off eating.
The gallery of Jean Claude Navarro, one of the better known artists, was open and the second and third photos show examples of his work.
I particularly like the teardrop shaped paperweight. The clean unfussy lines appeal to me. Too much detail stresses me. I love the colours of the vase in the third photo but couldn't live with it.
I felt like buying the teardrop glass or at least putting it on my wish list but I already have a paperweight collection that lives in a cupboard because of lack of space and this one wouldn't fit in as it's considerably bigger. Pity.

I moved into the shop area and the sight of all that china and glassware terrified me as I'm always sure that one day I'll upend a display.

The glass is hand made and is known for the tiny air bubbles incorporated during its manufacture which aren't really visible in the photos. I liked the champagne and glasses gift set though it was expensive and I couldn't think of anyone to give it to but it's nice to know it's there should I ever need to buy a magnificent present for someone.

I loved these fish bowls but again for myself.

Well, I came away empty handed though I'd spent a relaxing half an hour looking round at all the beautiful stuff but I'm still no nearer to finding presents. I guess there's always Amazon!

I hadn't realised that by clicking on the photos they're enlargeable. Duh!

Don't Talk to Me About Personal Liberty...

2006-12-14T13:14:00.000+01:00

I’ve been following in a very casual way the debate about the New York ban on trans fats. If you haven’t heard about it already you can find the low down here.
Trans fats which are truly a bad idea health wise are found in “industrialized” food: cakes, pies, biscuits basically anything you didn’t make yourself from scratch. If you did bake that cake and you used hard margarine then they’re in that cake too.
They also appear naturally but in small amounts. Of course.
Yesterday I took a glance at the forum about the ban on MSN and was totally riveted by the number of people who felt that the ban is an attack on their personal liberty; that their personal choice of whether or not to die by the slow silting up of their arteries is being eroded.

So what’s this got to do with living in France, you ask?
As I was tootling along this morning I was flashed by 3 or 4 cars which in local-speak means: beware there’s a police control up ahead!
The gendarmes were indeed staking out the roundabout and were checking that people were wearing their seat belts. A law which has been in operation for at least 20 years.
Let me repeat it: They were ensuring that drivers and passengers were belted up, an action most of us do automatically.
Some, as in quite a few, French people believe that being forced to wear a seat belt is an affront to their personal liberty and they wish to retain the right to endanger themselves and other people; they call it freedom.
I would, if I were in charge of health care, make them pay, out of their own pockets, for the treatment of any injuries incurred as a result of not wearing a seat belt.
I believe we should all be prepared to take resposibility for our actions...

On a lighter note: one sure way of fattening up the super slim French is to ban trans fats. No?

PS Non Beta bloggers have alerted me to the fact that they cannot always post a comment. I alerted the Blogger help yesterday but it seems that this isn't only my problem.
If you wish to comment and can't you could always email it and I will post it myself till the problem's solved.

Honesty.

2006-12-12T13:36:00.000+01:00

I like to think I'm honest. If I'm given the wrong change in a shop I give back the extra, if someone drops money in front of me I'll point it out. If a tax bill comes through that's too little I own up; well, you know they'll get you sometime...

If, however, you've just bought a 200 euro dress and you ask me what it looks like, I will tell you it looks perfect.....regardless. Where diplomacy is called for I will give it my all and I will lie and I rely on you to do the same to me.

H. and I have known each other for a long time and he openly admitted last night that he'd only recently learned that honesty's not always called for or even desirable. The incident he used to illustrate this point happened years ago before we were married which proves that I must love him indeed...

It was Spring and I'd found a bargain in a local dress shop; the prettiest Summer dress you've ever seen. It had spaghetti straps, was the sort of length and fullness that moves the air agreeably round your legs in the hot weather and was made of a very fine candy striped cotton. Remember we're talking years ago here....

I went home with a smile on my face, with that feeling you have when life's been particularly kind to you. H. was there and I couldn't wait to show him. I didn't expect him to understand the total awesomeness of the purchase: right price, right fit, right colour but I hoped he'd appreciate my pleasure.

So as I was pulling the dress out of the bag he said "Gosh, you've bought a deck chair"......

Guess how many times I wore that dress.

My big kids loved that story...

