tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-311966202024-03-08T04:16:13.556+01:00A Life in the South of Franceangelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-19464022733208150282008-06-16T13:52:00.002+01:002008-12-09T02:53:13.515+01:00Feel The Fear....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsmeoI6N-cE_sUtagPtg26IuppLr0N8qe2Uj6R5sY544VOQJ04C6NVLCy7rOEY-mi-3P2cIBOh7w1G9nxTonWkBP6BS8d-5jHB7q0vyC2xTndBfyDOiHkt68Qr38GurifXC5NfHQ/s1600-h/100_2051.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212462814113677778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsmeoI6N-cE_sUtagPtg26IuppLr0N8qe2Uj6R5sY544VOQJ04C6NVLCy7rOEY-mi-3P2cIBOh7w1G9nxTonWkBP6BS8d-5jHB7q0vyC2xTndBfyDOiHkt68Qr38GurifXC5NfHQ/s640/100_2051.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>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..</div><div> </div><div>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..</div>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041407522731399499noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-63103693582167155342007-11-02T11:06:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:13.745+01:00How Was it For You?<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMuK67OMKPInuzt8wgKkR8te4fcmJbHrSQwjtWmfNbFsHhyphenhyphenVs8OGwuOv7sItfDeLijEIvvTXzhqzwmKvVN66IadP1I2KjocG-WJuxV6VBBO35BvLp0iQy19CsKifHQLALFRwMgg/s1600-h/100_1605.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMuK67OMKPInuzt8wgKkR8te4fcmJbHrSQwjtWmfNbFsHhyphenhyphenVs8OGwuOv7sItfDeLijEIvvTXzhqzwmKvVN66IadP1I2KjocG-WJuxV6VBBO35BvLp0iQy19CsKifHQLALFRwMgg/s400/100_1605.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br />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...<br /><br />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.<br /><br />And working too as in paid work!<br /><br />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!)<div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-56741620799115955602007-05-27T13:38:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:13.867+01:00On Hold<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHs0rKXBsT_jy48IC9dKigMaabUa7GVmQCCLrwPjULqTT-qkas1ueA8whGMBqWXq2t50OjX6Xzx6YARK2ejg4nkWyAjC9C2KY5IkAA03O8c3OZY9je7vRzOyHGd8is73rIOQ8svg/s1600-h/100_1560.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069219566519421458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHs0rKXBsT_jy48IC9dKigMaabUa7GVmQCCLrwPjULqTT-qkas1ueA8whGMBqWXq2t50OjX6Xzx6YARK2ejg4nkWyAjC9C2KY5IkAA03O8c3OZY9je7vRzOyHGd8is73rIOQ8svg/s640/100_1560.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041407522731399499noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-46509444296650160302007-05-19T08:16:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:13.978+01:00Dining with Elizabeth Taylor<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWj2P3GPGmO3gLH9GvKe_hUf1TwrtkepUgC30KqX766MKuWwmJVaTXV90sftnvb0u3l4odCtAZvlPmZ0kGy_ETld7DZx1SUS7gQ3sOwtemn4dVMXZPO8cEzRMu9swpZR6IrosdFg/s1600-h/100_1514-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066167665838098914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWj2P3GPGmO3gLH9GvKe_hUf1TwrtkepUgC30KqX766MKuWwmJVaTXV90sftnvb0u3l4odCtAZvlPmZ0kGy_ETld7DZx1SUS7gQ3sOwtemn4dVMXZPO8cEzRMu9swpZR6IrosdFg/s640/100_1514-1.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I can't believe it's been a week since I last posted but time flies particularly when the Film Festival's on.</div><div>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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Croisette</span> with the police sirens blaring..but, sadly, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">every one's</span> got tinted windows. And this is all happening at 9 am.</div><div>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..</div><div>It was nearly 20 years ago and H. and I were out for dinner in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Valbonne</span>. 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.</div><div>Just as we were about to order the door of the restaurant opened and in walked Elizabeth Taylor.</div><div>Now, there are many, many lovely women on the Cote <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">d'Azur</span>: 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.