Ma Vie Quotidienne

Christmas cards

2008-12-17T13:35:00.000-08:00

E-Christmas cards! Sent from people who have left it too late to send out Christmas cards on card? Sent by people who are concerned for the planets resources?

Stephen Adams from a UK Newspaper (The Telegraph), writes:

The number of festive e-cards being sent is growing by more than 200 per cent a year, according to one estimate, while the number of paper cards is static. An increasing number of companies are sending email-based cards as the recession bites, with the Royal Opera House even doing so this year.

Many people are also keen to shave a few pounds off their Christmas budgets this year said Sam Heaton, managing director of Britain's biggest electronic cards firm, ecards.co.uk
He said: "Last December we sent 1,362,000 e-cards and year-on-year we are probably increasing at about 200 to 250 per cent." He commented: "I think e-cards will have an impact on paper card sales. It's not cheap to send them. "I don't think people have got the money this year. People need to save money and this is a really easy way to do it."

The number his company sends is still dwarfed by the 750 million that the Royal Mail says it delivers every year. But Mr Heaton pointed out that his company was a "minnow" compared to American e-card firms. He estimated 123 Greetings - the biggest e-card firm in the world - could send out "10 or 20 million a day" during Christmas.

Often criticised for being tacky and impersonal, e-card companies are launching a raft of more sophisticated versions in which the sender can embed pictures of themselves or video content.
Mr Heaton said: "That will give them a new dimension." Ray Sangster of Flip Video, a mini-camcorder about the size of an iPhone, agreed with Mr Heaton's prediction that paper card sales would fall. He said: "Whilst it is still of course special to receive a Christmas card, the impact a personal video message from a granddaughter or grandson has on the recipient can't be underestimated."

La Rentrée

2008-09-03T00:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the big day and my son was leaving the petite sectionne to start moyens (4-6 years old).

Oh the worries you have when you are 4, what colour group will you be in, if you were a lapin in the petite section what are you in the moyens and most importantly can you sit next to your girlfriend?

After the first day we now know that he is in the red group, no animal/bird/insect has yet been assigned to each sectionne and no you cannot sit next to your girlfriend! The moyens sectionne is so big this year it has been split up into 2 classrooms.

Ah, the path of true love never did run smoothly.

Charming French rhyme

2008-06-20T05:09:00.000-07:00

This morning I was telling one of my French friends about this miracle wrinkle cream - sorry got to keep it a secret otherwise the price may go up! After explaining all the "skin tightening" benefits this cream gives my friend told me a little French rhyme and it goes like this:

Les chameaux dans le désert
Ont la peau tellement tendue
Que - quand ils ferment les paupières -
Ils ouvrent le trou du cul

Camels in the desert
Have their skin so taut
That - when they close their eyelids -
They open their asshole

Transhumance - June 2008

2008-06-18T11:11:00.000-07:00

It's moments like this ...!

Oops!

2008-06-05T11:30:00.000-07:00

My son used to call out rather sweetly, "Mummy - Bob the builders are here". However, the other morning that changed to, "Mummy - the bloody builders are here"!

Now who did he get that from... Oops!

We've got the builders in!

2008-06-02T11:23:00.000-07:00

Have been neglecting my blog recently as "we've got the builders in".

Reading and taking advice from plenty of ex-pats, who have completed or are undertaking building projects, I made sure I had the following before project start date:

Signed and approved plans
Building permission
A signed Devis pour le Travaux
Bottle of Aspirin
Plenty of tea bags

All ready to go I thought to myself and to be fair the first few days went well and then: .........

The main guy started making alternative decisions to those on the plans
Sitemeetings are not quotidienne, but on the fly with client neither included or informed
The signed Devis it seems has to be now more than flexible
I have run out of aspirin
Most upsetting of all I have run out of my Yorkshire teabags

All advice welcome about how to survive this - have another 2 months to go.

AU SECOUR

Oh and don't get me started about the rain!!!!

Another holiday ....

2008-04-28T12:50:00.000-07:00

Half term has really carried on into May, much to my sons delight! This week he is at school que le Lundi et Vendredi. All the teachers are on strike on Tuesday, Wednesday is a free day as normal and then its Thursday 1st May, which is a public holiday. No wonder my Mum is always saying "another holiday". As Théo is 4 and doing well I am not that concerned but what if he was 14 and not doing well. Makes you think.

French public holidays / national holidays in 2008

Tuesday 1 January - New Year's Day (Jour de l'An).
Sunday 23 March - Easter (Pâques).
Monday 24 March - Easter Monday (Lundi de Pâques).
Thursday 1 May - Labour Day (Fête du Travail) and Ascension Day (Ascension catholique).
Thursday 8 May - VE Day - WWII Victory Day (Fête de la Victoire 1945).
Sunday 11 May - Whit Sunday (Pentecôte).
Monday 12 May - Whit Sunday (Lundi de Pentecôte).
Monday 14 July - Bastille Day (Fête nationale).
Friday 15 August - Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary (Assomption).
Saturday 1 November - All Saints' Day (Toussaint).
Tuesday 11 November - Armistice Day (Armistice 1918).
Thursday 25 December - Christmas Day (Noël).

Je t'aime

2008-04-25T12:00:00.000-07:00

My soon to be 4 year old is in love. "Je t'aime", he says about a hundred times a day to his petite amie Romane. I am not sure if it is sweet or precocious!

We have recently had the halfterm holiday and the saying goodbye to each other at the end of the day has gone from peck on the cheek to a long cuddle, kisses on cheeks and lots of Je t'aime and I love yous.

His petite amie lives in a house in the centre of the village, complete with balcony, and the two have amused many a patron at the café opposite with their Romeo and Juliet styled partings.

Advantage:
Should Théo be having any type of hissy fit during breakfast, I only have to mention that we might be late for school, where his petite amie will be awaiting, and before you can count un, deux, trois he is reaching for his back pack and heading for the car.

Disadvantage:
Could get his heart broken at such a tender age.

This has all taken me by suprise as I thought first loves of this kind happened when you got to 8yrs old+. Help - got any advice???