2006-12-10T17:24:00.000+01:00

Making friends here in this area wasn't difficult at all. In the years following our arrival, the science park of Sophia Antipolis opened its gates to companies from all over the world: Dow Corning, Digital now Compaq, Andersen consulting et al and all of them flying in their brightest and best. We made friends with people of all nationalities perhaps because we all shared a spirit of adventure and a love of France. They were heady days, pre children, discovering the South of France together while the red wine flowed.
Time moves on and with the recession biting, those companies started withdrawing, regrouping. Relocating employees costs a fortune so the friends started packing to return to their respective countries.

With the birth of the children our friendships changed and grew to include the parents of our children's schoolmates and as we lived on a small estate of family houses our neighbours joined the club. And without doing it consciously we started choose our friends from among the people who could be relied on to stay. Friendships here tend to be more intense. Because we rely on our friends to act as our back up in emergencies when families are too far away we are prepared to invest a lot of emotion and it's gut wrenching for all of us when someone leaves.
18 months ago a Canadian family whom we'd known for ten years whose children had grown up alongside our own, had to return to Canada. We knew we would miss them terribly.....

So to give them good memories to take away with them a group of us decided to organise a spectacular leave taking. As with any occasion organised by a commitee there were differences of opinion. Take these photos, for example. They show the Chateau de St Martin near Taradeau in the Var famous for its cru classes wines.

Some of us, interestingly the "foreigners" i.e. those not from Provence, thought it was the dream party place: we imagined tables groaning with good food, with buckets of chilled champagne set out under the shade of the plane trees overlooking the "parc a l'anglaise" and ourselves drifting in pale floaty dresses under the moon; the ladies that is.... Too, too romantic.

Others, the Provencal French, weren't so convinced declaring it "moche" or ugly. They wanted something sleek, chic and sophisticated...

We did all agree, however, that an hour's drive home after a party was 55 minutes too long!

I'll complete the tale in later posts but in case you're looking for the perfect place for a party the staff of the Chateau de St Martin:chateaudesaintmartin.com are all lovely. Some speak English and all are very helpful and their prices were reasonable.

And I still regret not holding the party there!

Are you an A-List Bloglebrity?

2006-12-09T15:33:00.000+01:00

Unfortunately not....but I do make the C list which puts me on the same pages of Hello magazine as all those soap "stars"
Gosh, that's made my day!

Just click on the pink heart in the sidebar if you want to know where you stand.

The 4 Meme...

2006-12-07T13:50:00.000+01:00

I've been tagged by Shaz at Dare To Dream to come up with some answers to these below but before I start a PS on my Paint tip.

This works beautifully with water based paints too. In fact that's when I discovered it. I didn't have time to finish the bedroom in one day so I wrapped up the brushes and left them and then whenever I had even a half hour to spare I could go and paint without having to spend 10 minutes preparing and 10 minutes clearing up and when I'd finished I just threw out the brush which was past saving by then. The other good thing is that water isn't wasted. But that's enough of that..Here's the meme:

4 Jobs I have Had

1. doing traffic surveys. During the school hols. Great fun/good money.

2. taking down orders in a brewery. Holiday job. Good money but was almost sacked for sending 5 barrels of beer to Swansea Show instead of 50. Didn't win the "most popular employee" award.

3. doing the Christmas post as a student. Didn't pay well. I was cold most of the time but there was a great deal of fun had.

4. Teaching. Um. Yes.

4 Movies I would Watch Over and Over

Can I settle for 4 movies I would watch or have watched more than once?

1. The first Neverending Story film. Must have watched that ten times at least. My daughter loved it.

2. Most Disney.

3. Lord of the Rings Trilogy because there's so much detail in these films it's impossible to take it all in in one sitting.

4. Pirates of the Caribbean because it's good fun and makes me laugh and Johnny Depp is brilliant as Captain Jack Sparrow.

4 TV Shows.

As stated earlier I don't watch tv much so

1. Fawlty Towers. No words to describe it. I only learned recently that there were only 12 episodes.

2. The BBC Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth. I've got it on dvd too and I've watched it several times.

3. Thalassa. A french programme that goes out on Fridays. All about the sea and stories related to it...very informative and beautifully filmed and, apart from the news the only French programme I go out of my way to watch.

4. Greys Anatomy. See previous post.

4 Places I Have Visted

1. Assissi. I went as a 12 year old on a school trip and fell in love with it. Looking back I believe it was partly responsible for me making my home in Europe.