</div><div>So better to be ordinary, average, wouldn't you say?</div><div></div><div></div>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041407522731399499noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-73436983535742189652007-05-12T07:56:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:14.279+01:00I Can Do What I Ly-cra!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMB7w0J_aX8ScSdKTFTAlkdVR6_lhMK5stjyVfouslQiAc7xDRiMSLj982R2sjE6XLnHvErVxXEFSNXaV1k3eKYgVFauZU98NqEscRqcz8Ooklc0DKPJr39ybysOr4ytw9ioSdeg/s1600-h/100_1491.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063564888898346818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMB7w0J_aX8ScSdKTFTAlkdVR6_lhMK5stjyVfouslQiAc7xDRiMSLj982R2sjE6XLnHvErVxXEFSNXaV1k3eKYgVFauZU98NqEscRqcz8Ooklc0DKPJr39ybysOr4ytw9ioSdeg/s640/100_1491.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />Interesting, isn't it, the impact of other people's choices on our lives. Take this cyclist, one of an ever growing army of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">lycra</span>-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.<br />He's riding well enough, I grant you, nicely positioned but we're going ever <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">sooooo</span> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">sooooo</span> 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...<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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?<br />Would you have pulled over?<br />Would you have overtaken?angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041407522731399499noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-57750808202705701662007-05-03T11:04:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:14.366+01:00Freakonomics<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5RPNVyiEhnAzT9uREHEykdxUjMvyV41_jYDxybqX0ccZU4wkHfc7ZX1tdc-JH1qSLoa19fUxcNo9rQpYEIhEVN7UsA2LiljPvg5yTJGlyfu189DicwFJdR6Y1-LvaE0RaL0oIiw/s1600-h/100_1469.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060275315536092866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5RPNVyiEhnAzT9uREHEykdxUjMvyV41_jYDxybqX0ccZU4wkHfc7ZX1tdc-JH1qSLoa19fUxcNo9rQpYEIhEVN7UsA2LiljPvg5yTJGlyfu189DicwFJdR6Y1-LvaE0RaL0oIiw/s400/100_1469.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />H. always has a book on the go, anything from Harry Potter to advanced maths; he has broad tastes you could say.<br />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.<br />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...<br />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 <strong>none</strong> of the following factors affect your child's test scores:<br />The child's family is intact<br />The neighbourhood<br />The child's mother works<br />The child attended Head Start<br />The child goes regularly to museums<br />The child is regularly smacked<br />The child frequently watches television<br />The child's parents read to him every day.<br />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...<br /><br /> So I felt absolutely no guilt yesterday as I watched "Grey's Anatomy" with the baby on my knee.<br />(Don't worry, I'm not confusing parenting and grand parenting here. The baby spends many hours in my care as his mother works.)angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-91045523006201303682007-04-27T10:58:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:14.544+01:00What Empty Nest?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRkth_c1E1scrZSdQ2xj3JJ5LRMQm_ZW2jeIzhlOf4Y2NgjkRGPjZVhl8cZ1bZmEnvkX7MXkxUzRGqkeKrlWRZFVWmDjOPzRyusO6qoMidlDpDhxcR054j7xuHHmP5hbNZl33vVQ/s1600-h/100_1006.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5058046223214501554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRkth_c1E1scrZSdQ2xj3JJ5LRMQm_ZW2jeIzhlOf4Y2NgjkRGPjZVhl8cZ1bZmEnvkX7MXkxUzRGqkeKrlWRZFVWmDjOPzRyusO6qoMidlDpDhxcR054j7xuHHmP5hbNZl33vVQ/s400/100_1006.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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...<br />Believe me, we intended to embrace the empty nest.<br /><br />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...<br />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.<br />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.