DIY - I'd rather he didn't!

2008-04-10T03:51:00.000-07:00

Hubby was home this week, (we are a couple of LATs, hubby's job necessitates that he spends 3 weeks of every month living and working in London), and as usual my son had put all his broken toys into "Daddy's draw" to be fixed.

After hubby had replaced the wheels on various toy cars, mended the Hungry Hippo game and sorted out the missing limbs on various toys he turned to me and asked the question most wives dread, "do you need anything fixed around the house?."

Now, you would think after all these years together I would know better but I actually said "yes" and here is the list:

fix the sticky lock on the front door
mend the garage door handle
screenwash and oil needed in car

Ok guess which job went spectacularly wrong, did you get it right? Yep, the screenwash. After 45mins a sheepish hubby returned and said that he had poured the screenwash into the coolant reservoir and had to drain it, this would mean taking out the battery etc. STOP, I cried and thrust a coffee into his hands.

I dashed across the road to my French neighbours house and asked if he had a moment. This gentlemen used to design helicopters, built his own house and is perfect for that DIY emergency.

Sorry I can't pass on his contact details, he is very much occupied at our house 3 weeks a month putting right my hubby's DIY disasters!!!

Note to hubby: DIY - i'd rather you didn't.

More on LATs - information from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Living Apart Together (abbreviation: LAT) is a term for couples who, whilst committed to each other, decide to have separate homes rather than one shared residence.

The Times Study speculates that quantum of LAT relationships equates the incidences of de facto relationships in the UK.[1]

LATs consist of three factions, concerning decision to keep separate domestic residences. There are firstly: the "gladly apart", and two minorities identified as being: the "regretfully apart" (due to work commitments, family responsibilities, legal/residency requirements, or other reasons) and the "undecidedly apart" (committed but not especially moving towards cohabitation at the time).

Poisson d'avril - Why is there a fish on my back?

2008-03-31T13:42:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is April Fools day and in France it is customary to give your friends little chocolate fish or play the classic April Fools Day trick which is to stick a paper fish on someone's back. The unfortunate victim is then taunted with the phrase "Poisson d'Avril", or "April Fish".

Who says the French don't have a sense of humour!

President Sarkozy visiting the UK

2008-03-28T06:21:00.000-07:00

Wow! Spoken like a man head over heels in love.

"I am proud that people have seen her for what she is."
"I think she has been an honour to our country, not simply because of the way she looks, but beyond that everyone understands and has seen a woman who has beliefs, sensitivity, who is a humane person.
"Those sensitivities, those beliefs, this humanity, are what contribute to Carla's elegance."

However, as it is Sarkozy who is the President and the politician just how relevant is "who she really is", or "her beliefs".

I think we are much more interested in his beliefs and who he really is, n'est-ce pas?

Hot Cross Buns

2008-03-17T04:54:00.000-07:00

This Easter I am inviting friends around for an Easter Tea. After everyone has run around the garden to see what the Easter Bunny has left for them I will be bringing out the Hot Cross Buns. My mouth is watering as I type this. I just love the sweet, spicy taste and with a cup of Yorkshire tea - mmmmm - perfect.

I help one of my neighbours with his English homework and in his English Course book from collège, under Traditional English Songs, they had this gem:

Hot cross buns, Hot cross buns
One a penny two a penny - Hot cross buns
If you have no daughters, give them to your sons
One a penny two a penny - Hot cross buns Hot cross buns.

Does anyone remember singing that?

Anyway, whatever calorific treats you are having a Happy Easter to all or as they say it here -Joyeuses Pâcques!

Frrrreeezing France

2008-03-10T05:40:00.000-07:00

I left for a trip to London on 3rd March, weather was sunny and 20 °C. Flew in yesterday to 9 °C and rain! Where is the sun? Our unusually warm Feb had me packing up Winter and getting fully into Printemps.

Oh well a few bracing walks are needed; as always I caught up with all my friends over boozy evenings. With bacon butties to cure the hangovers and huge Starbucks lattes I need to shift a pound or so.

Oh I love the odd visit to Old Blighty.

Recette du Jour for you budding Chefs

2008-02-25T10:52:00.000-08:00

C'est moi qui l'ai fait !

Really great blog with easy to follow recipes. This blog also contains great pics and video demonstrations of certain recipes. Bon Appétit

C'est moi qui l'ai fait !

Recette du Jour for you Bloggers

2008-02-25T10:46:00.000-08:00

Take one blog, add a widget and after 5 seconds you have baked a Blidget!!

"Underground, overground, Wombling free The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we..."

2008-02-21T08:37:00.001-08:00

I wonder what cultural icons most Brits have bought with them to France? Well my son is in the process of teaching all his friends in Maternelle about The Wombles.

During their outings to the park, forest etc all the children are taught to have a respect for the countryside and its animal inhabitants and that includes not dropping litter. My son is now very keen on playing spot the litter and thanks to a DVD that my Mum sent over from the UK he thinks that the Wombles are needed over here.

After a visit to a local charity shop Grandma has managed to procure one of these elusive creatures and my son is taking him to school after the hols. Apparently all his copaines et copines remain a little confused. Can't imagine why. All descriptions of exactly what a Womble is, en Francais, would be very welcome!

Click on this link to watch the Wombles: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZ2mJPSccvo

Wombling facts from: http://www.toonhound.com/wombles.htm

The Wombles first emerged from their burrow on Wimbledon Common in 1968. These litter-loving little folk were created by author Elisabeth Beresford who was inspired whilst walking on the common with her young children, Kate and Marcus. One joyful mispronunciation later (Wombledon Common) and we had Great Uncle Bulgaria and his young charges Orinoco, Tomsk, Bungo, and Wellington and his not-so-young associates Madame Cholet and Tobermory. The Wombles scour the common looking for litter to recycle into very useful things and generally cleaning up the mess that we mucky humans always leave behind us. FilmFair's stop-motion series reached our screens in 1973. It featured fabulous puppet designs from Ivor Wood, cockle-warming narration from Bernard Cribbins and a totally-hummable title track from Mike Batt. Orinoco quickly emerged as the star Womble, with his ceaseless appetite for cakes and sandwiches and forty winks. Wombling can be such hard work, you know...