2. Rome on the same school trip.

3. St Petersburg when it was Leningrad. I could have spent weeks in the Hermitage alone.

4. Salzburg. The architecture and a McDonald's sporting a Baroque golden M.

4 Favourite Foods.

1. Nigella's Chocolate Pavlova. Recipe posted earlier.

2. The Fillets of Salmon cooked in Champagne by Rick Stein.

3. The Julia Child recipe for Boeuf Bourguignon

4. Christmas dinner.

All home cooked by a really good cook and I don't mean me.

4 Websites I visit daily.

1. Google

2.BBC news

3. Angloinfo

4. The Guardian newspaper

4 Bloggers I would Like to Respond if they can...

1. Claudia

2. Kari

3. Tut-Tut

4. Betty

Good luck!

A Great Tip: Works For Me Wednesdays

2006-12-06T15:31:00.000+01:00

I found this great site a few weeks ago but every time a Wednesday came round I forgot.
The idea is that you add your link to the "blog carnival" and write about your tip. A lot of them, especially the ones using bicarbonate of soda and vinegar, will be familiar to you. Isn't there a book describing the 100 uses of vinegar?
I certainly use lots of bicarb for all sorts of things though this is one I haven't tried: a friend had vile sinus problems which persisted in spite of antibiotics (she lives in a very polluted city) so her doctor advised her to do a nasal wash with weak bicarb solution. It sounds dreadful, doesn't it? But it worked! Though don't try this at home...
No, that wasn't MY TIP. Here it is....
I'm the chief painting and decorating section of our partnership. This is ok and is certainly more desirable than being the chief unblocker of drains..It's a restful job though the one thing that I don't enjoy is cleaning the brushes but you have to do it particularly when the job needs to be finished the next day.
So one day while watching the hairdresser wrap a client's streaks in clingfilm to stop them drying out it occurred to me that I could wrap my brushes in clingfilm, I think it's called saran wrap in the States, instead of washing them so that the following morning I could take up where I left off with the brush already charged. You can also wrap up the paint tray. Just make sure that all the tools are well wrapped up with no chinks for the air to get in.
And it works like a dream.
And if you already knew that, why didn't you tell me?

To Cannes...

2006-12-04T10:00:00.000+01:00

I was about to start this with the remark that life is now back to normal as Boy Child starts back to school after his 3 week lay off but then I started musing over the definition of "normal." Who actually has a nicely predictable life and wouldn't you be bored if you did? It's the unpredictable that keeps me interested. Which translates as my parents in law have joined us for a 2 week stay. As they are the easiest people to get along with their presence in the house is a pleasure and as they've been coming twice a year at least since we arrived they know how my life works...chaotically.
As Friday dawned clear and bright I ran them down to Cannes as they wanted ozone and shops in that order.

Cannes was jumping with activity as usual. It's a very popular conference centre outside of the film festival time and you can see the delegates pouring out of the GMF(who're they?) conference down the famous red carpet.

Outside the Palais des Festivals are handprints of the beautiful and famous set in cement. I took a photo of the one my children used to insist on looking at every time we came to Cannes; I know its location so well I could find it in the dark.

I walked a little way along the Croissette taking in the shops and people watching. I love the front of Dolce and Gabbana and the reflection of the sea in its mirrored window, so sleek.
And if I'd had time I'd have lunched here at this beach restaurant simply to reward their marketing skills: towards the bottom it says "We speak French, Italian, English and football." Then underneath "Smile you're in Cannes"
And there in the distance is the Carlton where the stars stay during the festival.

My mother in law had hit the market with a vengeance; to say she loves a bargain is understating it and she stumbled across a stallfull of jackets, very reasonably priced she told me. As she was rifling through and remarking to my father in law about the quality of the synthetic fur so real looking, an American voice said quietly in English behind her: it's all from cats and dogs, you know.

Exit mother in law.

Thanks

2006-12-03T11:32:00.000+01:00

I'm going to try to put a proper post up here before the end of the day but for the moment I wanted to say how happy your encouragement made me. I felt very frustrated at not being able to come out at the end of the month with 30 posts. There you go, that's life...Time to move on.

Tut-Tut: I can't link to your blog anymore. Can you send me a mail with the address?

I'm having a few very minor problems with Beta. I'm not complaining too much, though, because I've read horror stories of people who completely lost their blogs during the changeover but I really dislike the way the print changes; I don't find it attractive.
And now I seem unable to link to some people through the comments.And it's raining!!

National Blog Posting Month.

2006-11-30T22:51:00.000+01:00

"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

2006-11-29T08:35:00.000+01:00

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..

2006-11-28T15:04:00.000+01:00

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...

2006-11-27T17:11:00.000+01:00

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....