<br />Ah well, one day...<br />And I'll spare you my reflections on being called Grandma...I'm much too young.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-48644786447454812872007-04-12T15:13:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:14.670+01:00And Baby Came Too...<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmCCCfrPTk5BHyca7b5h64mDQ8TilgxMVRXbk2YGnBkJ2cpz4pxXV9mKUZ3NgWmvbb_1bFWVqiRSALC4A3jgXFrvp2Wnxc37x00qKpHaydxToQC5glDwqLGlBMUA5mtmfmoPzABA/s1600-h/100_1394-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmCCCfrPTk5BHyca7b5h64mDQ8TilgxMVRXbk2YGnBkJ2cpz4pxXV9mKUZ3NgWmvbb_1bFWVqiRSALC4A3jgXFrvp2Wnxc37x00qKpHaydxToQC5glDwqLGlBMUA5mtmfmoPzABA/s400/100_1394-1.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br />To Grasse in the company of a 6 week old baby to deal with the importation of my Golf:<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />Anyway, my number was called about 15 minutes later, after all the young and attractive people had gone through. .<br />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....<br />The upshot was that the clerk wisely decided to overlook the electric bill had the stamped piece of paper across that counter pretty quick.<br />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...<div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041407522731399499noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-39984238459326575802007-04-03T12:20:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:14.758+01:00Baby, You Can Drive My Car...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOdoNaqpkNIG2DObO-Yowo0aL7nIvY76Kkbus360NZsizcJS5YnBypqpEP3ontyy7YaUIjmZABPX2v-gAYVStI2uOqFe5veUvQgYSkNNsirdOK0Ks7xcv50R4ghVyvL5Nnq4wrsw/s1600-h/100_1270-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049161265846705794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOdoNaqpkNIG2DObO-Yowo0aL7nIvY76Kkbus360NZsizcJS5YnBypqpEP3ontyy7YaUIjmZABPX2v-gAYVStI2uOqFe5veUvQgYSkNNsirdOK0Ks7xcv50R4ghVyvL5Nnq4wrsw/s400/100_1270-1.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>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..</div><div>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. </div><div>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. </div><div>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..</div><div>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. </div><div>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.</div>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041407522731399499noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-2155191814313583492007-03-30T11:51:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:14.867+01:00Life's Imponderables<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhse0PeWfc24nhEudTmjS8TWvOE9wZHmviOwOfROonDXXwqeqdHzT-8cboWxu4ikvL9BTbkaT5YBA9uGxvGOPxQisvKj_UKWLzFpUsZYUD3trsUm4W3l15TdZ_yj03E7r5Hr7Zk0Q/s1600-h/100_1310-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5047668772498361858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhse0PeWfc24nhEudTmjS8TWvOE9wZHmviOwOfROonDXXwqeqdHzT-8cboWxu4ikvL9BTbkaT5YBA9uGxvGOPxQisvKj_UKWLzFpUsZYUD3trsUm4W3l15TdZ_yj03E7r5Hr7Zk0Q/s400/100_1310-1.JPG" border="0" /></a> 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...<br /><br />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. <br />Here's an example from the computer..<br /><br /><ol><li>How do you draw a blank?</li><li>How can there be a solo synchronised swimming competition?</li><li>Why is it called a doctor's practice? (scary thought!)</li><li>Why do kamikazi pilots wear helmets?</li><li>If a number 2 pencil is so popular why is it still number 2?</li><li>Why do we press harder on the remote control when the battery is dying?</li><li>And why do we drive faster when we're low on petrol?</li><li>Is a fly without wings a walk?</li><li>How is it possible to have a civil war?</li></ol><p> Why did I save this?</p><p>Have a nice weekend.</p>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-16787660694342113292007-03-27T14:14:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:15.030+01:00"Every Man's Death Diminishes Me...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit61Hy9NEX-E2iIFgpgiJhLbZu8k3OlQ6fFBuv6I78Ym7-BRZpcBPYyb0PwXJGhJlbB21mj3xeqv3oTMTJHaPoQfJW8F2R9v2uYhWjlCblf3yLxnwOC0eCBdXPIFJg7nmExYFO9A/s1600-h/100_0722.