Deep in the Merde – and only the best will do!

2008-02-16T17:55:00.000-08:00

During the last couple of weeks there has been the smell of bonfires in the air as everyone in our voisinage has been burning the last of their garden debris. This week the air has a completely different smell, poo! Literally. All preparations are under way for the potager. For anyone not familiar with the potager please see below.

According to my neighbour Henri not any old poo will do – take it from someone who has one of the best potagers I have ever seen – the secret is to use sheep poo. Now as readers of this blog know, this is a delicacy for my weimaraner Oliver, he has been in seventh heaven this week eating and rolling in it! I have had to hose him down after nearly every walk this week, that is of course after I can catch him as he runs around the garden on a herbal high.

We really are deep in the merde here and only the best will do – sheep poo!

Potager – Defined by http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Potager_garden:
A potager garden is a French method of creating ornamental vegetable or kitchen gardens. Often flowers (edible and non-edible) and herbs are planted with the vegetables to enhance the beauty. The goal is to make the function of providing food aesthetically pleasing.
Plants are chosen as much for their functionality as for their color and form. Many are trained to grow upward. A well-designed potager can provide food, cut flowers and herbs for the home with very little maintenance. Potagers can disguise their function of providing for a home in a wide array of forms--from the carefree style of the cottage garden to the formality of a knot garden.

Flat pack - send it straight back!

2008-01-29T13:57:00.000-08:00

It had looked so colourful in the catalogue, just what my son needed to keep his books in order. On wheels too, what fun. Not so much fun now that it is all in pieces in front of me with accompanying bags of screws.

The instructions had 2 people holding hands with a clock underneath saying 45 minutes. 2 people who are magicians maybe. 2 people consisting of a 42yr old and a 3.5 yr old, I think not. Actually, Théo put the wheels together whilst I was working with pieces 1 and 2 and the bags of screws A and B.

3 glasses of Bordeaux and 2 silkcut later I was sorely tempted to throw the whole lot in the nearest pubelle. Théo, who by now had given up to and was watching me from the sofa with Ollie (our Weimaraner), said that I should have bought one "already made, Mummy." Out of the mouth of babes and all that. Next time that is exactly what I am going to do!

Flat pack - send it straight back.

It's a Jungle Out There

2008-01-25T06:04:00.001-08:00

Last weekend myself and a friend took our children out to a park in one of the nearby villages. We headed for the play area and let the children run off to the slide whilst we sat on an adjacent bench (IN the play area). After 20 minutes I just could not bear it any longer. WHERE WERE ALL THE PARENTS. OUT of the play area it seemed. For some the childrens play area is a place where you simply leave the darlings whilst you have a smoke and a coffee elsewhere. Preferably at a distance so the shouting and screaming does not interfere with conversation. I am all for parents having rights to and getting their chance to relax but I think it is super mean to achieve that by dumping all responsibility for your offspring onto unwitting strangers. Mediating between young children is difficult anyway but even more so when you don't know who they are.

What happened to learning about sharing and the use of words and phrases like "a moi", "a toi", "chacun son tour", "partage". It became quicly obvious that there is no univerally shared sharing system. More like who can grab the quickest. Is there no playground etiquette?

One baby, about 10 months old, was sitting at the end of the slide with pebbles in his hand. My friend alerted the father who was not worried in the slightest and told us to carry on. Carry on as in saying "ok kids keep coming down the slide, never mind the baby at the end he will provide a soft landing"!

One last thing, the park in the beautiful village of Anduze is well worth a visit. Not only is there the childrens play area but lawns to picnic on, pigeons to chase/feed - depending on your age! There are ducks and swans who are partial to a baguette and a goldfish and koi-carp pond too. May I just say that if you come, we could do with some help in the childrens play area! IT IS A JUNGLE OUT THERE.

The Older Woman

2008-01-21T03:29:00.000-08:00

Our neighbours daughter had her fourteenth birthday this weekend and we were invited along to the celebratory Goûter.

My son, who is 3 and half years old, was memerised by all the giggling girlies who were trying out the new make up, music and hair accessories. It was all glitz and glamour and dancing to Mika, until someone suggested football.

Now that really impressed Théo, an older woman who looked good and could still kick a ball!

Give a Mum a laugh and pass this on ............

2008-01-14T10:20:00.000-08:00

My friend Sally e-mailed this to me. Have not stopped laughing.

FOR ALL THE GREAT MUMS

I was out walking with my 4 year old daughter. She picked up something off the ground and started to put it in her mouth. I took the item away from her and asked her not to do that.

"Why?" my daughter asked.

"Because it's been on the ground, you don't know where it's been, it's dirty and probably has germs" I replied.

At this point, my daughter looked at me with total admiration and asked, "Mummy, how do you know all this stuff? You are so smart."

I was thinking quickly. "All mums know this stuff. It's on the Mummy Test. You have to know it, or they don't let you be a Mummy."

We walked along in silence for 2 or 3 minutes, but she was evidently pondering this new information.

"OH... I get it!" she beamed, "So if you don't pass the test you have to be the Daddy."

"Exactly," I replied back with a big smile on my face.

When you're finished laughing send this to a Mum

A p.s to my post (Homework - Cahia de Vie)

2008-01-14T04:18:00.000-08:00

I came across an interesting website called http://www.frenchentree.com/
which has a section called Your Guide to the French Education System. Full of interesting facts.

Now for interesting true stories I suggest you check out this: http://boards.babycentre.co.uk.
It has a section called: Parents in France/French parents

Could hardly believe what I was reading concerning the maitresse in the maternelle section of this school:

There are also many things said about his teacher, not just from English people, one of which was that something was stolen from class (by 3 year old) and she sat them all down and told them she was going to the police and they were thieves, she had most of them in tears even when their parents came to collect them, and many didn't want to go back!

So far we have had a positive experience with our local Maternelle but I would really be interested to read yours. Please leave a comment and let me know.

maternelle

Homework night - Cahia de Vie

2008-01-13T12:48:00.000-08:00

Sunday evening is homework night at our house - well not really homework as such but my son, who is 3 and a half, sits down with me and his cahia de vie.