2006-11-26T10:35:00.000+01:00

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

2006-11-25T18:05:00.000+01:00

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.

2006-11-24T09:11:00.000+01:00

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.

2006-11-23T21:43:00.000+01:00

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

2006-11-22T09:35:00.000+01:00

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.

2006-11-21T14:41:00.000+01:00

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.

2006-11-20T13:50:00.000+01:00

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.

2006-11-19T15:02:00.000+01:00

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

2006-11-18T10:16:00.000+01:00

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....

2006-11-15T22:04:00.000+01:00

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

2006-11-14T22:42:00.000+01:00

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...

2006-11-13T22:54:00.000+01:00

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..

2006-11-12T14:26:00.000+01:00

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

2006-11-11T16:44:00.000+01:00

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

2006-11-10T13:25:00.000+01:00

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...

2006-11-09T09:41:00.000+01:00

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

2006-11-08T18:20:00.000+01:00

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

2006-11-07T22:41:00.000+01:00

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....

2006-11-06T09:28:00.000+01:00

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!

2006-11-05T15:21:00.000+01:00

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..

2006-11-05T09:49:00.000+01:00

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

2006-11-04T22:58:00.000+01:00

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!

2006-11-03T15:47:00.000+01:00

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....

2006-11-02T08:39:00.000+01:00

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

2006-11-01T12:04:00.000+01:00

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?

Hallow E'en.

2006-10-31T22:57:00.000+01:00

"From ghoulies and ghosties and long leggety beasties and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us! "
Author unknown.

National Blog Posting Month.

2006-10-30T14:27:00.000+01:00

It's National Blog Posting Month in November and I'm hoping to post everyday which should be interesting as I'll be away in a computer free environment for 4 days.
This is the link to the site if you'd like more information.

Teenagers.....The Light at the End of the Tunnel.

2006-10-29T10:19:00.000+01:00

I was going to entitle this: The Joy of Teenagers but I thought H. (husband) would have a hernia he was laughing so hard..("Run that by me again...")
All mothers out there will remember the last hellish month of pregnancy when you'd have done anything, gone through anything just to get that baby out.....the last years of adolescence are as unbearable...and, then, suddenly it's all over.
We've arrived at that stage or almost. In the last 9 months Daughter (D.) has decided to finish her schooling, skip University, has opted for vocational training when's she's 20 and, in the meantime is living in our studio with her partner and financing herself with temporary work.
This was such a huge departure from our own visions of her future; student life, a chance to be irresponsible and carefree that it's taken a while to reconcile ourselves to the difference. But, thankfully, we've got there...
It had to be her choice in the end as it's her life though I'm so disappointed that I won't be able to relive my own student days through her; she's a tremendous mimic and has a way of describing people and events that's worthy of a bigger stage.

And secretly, in my heart of hearts, I'm happy that she's so close still and I don't have to do this:
Where are you going?
Who with?
What time will you be back?
That's too late.
Who's driving?
Do they drink?
Are you sure?

anymore....

Sunday Coffee 4...Tourrettes sur Loup

2006-10-25T15:29:00.000+01:00

Writing this blog has been good for me in all sorts of unexpected ways one of which is that instead of frittering away our Sundays we go out together and explore and because there's all sorts of interesting places on our doorstep that we haven't yet seen we don't even need to travel far.
Take Tourrettes sur Loup for example. In all the times I've driven through I've never taken five minutes to stop and have a look.

If Tourrette's your favourite Provencal town you may want to stop reading here.

I didn't take to it which may have been because of the weather, of course: overcast though not cold. These towns are made for sunshine.

There was much to admire as we followed a signposted tour through lots of winding medieval streets past picturesque buildings, all lovingly restored, and everywhere was beautifully clean. There were young couples, old couples, families all following the same path as us and we all approved the restoration and the cleanliness and we all popped into the same art galleries...And oh my, so many of them...And stopped at the same view points but it was...Sterile, rather like a museum piece.

It's just come to me....It's a smaller, less crowded St Paul de Vence And the thing that bugged me most was that we couldn't find anywhere in the old part of town to sit outside and have coffee. This is probably why I'm feeling disgruntled.

I'm pleased to have seen it, though, and I'll go again in the Spring to see the violet festival when it's reputed to be at its best. I like to be fair.

Chocolate, I Can Take It Or .......I'll Just Take it....

2006-10-22T13:19:00.000+01:00

This surely is the way to my heart! A hugely lavish and totally unexpected and mostly undeserved gift.