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046592559846983682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit61Hy9NEX-E2iIFgpgiJhLbZu8k3OlQ6fFBuv6I78Ym7-BRZpcBPYyb0PwXJGhJlbB21mj3xeqv3oTMTJHaPoQfJW8F2R9v2uYhWjlCblf3yLxnwOC0eCBdXPIFJg7nmExYFO9A/s400/100_0722.JPG" border="0" /></a> .....For I am involved with Mankind" by John Donne<br /><br /><strong>For Mr C.</strong><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />I shall miss him.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041407522731399499noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-69645504409101781462007-03-20T14:37:00.000+01:002007-03-20T15:28:19.417+01:00Shopping and How I Hate It.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...<br /><br />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..<br />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...<br />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.<br />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.<br />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...<br />Tomorrow I go shopping for a replacement. There goes the blood pressure.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-51663097421199288032007-03-17T14:37:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:15.278+01:00The Best and Worst of Times.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xJTwHoBuhWbr0w-fJl3YVA4khD5_vRPdQIBzLEJUyFINepEh3fqY9189d-vsH7tFwrl-xz78gyflcpLI2rndVGpR5936TeQ6BZdM2B1YlrLK4uPPTs0q6XRnjGcGxjrDGLm_jg/s1600-h/100_1308-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042888464770992690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xJTwHoBuhWbr0w-fJl3YVA4khD5_vRPdQIBzLEJUyFINepEh3fqY9189d-vsH7tFwrl-xz78gyflcpLI2rndVGpR5936TeQ6BZdM2B1YlrLK4uPPTs0q6XRnjGcGxjrDGLm_jg/s400/100_1308-1.JPG" border="0" /></a> 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.<br />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.<br />So this story is yet another illustration of the same theme..<br />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).<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVtEPBzkGXpQ1pp7gL0cjVt6MjmEVRogRNlA-GURt2FclGfIKtLt7n_75xE8xM5XeVdnK1Ukl44RINIqOXPyjbgz3KwpErWhbdLrcuIA-LBZ7ZwXyLL-bumEPw0d3H68k5pvCCLg/s1600-h/100_1309-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042888473360927298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVtEPBzkGXpQ1pp7gL0cjVt6MjmEVRogRNlA-GURt2FclGfIKtLt7n_75xE8xM5XeVdnK1Ukl44RINIqOXPyjbgz3KwpErWhbdLrcuIA-LBZ7ZwXyLL-bumEPw0d3H68k5pvCCLg/s400/100_1309-1.JPG" border="0" /></a> 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.</p><p>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.<br /></p>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-27948676071326730552007-03-06T13:16:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:15.437+01:00Just Call Me Jonah<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYcTbCr3n-HrNQwWsi0nAHkhBXdgc0n7ffco5wE9AO2ht28rQQRZCVc5_In8HMjLOe5npDXJwkT9wiHaoR9iXK6WOy_vnyunWrPk8H466B4IYYnB1lnIzRwHYDaxG3f04C9YZdg/s1600-h/100_1259.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038785762955144626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYcTbCr3n-HrNQwWsi0nAHkhBXdgc0n7ffco5wE9AO2ht28rQQRZCVc5_In8HMjLOe5npDXJwkT9wiHaoR9iXK6WOy_vnyunWrPk8H466B4IYYnB1lnIzRwHYDaxG3f04C9YZdg/s400/100_1259.JPG" border="0" /></a> 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....<br /><br />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.<br />I also wanted to do it on a shoestring.<br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">essential</span> - there are shoestrings and shoestrings and so I set off with a light heart.<br />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!<br />And on top of that my allergies kicked in. Just don't talk to me about Spring....<br /><br />But it was lovely to see Mum and in spite of all, we still managed to have a good time.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-64257027437045342182007-02-23T09:40:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:16.332+01:00Looking for a Good Read<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4flkCKE8dSP-91U87cZq422yxoOQnb-DNAvlDqEQKlLe0p7PFQql8ZFcNyw50-eKQ7xYYUUc7wjXRorkyoTHlpcKOq2Ntq2mgPYEg-XsMsJQ0lq1R7s3a94qSsHdLZWA2moBPg/s1600-h/100_1111.