Théo is in the petite section at Maternelle and each Sunday we sit down with his cahia de vie and review his weeks work, look at the announcements and then fill in a couple of pages of things he has been doing of interest over that weekend with family and/or friends. If you have anything especially exciting to report then you bring it to the teachers attention on the Monday morning and your child then talks about it to the class.

What a system - fantastic. It bridges the gap between his school life and home life in an interesting and simple fashion. Your child also gets an opportunity at public speaking at a very early age! Furthermore, as Théo speaks English at home and French at school it has also helped to bridge both the language and culture gap. When he started last September we were encouraged to put in photos of family and friends. We wrote underneath both the English and French names that Théo uses.

The photos also cleared up another mystery. The maîtresse was under the impression that Théo had a brother called Oliver and had been asking him what section of school he was in. Théo had been telling her that I would not let Oliver come into school even though he had BEGGED me. She could hardly believe her eyes when she finally saw a photo of this much talked about Oliver. Yes there was the photo - Oliver chasing a ball! He is of course our much loved, loopy weimaraner. But so much more than that in Théo's eyes.
(for pics of Oliver please look at blog entry Oliver the Weimaraner)

maternelle

Watch out Sangliers about

2008-01-11T04:30:00.000-08:00

Comme d’habitude, I popped into our local Café for a cafe-crème with another Mum after the school drop-off. She was looking a little shaken and told me that her car was at the mechanics because of a run-in, literally, with a sanglier.

My friend had been on her way to Nimes at 6am, driving at 80km/h when a sanglier came into contact with the left, front side of her car. Will she be eating daube de sanglier tonight, (wild boar cooked in a thick red wine sauce)? Apparently not, after making contact and wrecking the side of the car, the sanglier carried on running aside of it for some distance. I said to my friend that he was probably making sure he could get a good look at her and memorise the number plate!

There is an on-line magazine called http://www.lost-in-france.com/ which reccounts this popular urban myth. One evening some men were out driving through the forest when they hit a large animal that ran out in front of their car. Getting out to investigate they found that they had hit a male boar/sanglier. The animal wasn't dead but had been knocked unconscious so they decided to lift it into the boot of the car. Some miles further on they heard loud noises coming from the boot and turned round to see that the boar has recovered consciousness and was now, very angrily, making it's way out of the boot. They were forced to abandon the car while the boar completed it's exit, pretty much writing off the car in the process.

For further information about the sanglier please visit this page hosted by wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanglier

sanglier

Oliver the Weimaraner

2008-01-10T05:12:00.000-08:00

Have just been blog browsing and came across one by a guy in the South of France who posts a daily pic of his Weimaraner called Oliver. Well, well, well.

Here is a tribute to my gorgeous Oliver, who lives in the lap of luxury, in the Cevennes.

If you are interested in learning more about this noble breed, considering having one as a pet and are interested in rescuing or adopting a Weimaraner please visit:

http://www.oregonweimrescue.org/links.html

weimaraner

Bonne Année 2008

2008-01-08T03:49:00.000-08:00

Goodbye crappy Christmas of 2007 and a huge welcome to the New Year.

All my best laid Christmas plans got torpedoed by bugs of the gastro, flu and bronchiolite type. Hubby coming down with the "man flu" had me dreaming of serving him divorce papers 3 days into his life threatening illness!

When I staggered into the Pharmacy on the 27th December for yet more supplies, I thought they were having a belated Christmas Staff Party. It was heaving with people chatting happily, but all on a mission as it turned out for sick friends and relatives.

So with relief I listened to the church bells chiming in the New Year, and wished everyone everywhere a Bonne Année and Bonne Sante.

Welcome, welcome 2008

Marché de Noël

2007-12-14T11:20:00.000-08:00

Yes, the season is upon us and like all the other Mum's I will be in the market place come Monday. We may even have some snow according to the Meteo, just to add that festive touch. All the school children have been working hard creating gold painted angels from pasta, hand-made Christmas cards and dough baked tree decorations.

My son has been going around singing Petit Papa Noël for the last 3 weeks ,(see below for lyrics), and the man himself is due to put in an appearance on the last day of school. Apparently, one quick witted little chap last year noticed that Petit Papa Noël sported the same shoes as the headmaster! That was explained away as both gentlemen having extremely good taste.

Well all that remains is for me to wish everyone, everywhere a Very Merry Christmas or as we say round here Joyeux Noël.

Petit Papa Noël

C'est la belle nuit de Noël
La neige étend son manteau blanc
Et les yeux levés vers le ciel
À genoux, les petits enfants
Avant de fermer les paupières
Font une dernière prière.

Translation

It's a beautiful Christmas night
Snow spreads its white coat
And eyes lift toward the sky
On their knees, small children
Before closing their eyes
Say a last prayer.

Petit papa Noël
Quand tu descendras du ciel
Avec des jouets par milliers
N'oublie pas mon petit soulier.
Mais avant de partir
Il faudra bien te couvrir
Dehors tu vas avoir si froid
C'est un peu à cause de moi.

Translation

Little Santa Claus
When you come down from the sky
With thousands of toys
Don't forget my little stocking.
But before you leave
You should dress well
Outside you will be so cold
And it's kind of my fault.

Le marchand de sable est passé
Les enfants vont faire dodo
Et tu vas pouvoir commencer
Avec ta hotte sur le dos
Au son des cloches des églises
Ta distribution de surprises.

Translation

The sandman has passed
The children are going to sleep
And you will be able to begin,
With your sack on your back,
To the sound of church bells,
Your distribution of surprises.

Refrain

Il me tarde que le jour se lève
Pour voir si tu m'as apporté
Tous les beaux joujoux que je vois en rêve
Et que je t'ai commandés.

Translation

I can't wait for sunrise
To see if you brought me
All the lovely toys that I see in my dreams
And that I ordered from you.

Refrain

Et quand tu seras sur ton beau nuage
Viens d'abord sur notre maison
Je n'ai pas été tous les jours très sage
Mais j'en demande pardon.