The contents include:
various chocolates,
sugared violet and rose petals which look so pretty dropped into champagne,
preserved orange slices (oranges confits),
orangettes (chocolate covered slices of orange peel, my personal favourite.)
and a tin of confiture orange amere (basically marmelade). They also make rose petal jam and violet jam there.
How spoilt are we?

The photo above shows the factory, the Confiserie Florian des Gorges du Loup an old established company, situated in Pont du Loup where the products were made by hand.

They do free guided tours everyday in French, English and sometimes German and also have their own web site which I will link to later but for now I can smell my dinner burning!

This post is slightly incoherent. I'm still overcome.

Road Safety Week in the Alpes-Maritimes.

2006-10-17T12:10:00.000+01:00

When I’m angry I’m not a pretty sight: my face swells and turns crimson and I gibber….it’s pathetic so I don’t do it very often. This morning, however….

Picture this: it’s 7.45am and there’s a fairish amount of traffic on the road me included, most doing the school run by the looks of it. I’m tucked in behind an old Peugeot 205, with a woman driver and a child in the front seat and we’re all happily tootling along respecting the speed limit…. then the 205 stops in front of me….and slowly wobbles left across the road into a side turning.
No indication, not even a wave: “sorry about that my indicator’s not working”.

Now I'm not a total stranger to this kind of behaviour so I don’t drive all cosy-cosy up to the car in front. I stopped, no problem. The guy behind, though, was a touch more sociable so when I braked he almost cannoned into my boot while his passenger, a child not wearing a seat belt (of course it’s against the law), banged her head on the windscreen. Then as a man we all sat on our horns for a minute which sorted out all that freeflowing adrenaline.

And the driver of the Peugeot 205? It’s difficult to indicate or steer when your mobile phone’s in one hand and you’ve got a cigarette in the other....
I guess she can’t have caught the news about it being road safety week.

Dear God above…..

Sunday Coffee 3 in Antibes...

2006-10-15T10:06:00.000+01:00

As the Man Who Travels is doing just that I didn't go out for coffee this morning instead I thought I'd post the photos I took in Antibes on Sunday two weeks ago.

We'd gone down on a whim but it turned out to be one those serendipitous days when nothing could have been better; we caught the tail end of a marching band, the streets were closed to traffic, the weather was fabulous (just look at all those people on the beach and they're not all German or Dutch, famous for swimming in the coldest of seas.) and everyone was smiling and generally having a good time. You can't beat it!

One Sunny Saturday

2006-10-14T13:41:00.000+01:00

Finding myself unexpectedly alone today with no demands on my time, I decided to set about a few housekeeping tasks and as we've been slowly replacing our kitchen I hit upon reorganising the cupboards. I enjoy these sort of undemanding jobs, not strenuous, not noisy so you can listen to some good music or an audio book and, at the end of the day, you've accomplished something. Very satisfying.
To my great shame, and I'm actually publishing the photo so everyone can see, all these items were so out of date they'd probably be classed as chemical weapons. It's a wonder the black treacle didn't explode given it should have been thrown out in September 2005!

I'm going to try to use up all ingredients in future preferably before the sell by date so if you can figure out what to do with a packet of marzipan, a bag of plain flour, pizza sauce and a jar of cardomon pods I'd like to hear from you before December, please.

Shotgun Alley

2006-10-11T08:37:00.000+01:00

This is where you'll find me at 8.30am 5 days a week - on Dog Highway.
It can be relaxing breathing the fresh air and getting on top of the day's planning but yesterday's walk turned out to be extremely stressful because the hunters were out in force.
Though they're not allowed to shoot towards the path they are actually hidden behind the bushes on the right and it really is disconcerting to see grown men in camouflage popping out of the undergrowth.
Pastis, one of my dogs, hates it. You can just see a beige blur on the left; he's heading right back to the car. However, Split, on the lead, is a Swiss dog and isn't much given to flights of fancy.

To the left of the main drag is a dirt track, you can just about make it out, that the local college uses for cross country training and a class of kids was starting the course as I went past. Suddenly there was a volley of shots from the bushes and seconds later the pitter pattering of lead shot falling through the leaves. The kids all shrieked in excitement. I wonder if they ran faster.
It's a helluva way to improve performance!

Sunday Morning Coffee 2...in Valbonne.

2006-10-09T14:30:00.000+01:00

Valbonne on a sunny Sunday morning. We decided to stay local for our coffee ritual.