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034647501540504402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4flkCKE8dSP-91U87cZq422yxoOQnb-DNAvlDqEQKlLe0p7PFQql8ZFcNyw50-eKQ7xYYUUc7wjXRorkyoTHlpcKOq2Ntq2mgPYEg-XsMsJQ0lq1R7s3a94qSsHdLZWA2moBPg/s400/100_1111.JPG" border="0" /></a> 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.<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNAkaEjH_EezseMUrfvY77sThmlK2u1kq49p9-ovdIct_YozSAQ8k9l3bw5vrLFwtitR0U0KhN4RTljHc69kQ967n4wVdM1Z1bDUaNPY9zD-nGYh7DqDkAci8rkkcbhzph4f07A/s1600-h/100_1121.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034647510130439010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNAkaEjH_EezseMUrfvY77sThmlK2u1kq49p9-ovdIct_YozSAQ8k9l3bw5vrLFwtitR0U0KhN4RTljHc69kQ967n4wVdM1Z1bDUaNPY9zD-nGYh7DqDkAci8rkkcbhzph4f07A/s400/100_1121.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p> 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.</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLiGJ-kKKzQ81Hqq1zRk2ovVJIeZIO8xVjBtwc-dtLSIH1kqJSja2Bwkvh-5imsIuiyTUS03KMfWVB01l7fpLdCHChAOiuJ-5UT5oEJo6Pl1yBKhzmJoswFp1K8bgpheRAjGwNPA/s1600-h/100_1124.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034647548785144690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLiGJ-kKKzQ81Hqq1zRk2ovVJIeZIO8xVjBtwc-dtLSIH1kqJSja2Bwkvh-5imsIuiyTUS03KMfWVB01l7fpLdCHChAOiuJ-5UT5oEJo6Pl1yBKhzmJoswFp1K8bgpheRAjGwNPA/s400/100_1124.JPG" border="0" /></a> </p><p>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..</p><p>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.<br /></p>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-51689292314116548972007-02-20T14:07:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:16.831+01:00Carnival.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8VpmivCiaiWg8arzTlEG6cEU2j52wybvLlJ3tfdQOqgU_mGmcRjbe0X7iE0qXiycFv7YRnr_FkYO96uFbK_EG-WfYD8cheD7YzOk-HFO6B02UVexWKfI3CKemgQ_7v75i7EFxig/s1600-h/100_1224-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033604284049077058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8VpmivCiaiWg8arzTlEG6cEU2j52wybvLlJ3tfdQOqgU_mGmcRjbe0X7iE0qXiycFv7YRnr_FkYO96uFbK_EG-WfYD8cheD7YzOk-HFO6B02UVexWKfI3CKemgQ_7v75i7EFxig/s400/100_1224-1.JPG" border="0" /></a> 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.<br />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!<br />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?<br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25hrM6Q7jZN3uoGkgs5DPP-b6CatqCMxgBzcuLVJGKvkXQSRbqW2iApOwjZDK7nUKIJqM1R57k6KYfsWStkZmZ2LkbT3ztse3yYrsrDrI-5MoI-uwAk0KXhbxzTmTpEsyvk3SCg/s1600-h/image0.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25hrM6Q7jZN3uoGkgs5DPP-b6CatqCMxgBzcuLVJGKvkXQSRbqW2iApOwjZDK7nUKIJqM1R57k6KYfsWStkZmZ2LkbT3ztse3yYrsrDrI-5MoI-uwAk0KXhbxzTmTpEsyvk3SCg/s400/image0.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div>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..<br />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...<br /><br /><div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; moz-background-clip: initial; moz-background-origin: initial; moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-42977414578969134972007-02-16T23:34:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:16.955+01:00Everything Stops For Tea<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNgONH9TpnVMekiiEW4B-qoCfR0ytVcvydHgKds7LLwU1oP3RgdDEOmWqm1GBECC3yE-lZxFl-MZ23FWZHokJ81zJxHYox6b23dfd7ciwrQvih45x38RZm_l4neLvyTcJfYNVCA/s1600-h/100_1203.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032264653684683554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNgONH9TpnVMekiiEW4B-qoCfR0ytVcvydHgKds7LLwU1oP3RgdDEOmWqm1GBECC3yE-lZxFl-MZ23FWZHokJ81zJxHYox6b23dfd7ciwrQvih45x38RZm_l4neLvyTcJfYNVCA/s400/100_1203.JPG" border="0" /></a> 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.<br />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..<br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">demi</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">tasses</span>. 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.