Refrain

Translation

And when you are on your beautiful cloud
Come first to our house
I wasn't always very good
But I ask for your forgiveness.

Refrain

La Rentrée - (with junk mail)

2007-09-11T08:13:00.000-07:00

Back in May I put the finishing touches to my school dossier,(yes another one!), to ensure that my son was enrolled for maternelle.

In our village La Rentrée actually takes place during the last week of August as the children here do not go to school on Saturday mornings.

So far, all has gone well - although why shouldn't it when according to my son all he does is play velo! I am sure there must be slightly more to his day than that.

Whilst I expect the normal school notices of after school activities what I can't believe is the amount of publicity that goes into all the pigeon holes. All sorts of leaflets about childrens reading books, language courses, back packs, bedding. I get enough junk mail in my normal boîtes aux lettres at home.

I am thinking of putting a huge notice up, alongside the rather cute painting of a lapin that marks out Théo's place, saying Pas de Pub - NO JUNK MAIL.

La Rentrée

La fin de l'été

2007-08-19T13:07:00.000-07:00

Ok here come the excuses : people staying, fête after fête after fête, devising 1000 ways to entertain a 3 yr old during the school hols etc etc. But finally, I have some "me" time to devote to my blog.

I once read that at one American school the teachers returning for the 1st day after the Summer hols were met by Mums holding a banner saying "welcome back - we have missed you!". I know how they feel ....

Not only am I looking forward to the new school term I am also looking forward to only seeing the number plate 30 around the town, getting a seat in my local cafe, my favourites breads, quiches and patisseries not having sold out by 9.45am, no queues in our local supermarket, managing to walk around the local farmers market once more. Oh the list is endless. I am turning into a moaning minnie!

The season of "mists and mellow fruitfulness" will soon be here and I for one cannot wait. New wines to be sampled, chasse au sanglier, scouring the woods for cepes and other members of the fungi family.

Celebrations for la fin de l'été start tomorrow with a blackberry picking session followed by the making of a very big blackberry and apple crumble. Miam, miam.

Out of the mouths of babes!!!

2007-05-30T04:42:00.000-07:00

My adorable 3 year old son Théo jumped into our bed this morning and started giving me a cuddle. What a nice way to start the day I thought as he started stroking my hair and face.

"Mummy, what's that?" he asked as one of his chubby little fingers came to rest upon my cheek. Before I could answer he said, "I know - it's a crack". That woke me from my revery. I would love to say I cracked up (ha ha), but I didn't.

Well out of the mouths of babes.....

Election Fever

2007-04-26T03:56:00.000-07:00

Quel différence between the election apathy in the UK and election fever over here in France. Whatever your politics, you can only be impressed and swept along by all the fervour. There are 236 people in our village eligible to vote and during the first round 216 of them had ticked a box.

This election is an extremely important one for the French - the country is at a crossroads. Which road will they choose to go down?

Below is an extremely interesting article titled "Unlike us, the French do it all wrong but still get life so right " published in The Times on April 22, 2007 by Simon Jenkins.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Both France and Britain are about to change their leaders. The French will do so by ballot, the British by bistro.

The French are staging a raucous two-ring circus to elect their new president, involving a first vote today and another in two weeks’ time. The British have already been told who is to lead them. It was ordained 13 years ago by Tony Blair and Gordon Brown in the Granita restaurant in Islington, north London. Blair would be prime minister first provided he ensured Brown would follow him.

In never moving Brown from the security of the Treasury and packing the cabinet with wimps and half-wits, Blair has been as good as his word, despite regarding Brown as unworthy of the office. The voters can get stuffed. While France practises the politics of Wilkes, Paine and Mill, Britain borrows from Louis XIV.

Modern elections are festivals of indecent exposure. They display politicians in all their nakedness and in doing so reveal much about the countries they purport to lead. The French election has been no exception. It has not been a pleasant spectacle for Brussels oligarchs or Americans who like to lump all Europeans together as homogeneous. It has peeled away the skin and shown France worried, vulnerable, proud, vital, stylish and unlike anywhere else — in other words, French.

Two years ago the French (and the Dutch) did Europe a signal service by voting against a new European constitution. They thereby relieved Britain of the necessity of doing the same. We forget how those referendums shattered Labour’s establishment. Peter Hain, now running for Labour’s deputy leadership, deceitfully called the new constitution merely “a tidying up operation”. Peter Mandelson, Neil Kinnock and Jack Straw sat around after the French vote like Roman cardinals contemplating Luther’s Reformation, glumly demanding a “period of sober reflection”. José Manuel Barroso, president of the European commission, declared a “risk of contagion” across Europe if the referendums continued. The French and Dutch should vote again and do so “until they get it right”. Only in Brussels is democracy considered a disease.

The French vote was, of course, peculiar. The vote against the new constitution was not (as it would have been in Britain) because it was too centralist and corporatist. The French “no” lobby’s case was that Europe was becoming too liberal, too open-market and thus threatening France’s cartelised public sector and restrictive labour laws. Worse, an expanded Europe would put French jobs at the mercy of east Europeans. France, co-founder of the new Europe, now rejected its pan-Europeanism. It was a reactionary vote but it worked. Indeed it may be called in aid again if the Anglo-German plan to revive the constitution as “just a treaty” goes ahead. Blair, eager for some European credentials before he retires, will argue that a treaty would need no referendums and can be slipped through before Brown takes over. Of course Europe needs a new constitution/ treaty, but not this one and not without a vote.

A similar chauvinism has been reflected in the election campaign. The contest between Nicolas Sarkozy and Ségolãne Royal has only superficially displayed the new politics, where personality and vision are all and policy programmes unimportant. The right-wing Sarkozy’s desire to “get France back to work” is closest to Britain’s Thatcherite consensus, but Thatcherism is not something he would dare advocate. The left-wing Royal is corporatist, conservative and protectionist. She is pledged to maintain the 35-hour week, state benefits and guarantee employment and housing tenure, despite their contribution to a devastating 22% youth unemployment rate.