Only some of these people are tourists as Valbonne's hugely popular with everyone.

The Man Who Travels.

2006-10-09T12:21:00.000+01:00

When I was 22 years old I went with a group of friends to a fortune teller, as you do at that age.
She told me that:
1. Someone close to me would die in a two. She couldn't tell me what the two would be.
2. I would marry a fair haired man who travels.
3. And I would have 2 children.

For quite a while the first one gave me some grief and I went to ridiculous lengths to avoid anything with a two in it; Februarys were a nightmare. Now I figure that as this is the second millenium we'll probably all die in a 2.

The second prediction was disconcerting as my then current boyfriend was dark haired and definitely didn't travel. Two years later I met the fair haired man and three years later he took a job which involved travelling and he still does which is where the cartoon comes in. A friend spotted it in a newspaper and found it amusing.

And, yes, I did have two children.
Tell you one thing, though, I would never visit a fortune teller again.

Just a Little Niggle...

2006-10-04T15:07:00.000+01:00

I'm a fairly placid, easygoing person. I like peace and hate arguments. Just occasionally, though, some things really get my goat like, for example, the inability to admit to mistakes and to apologise. Some people are incapable of either....

This morning I went out and left my mobile phone at home.
I came home to discover I had 4 missed calls all from the same number which I didn't recognise so thinking it must be important I called the number.
The conversation went something like this but in French:

Me: Hello. this is Angela. I believe you tried to call me....

French lady: (Straightaway without a moment's reflection) No, I didn't call you. (She has a voice like a Jack Russell's bark)

Me: (mildly)Well, I have 4 missed calls from your number on my screen.

F.L. No. I didn't call you. I don't know you, Madam. You've made a mistake.

Me: (At this point I should have given up, of course.) Perhaps someone else called from your phone.

F.L: No. Absolutely not. It's you who's made a mistake...

And all the time I'm looking at the screen which has her number on it 4 times....

Then it occurred to me that I'm starting English lessons for Adults tonight under the umbrella of the local sports and cultural association and my mobile number's plastered over the village...possibly French Lady was ringing for details...

PS I'm calling her French Lady as description not as a comment.

French Health Care

2006-10-02T09:28:00.000+01:00

True, I haven't sampled health care in many countries but I do have friends who have and I can read and all the evidence points to the fact that French health care is wonderful in comparison to much of the rest of the world and I'm even more thankful I'm here and not in the UK when I read this .

Now, take me, I'm also overdue for a visit to the dentist as I have a tooth that's sending out distress signals but I know that when I surrender to the inevitable and pick up the phone, the dentist will see me and though it'll cost about 50 euros for a filling, most of that will be reimboursed by the state and some of the rest by a top up insurance(mutuelles).

When at age 4 my son slipped and fell at a birthday party and cut his head, the family doctor stopped by and stitched up his head there and then and afterwards my son slid off my knee and joined in the fun and he didn't even miss the cake. Was I grateful!!! No long hours of waiting, no trauma, no fuss.

Paying employees social charges is expensive and drains the resources of small companies and Government spending on healthcare is always way over budget but selfishly I'm really, really grateful that I can enjoy the benefits.

A True Story.

2006-09-30T07:27:00.000+01:00

A friend was driving home late. He's a folk singer and had been performing at a club. He wasn't over the limit but he was tired...
Anyway, a police car pulls him over for some reason and the two policemen come over. One leans into the car and says "Can you identify yourself?"
So the friend looks in his mirror and says
"Yup, that's me"
They locked him up for the night....
This REALLY happened but it was in the UK not France.

Mushroom Ragout..

2006-09-26T08:39:00.000+01:00

I'm the sort of cook who needs a good recipe.. I'm not at all creative or talented culinary speaking but I envy those who are and I copy them slavishly especially where presentation's concerned.. that's the reason why there isn't a photo of the mushroom ragout, no one to copy.

As this is the season for them the shops are full of wild mushrooms in all their glory and, like strawberries in May, cherries in June and melons in July we gorge on them because it'll be another year till we see them again so for Sunday lunch I put together a mushroom ragout, the recipe for which was given to me by a Dutch friend years ago.
It's quite rich and high in calories so a little goes a long way.