<br />So I made a plate of smoked salmon <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">sandwiches</span>, a chocolate sponge, (thanks, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Nigella</span>) 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<br />In fact it was all such a huge success that I'll do it again next time it rains on a Sunday.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-33001327799208540062007-02-13T16:11:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:17.094+01:00Am I Losing My Mind?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8qKSm0DAQbWwMSOf38shuyIo_CupusQ-fsP1nyvBL5W-eI0BWuQ2inEweM4sp2zmrTtxHvxoEpLKCdv0zP5F1RR0UzQLWgTVTA8zBY7spM4AmJ9hHX7OpXHWjZ71cIvgHJGjeg/s1600-h/100_1154.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031037124019002786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8qKSm0DAQbWwMSOf38shuyIo_CupusQ-fsP1nyvBL5W-eI0BWuQ2inEweM4sp2zmrTtxHvxoEpLKCdv0zP5F1RR0UzQLWgTVTA8zBY7spM4AmJ9hHX7OpXHWjZ71cIvgHJGjeg/s320/100_1154.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>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.<br />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.</div><div><br />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.</div><div><br />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.</div><div>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…</div>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041407522731399499noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-24491584373034398622007-02-07T08:42:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:17.296+01:00But It's Not Lent...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLuPk3IYexketx-15zoDkCDlei4jiWKX8dLWDctRNJ1KSCzjUN2XBro_SgtFqMtcaIQgD80tbuNrWHRV273rL_SafZhoKvIdtz-wrwbqqf_a-jDWMO5LS5f_8FjGwrGIONPI82ng/s1600-h/100_1157.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028694671298794370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLuPk3IYexketx-15zoDkCDlei4jiWKX8dLWDctRNJ1KSCzjUN2XBro_SgtFqMtcaIQgD80tbuNrWHRV273rL_SafZhoKvIdtz-wrwbqqf_a-jDWMO5LS5f_8FjGwrGIONPI82ng/s400/100_1157.JPG" border="0" /></a> February is a special month <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">chez</span> nous. It's the month when friends are invited for tea and cake or coffee and biscuits. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Connoisseur</span>-like we debate the merits of Perrier, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Badoit</span> or San <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Pellegrino</span>: San <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Pellegrino</span> every time, it has a "purer" taste to my mind. Our shopping bills are halved and it's not even Lent.<br />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.<br /> 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.<br />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...<br />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.<br />Why did H. choose February? Because it's the shortest month, of course...angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041407522731399499noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-73627695343468043352007-02-03T16:20:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:17.892+01:00Gourdon the Saracen<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrr6-lJ5rJ7KQt7NU6BCXRMKY1sLVGvjuU3LdLyIyPzwDNj1xLmdFiloOIFLOxCYFKi1TvXICs5Szf2AES-QJc8hwLMmTqpY8X0m-fW4_kPUmE7UfblPO8WDKPX05xuP53CkepQ/s1600-h/100_0569.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5027333624973248034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrr6-lJ5rJ7KQt7NU6BCXRMKY1sLVGvjuU3LdLyIyPzwDNj1xLmdFiloOIFLOxCYFKi1TvXICs5Szf2AES-QJc8hwLMmTqpY8X0m-fW4_kPUmE7UfblPO8WDKPX05xuP53CkepQ/s400/100_0569.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://poppyinprovence.blogspot.com">Meredith</a> 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.<br />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.<br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_VfWkgW8cJXpQSEueFt1c1k3Si2fbn5oddqDLH4BXtUCYqhi6EFHmhJga2OQjgxa8EXZPNIUqk9KXn9_UMl_mmT4z-4dYpPwyatMiA0Y6Q17lkPWjr3-gGN4KbkXl4Izfczidg/s1600-h/100_0566-1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5027333637858149954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_VfWkgW8cJXpQSEueFt1c1k3Si2fbn5oddqDLH4BXtUCYqhi6EFHmhJga2OQjgxa8EXZPNIUqk9KXn9_UMl_mmT4z-4dYpPwyatMiA0Y6Q17lkPWjr3-gGN4KbkXl4Izfczidg/s400/100_0566-1.JPG" border="0" /></a> 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.