Both these candidates, along with the centrist François Bayrou, share a nationalism which, to outsiders, seems old-fashioned and Gaullist. Nervous about immigration, passionate for the public sector and defensive of the state, they could not be farther from the reform programmes being sought in Germany, Scandinavia and Britain.

None of them would suggest opening French agriculture to world competition. None would hint at multiculturalism in a country whose southern shores are besieged by Muslim and north African migrants. None would attack the scale of the public sector, which still owns or controls all public utilities and has half of all adults dependent on it. One of Sarkozy’s final rallies was in a boiler-making plant where he pledged to protect French manufacturing against foreign competition.

This conservatism evokes the derision of Britons eager to repay the smugness that France hurled at us during the horrors of the 1970s. They point to the 30,000 French who pour into Britain looking for work each year, drawn by a more open and dynamic economy. It takes two days to set up a company in Britain, three months in France. From the Huguenots and the Orléanists to the Communards and the resistance, Britain has long been accustomed to accepting refugees from France’s political and military disasters. Today critics cite French businessmen building factories in Kent. They see Paris declining into a sort of Venice on dry land, industries awash in subsidies and stuck in the doldrums, French culture perpetually “en crise”.

Yet such derision rarely turns over the coin. It does not mention that more Britons now migrate to France than vice-versa (42,000 in 2005). They are drawn by the quality of life that attracts 7.3m British holidaymakers a year and 50,000 British second-home owners. There are few French pleasure seekers pouring the other way. France takes seriously the protection of its urban and rural environment. It values civic life: witness the cleanliness, security and confidence of municipalities there compared with Britain’s. Public services work. France’s trains run far and fast. Towns and cities, parks and museums are beautiful — as are even motorway service stations. The public realm in France has taste and bravura. In Britain it is grotty, largely because it is under the aegis of Whitehall and Westminster.

Europeans used to fight to get into Britain’s NHS hospitals. Not any more. Today the flight from these demoralised, MRSA-ridden places to France’s immaculate hospitals is becoming a flood. When last year Jacques Chirac warned that to pursue British policies risked having to accept Britain’s quality of life, his audience laughed. The risk was unthinkable.

A recent study of Anglo-French relations, That Sweet Enemy by Robert and Isabelle Tombs, delighted in the implacable polarity of these two cultures. It stretches back and forward through centuries of conflict to such piquant contrasts as the British official complaining that something “might work in theory but not in practice” while a French counterpart complains that “it might work in practice but not in theory”. Did not Sir Humphrey in Yes, Minister inform the baffled Jim Hacker that Britain’s nuclear missiles were targeted not on Moscow but on Paris? Have not the Royal Navy’s bases always faced the French coast and not Germany or the Atlantic?

This is all good clean fun. Where it becomes less attractive is when British comment on other countries takes as its basic premise that they would be better off if only they were run like Britain (or America). The depiction of Chirac as an absurd Bourbon prince may have had a grain of truth in it, but Chirac ran France as the French desired, as did François Mitterrand and other presidents before him. Hence his constant capitulation to pressure from the unions and farm lobbies, irrespective of France’s hypocritical claim to be “a good European”.

Protectionism is, in every sense of the word, part of the French character. It is the privilege of a sovereign state, as it is the right of its citizens to choose and pay for it.

A casualty of globalisation has been a growing intolerance of political diversity, diversity not just of national personality but also of ideology, political priority and system of government. I may not share France’s view of the world and may believe it wrong to deny the Thatcherite reformation, as in varying degrees do all today’s candidates. But as Voltaire, the greatest of Frenchmen, insisted, the right that most needs defending is the right to be wrong.

On this day of the French election, long live difference.

simon.jenkins@sunday-times.co.uk

Un Veritable Cauchemar

2007-04-12T08:43:00.000-07:00

What is going on with the universe? Everyone I know seems to be having an extremely bad week. Our run of bad luck started with the combi microwave/oven breaking down, the clutch then went on the jeep, the loo stopped flushing and poor Théo has just come down with a "maux de gorge"!

What fun and frolicks I am going to have tomorrow. If you happen to be in a Mr Briciolage or Darty and see a woman babbling mauvais francais with accompanying mime routines - it's me.
So hope a security camera does not capture mime titled "replacement flushing system for loo required". A sure entry for Video Gag on TF1

Quelle cauchemar!

Happy Easter

2007-04-06T01:56:00.000-07:00

Well as it is Easter this week my Postman has been kept very busy delivering parcels from the UK. All of which have happily fitted into my boites aux lettres that has been deemed “regulariser” (see previous blog – “boites aux letttres”). One parcel came with a sticker on it that stated “Import France A Flasher”. Cant’ wait to open that one!

Théo has been busy at créche drawing eggs, making Easter chicks and cutting out bell and rabbit shapes. The house is looking very Eastery at the moment and we are on the count down to the “chasse aux oeufs” on Sunday.

In France they have the traditional Easter bunny and also a "Cloche volant" , Flying Bells. French Catholics believe that on Good Friday all the church bells in France fly to the Vatican in Rome carrying the misery and grief of those who mourn Jesus' crucifixion on that day. These flying bells then return on the morning of Easter Sunday bringing with them loads of chocolate and eggs.

So whether you believe in a flying bells or the Easter rabbit a Happy Easter and Joyeuses Pâcques to you all.

Does my "boites aux lettres" measure up?

2007-03-31T05:02:00.000-07:00

As mentioned in a previous blog entry of mine, I am always occupied with some type of paperwork for a dossier. If you move here, be warned, dossiers are part and parcel of everyday life. Paperwork can be required for the most suprising items.

This week a visit from my Postman left me speechless. He arrived with a 2 page form, drawings included! to check if my “boite aux lettres” was “regulariser”. Well was it, apparently the answer was yes by a centimetre.

As the measuring of the box, two page form and the cup of coffee had already taken up the best part of the morning, I did not dare to enquire what would have happened if my post box had not measured up to standards! Any idea anyone and why is it important?

Does licked cutlery count?