MUSHROOM RAGOUT...
Serves 4
500grams mixed mushrooms(I used chanterelles, cepes and a few champignons de Paris)
1 medium onion chopped
100grams lardons/chopped bacon
50grams butter
1 clove garlic crushed
100mls dry white wine
5ml lemon juice
200mls creme fraiche
chopped parsley

Melt butter over lowish heat and fry lardons/bacon and onion slowly until translucent.
Clean the mushrooms with damp paper and roughly chop them.
Add to the pan with onions and bacon and cook on a high heat for 10minutes. Stir frequently. Add garlic.
After approx. 15 minutes add the wine, cook it for a minute or two to reduce it a little then lower the heat and add the creme fraiche and chopped parsley. Warm through gently and serve with crusty bread.
It can be made ahead and gently reheated.

Sunday Morning Coffee 1...Nice and St Laurent du Var...

2006-09-24T14:46:00.000+01:00

We had stuff to pick up in Nice this morning so decided to take a walk round the flower market and grab a late breakfast.

The Cours Saleya is in the old town and is where the various markets are held. You can find a bar/restaurant, sit in the sun and soak up the atmosphere; we were looking forward to settling down and, well, soaking it up....but early though we were the place was thrumming with activity and there was small hope of a parking spot...

We managed to save the plan and ended up on the promenade at St Laurent du Var where I had my first chocolat chaud of the Autumn and probably the best I've ever had; it was piping hot, barely sweetened and tasted of chocolate. I can't remember the name of the cafe but I will go back and write it down because good chocolat chaud is rare.
The promenade, though modern and lacking the charm of old Nice, was beautifully landscaped, we were right on the sea and the only traffic was a succession of small people on their tricycles and bicycles. It was very pleasant and we thought, "we must do this more often.."

Pension Milou....

2006-09-22T09:51:00.000+01:00

Thanks to the internet there exists an ex pat web site called Angloinfo. It's a mine of information and a first port of call for anyone buying, selling, job hunting or simply chatting. Even French people use it! I'm extremely grateful it's there and check it every day......If you live in France go have a look as there are sites for all regions.

Through Angloinfo I've come across a lady, sometimes referred to as the "dog lady" who runs, in her words, "a 5-star Dog Hotel on the Cote d'Azur." I've never actually met her but I know from her blog/website exactly how warm and generous a person she must be.
She writes about her life and the dogs she looks after but the stories that really touch your heart are those of the dogs she adopted from a local refuge....
Follow the link for Pension Milou on the right.

Money! Money! Money!

2006-09-22T09:37:00.000+01:00

Just doing some browsing before getting on with the day and I hit upon this article: http://http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/business/5369460.stm

I mean, what do they do with all that money?
And even though some give it away by the bucketload money still generates more money so they grow even richer.

And doesn't it seem just the tiniest, weeniest bit obscene that in a world with so much poverty where so many people have so little, these people have so much?

How do they sleep at night?

Lentils Rock.

2006-09-19T12:48:00.000+01:00

What is this rumour that it's easy to lose weight in the Summer? I'm now 5 kilos heavier than in June(and I wasn't slim then)This wasn't a real surprise because I've had to leave open the button on my trousers.

I guess people are fooled by the salads but they haven't taken into account the total greed that a Charentais melon can induce. I can put one of these away very quickly indeed and even though it's fruit and oh-so-healthy and is chocabloc with anti oxydants, it's also full of sugar in a pretty package.

So last Monday I started diet No. 560(a) a little number that I invented myself after being disappointed by every other diet: I cut out as much fat as I can, ditto sugar, and I eat lots of fish. I don't feel deprived and, in fact, feel so much better without sugar. This is the truth but doesn't stop me wanting it.
The absolute lynch pin of the regime is LENTILS. These really are my superfoods. If I have a bowl a day I'm about 100% more energetic and upbeat. And you can eat them hot and cold, in soups, stews and as salads. Just a tiny bit of pretension here, I do actually prefer the Puy lentils.
My friends think I'm deranged by the way.

PS The reason I put on weight in Summer is too many long lunches, long barbeques. too much rose wine and not enough exercise!

Unbelievable!

2006-09-15T10:48:00.000+01:00

What kind of saddo spies a dead baby dolphin on the beach and thinks
"I know exactly the place for this"

The story as reported last week:
"A dead dolphin has been dumped in a fountain in Le Rouret right next to the town hall. Firemen in Roquefort les Pins received an anonymous tip off at 7 last night and at the scene they found a young 90cm dolphin and a discarded blue tarpaulin that was presumably used to transport it. Results are expected later today from the experts at Marineland in Antibes who are examining the mammal to see how it died"
http://rivieraradio.mc

The conclusion after the tests showed the baby dolphin was already dead of natural causes before the incident.
Even though it was dead it still leaves me feeling sad.