</p><p>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.<br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5027333646448084562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYFDvpB5Z4oA5PbjzQ5z96sWrKrTmnZtrRG14O8FuAYpZso87nrupeX0GGAwfr0TyCSGl2op71nqA10mvAnmigO1edDQ7AEc6eoNamXCBRY88pMplEp8u-sS0LAcdQpnfe6N0aw/s400/100_0564-2.JPG" border="0" /> 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.<br /><br />PS Thanks for all your comments which I really do love reading.<br />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...<br /><a href="http://poppyinprovence.blogspot.com/">Meredith</a>: 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.<br />But the view is superlative.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-23272136403111506252007-01-30T12:09:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:18.538+01:00Winter in the South<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpyPdqZxqBFwZcblZ6vxY92LetWSIxWHcB3Oft9YvzYk2vGwSPfioTgu9aRILL3ac1kwkD-bPt4rMJ-ZWYiZV8JMMRYQkGn0oez2aN3mfXGoRIuSfVHHO_oHciAJXikOOFsYNGg/s1600-h/100_1066.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025781367957898722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpyPdqZxqBFwZcblZ6vxY92LetWSIxWHcB3Oft9YvzYk2vGwSPfioTgu9aRILL3ac1kwkD-bPt4rMJ-ZWYiZV8JMMRYQkGn0oez2aN3mfXGoRIuSfVHHO_oHciAJXikOOFsYNGg/s400/100_1066.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Winters here are mild, one of the reasons Queen Victoria sat out the British Winter in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Cimiez</span> or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Grasse</span>. 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">paeonies</span> which are budding already.<br />Sunday, however, was a day sent from heaven. The mercury had risen and an overnight wind had cleared the skies.<br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBUy1iPDe7TZJwaZQ_8LsdV6AJ9bm9mQMsLVOdjssA2TKh6x_7p-ocCDIJgEF-qoSgPEIyTmjAls-ZX76qDjXULLq0QsVR2xBQiFSktSvCbSE0d_m_XIFD9wStFD6wGe19FA-Fg/s1600-h/100_1074.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025781376547833330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBUy1iPDe7TZJwaZQ_8LsdV6AJ9bm9mQMsLVOdjssA2TKh6x_7p-ocCDIJgEF-qoSgPEIyTmjAls-ZX76qDjXULLq0QsVR2xBQiFSktSvCbSE0d_m_XIFD9wStFD6wGe19FA-Fg/s400/100_1074.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p> 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. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Soooooo</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">booooring</span>(yawn)<br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcptWnijPbF14HqLcf9yor_hryWQxPohN0-A3rC5CKg_9BkmE17K3OyxQchN9iYXjz7ZBHqmNfzWxy2w_krrt-W-EAqXQo4venNvWs92sHs5tiNXG-sHT31NK0hY56ctSlcGDfA/s1600-h/100_1080.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025781380842800642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcptWnijPbF14HqLcf9yor_hryWQxPohN0-A3rC5CKg_9BkmE17K3OyxQchN9iYXjz7ZBHqmNfzWxy2w_krrt-W-EAqXQo4venNvWs92sHs5tiNXG-sHT31NK0hY56ctSlcGDfA/s400/100_1080.JPG" border="0" /></a> </p><p>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...</p><p><br /> </p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVBQpP8VUnPgeNAIeNqM1jFfnZtw7dKNSE-mSVcxb3ksrcR2BpUEeDLPqsOWQ0HvD-uuMQZ8jrBXN9lGoNM7pb_q1iW5tmDy1YmyPD0q2YCK7REGXtAk7rpjs1y04q7r7S_GShVg/s1600-h/100_1081.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5025781389432735250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVBQpP8VUnPgeNAIeNqM1jFfnZtw7dKNSE-mSVcxb3ksrcR2BpUEeDLPqsOWQ0HvD-uuMQZ8jrBXN9lGoNM7pb_q1iW5tmDy1YmyPD0q2YCK7REGXtAk7rpjs1y04q7r7S_GShVg/s400/100_1081.JPG" border="0" /></a> 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. <p>The final photo is another view from the back of the house looking north to Pic <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">de</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">Courmettes</span>. The olives and pines belong to our neighbour and though it may look <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)">rural he's</span> busy building his house just a little to the right of the picture. </p><p>Pity.