2007-03-23T13:29:00.000-07:00

Calling all mothers of 3 year old boys, “Au Secour”!! My 3 year old, (well 3 in May), has driven me to distraction today and had the tantrum of all tantrums whilst we were visiting friends for an alfresco dejeuner. A very windy alfresco dejeuner.

Trying to get a snarling, toddler mid-tantrum into a car seat whilst doing the obligatory 3 kiss goodbye to all the guests is no easy feat. Yes, it is 3 kisses in the Cevennes so hello and goodbyes tend to go on………….

All the way home I kept thinking, “just wait till Daddy phones tonight mister man”.

Well they say timing is everything and just before Daddy rang, upon finishing his dinner, Théo came up to me and whilst giving me a huge hug said "me sorry Mummy, Théo happy, good boy now”. He then proudly handed me his licked cutlery and whilst opening the cutlery drawer said with pride, “Théo clean it Mummy”!

Does licked cutlery count as a heartfelt apology?

Playboy Bunny vs Dorothée

2007-03-20T05:56:00.000-07:00

This morning, comme d’habitude, I popped into our local Café for a cafe-crème and noted with interest and irony the 2 new pinball machines sat side by side.

Being in true hunting country here, the most popular being chasse au sanglier, the first machine had 2 generously proportioned guns that invited you to hunt a range of game. The chasse started with fairly large sized bunnies popping up everywhere and then as your aim and testosterone levels rose along came the bears, sangliers etc.

My three year old son, Théo, was fascinated and as he attends the local Crèche started making bunnies ears and singing that French favourite, Ce matin un lapin by Dorothée (Click here to watch original Ce Matin ....)

Everyone found this most amusing and a kind gentlemen bought him a sirop de fraise for his efforts.

His eyes then alighted upon the 2nd pinball machine with its ever famous Playboy bunny logo, “what’s that mummy”?

Ah I said, “I don’t think you will be ready to play that bunny game for another 15 years or so” …………………….!

Parlez vous Francais?

2007-03-19T11:38:00.000-07:00

When I arrived here the sum total of my spoken French was the ability to count up to 20, say please and thank you and …… well that was about it.

So I unpacked my new set of language CD’s and started ………….. rien! I quickly grew bored so I decided to start listening to one of my local radio stations.

Well I can only say that it was set circa The Jimmy Young show in the UK. It had hilarious phone-ins with “Recette du Jour” being the most popular amongst them. Caller after caller suggesting another thing you could do with asparagus or whatever legume happened to be in season. Hmmm, very useful you thought until about the fifth caller. Then you frankly felt like stuffing your asparagus where the sun doesn’t shine.

However, my French was getting better as I became addicted. What exactly was a “Femme au Foyer” – housewife as it turns out. The presenter was also likely to ask every other caller if they were going to “profite du soleil” that day.

Finally, I had to remove this station from my play list when a female caller upon answering the football quiz question correctly, was asked in all seriousness if her husband or another male relative was in the house helping her! When the presenter had ascertained that she did not live with a man he asked if she actually wanted her prize, a pair of sought after match tickets.

Shame as I really enjoyed my “hairbrush” moments when they played the hits of Cloclo, (Claude François). Alexendrie – Alexandra , oh don’t get me started.

You’ve Got Comments

2007-03-17T13:08:00.000-07:00

I logged on, opened my blog and there it was – my first comment. Okay, not comments in the plural but still…….

Was it as memorable for you as it was for me, I am referring of course to all you bloggers out there. You never forget your first!! So a big thank you to my first – Peter.

Peter runs a local community website for anglophones in this part of the world. Please visit their forum at:
http://www.the-languedoc-page.com/forum.

It's a Whole New world

2007-03-15T14:16:00.000-07:00

Wow this is addictive and I am not just talking about the wine that accompanies these blogging sessions.

In my first 24 hours as a blogger I have managed to post some background articles, work my way around changing the template and gather some photos.

Has anyone ever watched the film with Meg Ryan called "You've got Mail" well I am now logging onto my computer and waiting for "You've got Comments"!

Whilst not essential I really want to experience the power of the web personally. It fascinates me that anyone - literally anyone from anywhere - could stumble across my Blog and learn about my life. I am sure others want to be read for far more nobler causes but I am just very curious.

As I am new to the world of blogging I have no idea how long that generally takes so I guess I will just have to keep logging on like an addict.

Is blogging the new therapy, my mind was buzzing last night with all the things I want to write. Gone were the normal worries of my ever smelly fosse septique, my child coping with having to be bi-lingual, collating paper for a dossier required by some French organisation (I always seem to have one on the go)!

I am finding it all fascinating and can see that the light from my PC will be burning into the small hours.

That reminds me, better stock up on the old vino!!!

Bienvenue Théo

2007-03-15T05:42:00.000-07:00

Why was I appearing in an episode of M.A.S.H? Why was I lying on a hospital trolley in a medical supplies room? What was going on?

Just then a doctor swept in and apparently there was a 4.7kg bundle of joy awaiting me, carefully cradled in my husbands arms up on the main ward. After 14hours of labour I had undergone an emergency caesarian and the result was a lovely bouncing baby boy called Théo.

The next 48 hours passed in a blur, I was getting used to being a Mum and my poor husband spent much of his time on the road between the clinic at Ganges and our house.

Pretty soon I raised the question about when I would be allowed to discharge myself. Mais non, as I was a 39yr old that had never changed a nappy it was baby school for me. I could not but help wonder if our local NHS hospital in North London would have provided this excellent and much needed service. Each morning, under a nurses supervision, I had to “top and tail” Théo and never was I more grateful for tuition. I did wince for the poor little boy when it was made clear that the start of his morning routine would begin with a thermometer up his petit derriere! What a way to start the day. (When my mother-in-law watched me put this into practice she remarked that if he should turn out to be gay I had only myself to blame!).

I looked forward to going home and showing Théo his nursery, but for a novice it was comforting to be in a safe haven. I longed for a family visit with Oliver so I decided to be brave and broach the subject with my consultant in my best Franglais. “Ah yes she said, you talked a lot about Oliver whilst going under sedation and coming round”. “Well I don’t see why a family visit would be out of the question, now you have been detached from your drip etc”. I could hardly believe my luck and I asked my husband to come en-famille the following day, après-midi of course

I was so thrilled and so sure that Oliver would take one look at Théo and fall in love with our gorgeous baby, as much as we had.