Not Another Supermarket...

2006-09-13T13:55:00.000+01:00

How many supermarkets do we need access to, nothing sophisticated just the normal, everyday kind?

Obviously a choice is good. At least that helps keep the prices down; More than two seems greedy.

I'm extremely lucky because I can reach 3 supermarkets in under 7 minutes:

Champion 5minutes

Casino 5 minutes, different direction.

Intermarche 7 minutes.

If, say, I'm also looking for printer paper, ink, hoover bags, I need to go further:

Leclerc 15 minutes

Auchan 20 minutes.

Now, if I want to economise I've got

Ed, Netto, Aldi, Lidl and Leader Price all about 15/20 minutes away.

An embarrassment of shops!

However, despite all this choice the supermarket chain, Carrefour, has decided to build us yet another supermarket in Opio. Next door to the existing one.

For heaven's sake how much choice do we need?

In the centre of the photo above is the shopping centre, Font Neuve. It houses a handful of shops: Boulangerie, book shop, photographic, pharmacy, post office, hairdressers and Champion, the supermarket. Behind the centre is an empty field where the new Carrefour will be situated. With on the roof parking. It's hard to see how that'll be landscaped so it's not an eyesore....

More tomorrow...

La Chasse....

2006-09-11T13:53:00.000+01:00

The land to the right, past the barrier belongs to the commune while the land straight on behind the 4x4 belongs to the hunt association.

Yesterday saw the opening of the hunting season round here. What that means is that grown up men dress up in camouflage gear and shoot the hell out of any living creature in their path, sometimes including people searching for mushrooms.

Of course hunting should be banned but.....if the land didn't belong to the hunt associations, it would probably be in the hands of developers and there still wouldn't be any animals there.

Tricky.

PS This year to give the animals and birds a sporting chance the government has decreed that hunters must wear an article of brightly coloured clothing. Well, that should give them fair warning!

La Rentree

2006-09-07T07:46:00.000+01:00

Our "rentree", first day back at school, was on Tuesday when my son returned to school for, hopefully, his last year leaving me to reflect on how quickly they grow up. Call me a ninny but I cried on his first day of Maternelle aged 3; I cried on his first day at Primary school, aged 6. I didn't dare cry when he started secndary school and I'm not sure what will happen at Graduation!

So I came home and buried myself in housework and worked off the sadness....

Living in France as a foreigner only made real sense to me after I'd had my children. Most of the friendships I have now were made at the school gate and I treasure the women who accompanied me on the journey........

P.S. This could only happen here........on the way home from the shops I was driving behind a young girl on a scooter, aged 14/15 - smoking a cigarette......

Car Boot Sale Valbonne Style

2006-09-06T08:33:00.000+01:00

It's actually called a "vide grenier" literally "empty your loft" but whatever you call it the idea's the same; selling all your clutter and buying someone else's. I love them.
Last year I had a really big clear out and so I sold and bought all Spring and Summer and ended up ahead financially though the 6am start on Sunday mornings wasn't too much fun.

This was the last one, last October, and it was the best. It was big and there was a great atmosphere and everyone was friendly. These things seem to generate tremendous good will...unless you look carefully at the top photo where a young woman in a blue cap is aiming a punch at the bald guy's head.

The reason I'm posting last year's photos is that the posters have gone up for this year's vide grenier and I am so, so tempted.

The Maenllwyd Inn Rudry

2006-09-05T11:18:00.000+01:00

Most pubs in the UK now serve food and the Maenllywd is the one in which we celebrated my mother's 80th birthday recently. It's got everything: bags of charm, country setting and excellent food.

Maenllywd means "grey stones" in Welsh which is pretty appropriate as you can see. The building's an old farm and is almost at the top of the hill, it's supposed to have fabulous views which we missed because we were too busy trying to park. If there were a guide for parking, this pub/restaurant wouldn't be in it.

But the food makes it worth risking life and limb. The emphasis is on quality food home cooked; for instance we chose a beef pie, scampi(the real stuff), rack of lamb and haddock and the vegetarian had a mushroom dish. The portions were huge so I skipped dessert but with extreme reluctance. The service was competent and the evening a huge success.

If you're in the Cardiff/Caerphilly area and have transport, essential because the pub's in the middle of nowhere, do give it a try. It's in all sorts of good food guides where you'll find the number and directions.