<br /></p>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-84838103900273951102007-01-27T11:38:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:18.700+01:00Slow Down, You Move Too Fast...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizT7jK7cX82xtkIuvlQrvxxw3e2M1hEzYJlfA_JVQxOzJW4pRfYYEdz60IJIyR6ivNnxCNCkze39o8Wru69xi6XmjV9ZNYPM0LWLYcyG2NV0PAiJlTowNRN5GnXMyQeWgbEWDtHw/s1600-h/100_0984.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024658526067770754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizT7jK7cX82xtkIuvlQrvxxw3e2M1hEzYJlfA_JVQxOzJW4pRfYYEdz60IJIyR6ivNnxCNCkze39o8Wru69xi6XmjV9ZNYPM0LWLYcyG2NV0PAiJlTowNRN5GnXMyQeWgbEWDtHw/s400/100_0984.JPG" border="0" /></a> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Jacques Chirac resolved to fix the problem and deaths from traffic accidents have gone down since the initiative has passed down to local government. .<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />It just goes to prove that when you hit someone in the wallet, their hearts and minds will follow!<br />How does it work in other parts of France or even the world?angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-36853960773874434992007-01-24T08:54:00.000+01:002008-12-09T02:53:18.827+01:00Getting it Right.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLlw_8wW8aZRgzW4r4YT4iJZlM9UUeHJmoxPWapCDbdj5tKWNKJgDffNJ879dod1UHXnS5bBK-Z5HzO0rmZG-mzaeUGbPdtLkMVGCpe-D9KocGFmSlnSB2NXR8crJQm6ZlLr33Q/s1600-h/100_0614.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5023503115440637298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLlw_8wW8aZRgzW4r4YT4iJZlM9UUeHJmoxPWapCDbdj5tKWNKJgDffNJ879dod1UHXnS5bBK-Z5HzO0rmZG-mzaeUGbPdtLkMVGCpe-D9KocGFmSlnSB2NXR8crJQm6ZlLr33Q/s400/100_0614.JPG" border="0" /></a> 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...<br /><br />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?<br />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.<br />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...angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-13674878331736355902007-01-20T00:28:00.000+01:002007-01-20T00:49:43.989+01:006 Weird Things About Me..I've been tagged by Tut Tut and I was tempted. I simply cannot resist tag games.<br /><ol><li>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.</li><li>I'm the musical equivalent of colour blind. It's rare for me to enjoy music though i wish i could.</li><li>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.</li><li> I always save a choice morsel of the tastiest part of a meal to finish with.</li><li>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.</li><li>It only recently occurred to me that I could leave the cinema if I wasn't enjoying the film. It was kind of..liberating.</li></ol><p>Who will I tag? Let's try Claudia, Gigi, Astrid and Shaz.</p><p>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?</p><br /><br /><p> </p>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08041407522731399499noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31196620.post-13276021437544358172007-01-16T10:38:00.000+01:002007-01-16T10:53:47.171+01:00Something To Think about.The same friend who passed the piece about English killing you sent me this little number:<br /><br /><strong>What Would Have Happened if The Three Wise Men Had Been Three Wise Women?</strong><br /><br /><ul><li>They would have asked the way.</li><li>They would have arrived on time.</li><li>They would have helped at the birth.</li><li>They would have cleaned up the stable.</li><li>They would have given something useful</li><li>and brought something to eat.</li></ul><p><strong>And What Would They Have Said Immediately After Leaving:</strong></p><ul><li>Did you see those sandals Mary was wearing and, my dear, that tunic?</li><li>The baby doesn't look at all like his father.</li><li>I heard Joseph's unemployed.</li><li>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.</li><li>And the mule's seen better days.</li><li>I wonder if they'll remember to give back the lasagne dish...</li></ul><p>Tell me, are we really like that?</p><p>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).</p><p>I will still be visiting and commenting, though, I simply won't have time to write.</p><p>Love to you all...</p>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10966015443364053559noreply@blogger.com10