That morning baby and I were up and dressed, both having lunched nicely and awaiting the nurse to come by to let us know that our visitors had arrived. I suddenly heard a loud shout, “C’est un chien, c’est pas possible”. Suddenly my room was full of people speaking French very quickly and I could just not keep up.

Of course Ollie was a dog, my much beloved Weimaraner, yes he has had all his injections. What had they been expecting? Apparently, it turned out, an older brother for Théo – the none hairy kind!

Eventually a compromise was reached and I was allowed to walk by the beautiful river, that flows by the Polyclinic in Ganges, for half an hour with a much wrapped up Théo, my husband and Ollie. Tout la Famille - i was trés content.

Meeting our neighbours - the fleecy kind

2007-03-15T05:16:00.000-07:00

One beautiful Spring morning as I was preparing my "wake up" coffee, I heard excited barks from Oliver and the unmistakable ringing of bells.

Just below our house are a couple of terraces and passing along the top one was a flock of sheep, in a terrible hurry. All my old townie instincts came to the fore, who should I phone, pest control, emergency services, etc . Where had they all come from?

In plein panic and heading for the phone I heard a piercing whistle and the sheep as one turned their heads, and started making their retreat.

An apologetic muscular, golden haired, young man then appeared from round the corner and told me that he had forgotten about the new people i.e us. He introduced himelf, the sheepdog and the flock. Apparently our local bergér would be passing our house regularly with his sheep during the Spring and Autumnal months. A piece of information that the previous owners had neglected to pass on! And there was I thinking that the terraces below us were merely to provide a lovely view and to act as a flood barrier should the babbling brook turn into a raging torrent during the winter.

How very Jean Floret I thought to myself and immediately pondered upon the etiquette between the Anglais townie and the French shepherd, who would be seeing quite a lot of each other apparently. My London friends thought it all sounded too romantic and some of my girlfriends, upon receiving my description of the young bergér, wanted to know if he was single!

Well with the sheep came droppings which Oliver would gaze at longingly from the upper terrace. Then by cover of nightfall he would race down to the lower terraces and hoover up as much as he could with great delight. All the grazing in the Cevennes is rich with wild mint and other herbs and this proved to be a potent concoction whence digested by our weimaraner. About 15 minutes after eating this rural delicacy, he would race around the garden on some sort of herbal high, doing high speed circuits .

The sheep became a very enjoyable fixture in our lives, never more so than in June when in preparation for the transhumance* they were all dressed up in brightly coloured pom-poms. A true carnival of colour.

Over time we all got to know each other well and even the sheepdog tolerated Oliver’s enthusiasm as a would-be sheepdog. Oliver even saved a couple, one which had dawdled behind and got caught up in netting. My husband went to cut it free and walked the sheep home using Ollies lead, “well I didn’t know what to do with it”!!! Another sheep had fallen from the wayside during the transhumance and luckily Oliver found it 2 days later severley dehydrated and distressed but still with pom-poms intact.

One spring day a wedding invitation was dropped into our letter box, it seemed our much beloved bergér was marrying a local bergére. We were very honoured to be invited to their wedding and awaited the day with much excitement.
After the official service at the Mairie there was an open air blessing and there casually strolling amongs the other guests where several, yes you’ve guessed it – sheep, complete with pom-poms!

source Wikipedia:

Older sources use the term transhumance for vertical seasonal livestock movement, typically to higher pastures in summer and to the lower valleys in winter. The herders have a permanent home, typically in the valley. Only the herds and a subset of people necessary to tend them travel. This is termed fixed transhumance .

Some recent studies consider nomadism, where livestock move to follow grazing over considerable distances following set seasonal patterns (with the whole family of herders living in temporary shelters which move with the herds all the year round), a form of transhumance. This is termed nomadic transhumance.

Traditional or fixed transhumance, in which livestock ascend to mountain pastures in summer and descend to relatively warm areas in the valleys, foothills, plains or desert fringe in winter, occurs throughout the world, including Scandinavia, France, Italy, Romania, Bulgaria, Spain, Turkey, Switzerland, Georgia and Lesotho. It is also practiced amongst the more nomadic Sami people of Scandinavia. Transhumance is based on the difference of climate between the mountains (where the herds stay during the summer) and the lowlands (where they remain the winter). Its importance to pastoralist societies cannot be overstated. Milk, butter and cheese — the dairy products of transhumance — often form the basis of the local population's diet.

cevennes

Au Revoir Old Blighty. (my Blog is born)

2007-03-14T12:49:00.001-07:00

First Blog entry, so with glass of vin rouge in hand to fortify me I will let you know how it all started .........!

But you are pregnant! This seemed to make my friends and family even more surprised at our latest news.

It made perfect sense to me to make all the major life changes in one go. So at 7 months pregnant I packed our jeep with provisions, chinchilla, dog and hubby and set off for our new life in France.

Many friends seemed to think that we should have a Channel 4 camera crew following us. With all the ‘Place in the Sun programmes’ proving so popular why not start that baby fund at the earliest possible opportunity?

Our journey was, to say the least, interesting and although the Pet Passport papers were all in order for our loopy weimarener Oliver, the papers for our chinchilla Rafiki were apparently not. I did what any pregnant woman would do in the situation – cry – oh and ask for the nearest loo. Finally, after solomnely promising that upon arrival in France Rafiki would never set paws on British soil again we were allowed to drive onto the ferry.

Two exhausting days later after leaving our North London home we finally turned off the autoroute and headed towards our new home in a small village in the picturesque Cevennes.

Now all I had to do was clean and paint the whole house from top to bottom, buy a bed to sleep in, move everything in oh and I suppose register with a midwife and Doctor.

But first, as recommended by every Living In France book I had ever read, I had to introduce my famille to the Mairie and let them know their voisins anglais had arrived!

Our Cevenol adventure had just begun.
cevennes