Something Else

It's been nearly two and a half years, and it's been a lot of fun.
But quite unexpectedly, I feel the need to take an indefinite break from blogging.
Writing about my life in this way (a dollop of truth, a touch of humour, a drop of fiction) gave me a slightly tilted perspective on the world and my tiny place in it... and that perspective suited me for a while.

The writing suited me too: a chance to flex my style by composing these short texts that constitute - when all said and done - a precious diary of the past two years.
The photos, the ideas... the sense that I could look at my life through a lense and distance myself from it, to a certain extent.

All of this has been great, and served a purpose.
And now that purpose has somehow trickled away or, rather, transformed into something else.
I have the vague hope that the modest time and energy devoted to the blog may be applied to another form of writing (ah! my ongoing novels and my stubborn dreams!). Or perhaps something else altogther: definitely reading, probably yoga or - less predictably, something arty.

Apart from the few loyal family members and friends who've visited me regularly on this blog, I don't know how many people have ever read (or enjoyed) it.
But let me say thank you anyway.
It could have simply been nothing more than a diary... but the fact that there were readers gave me the boost I needed to reflect, compose, cut and paste my thoughts.
Thank you for reading, commenting, discussing, joining in.

And, for most of you, SEE YOU SOON!

Resolute

BB and me, on a train to Paris / A bus-ride through a slushy city / BB's trusting hand in mine as we clomp down to the metro / The bravery of my big boy, who never once asks to be carried / A hot bath in the hotel / Nana's arrival / A half-bottle of wine and some Marks & Spencer salads / BB and his colouring books, beautiful and neat / Christmas day, snow in Paris / Three generations in the back of a cab / A random Christmas lunch of chips and wine, a shiver of pleasure, the unexpected rightness of the untraditional Christmas traditions we are making up as we go along / Another train, to La Rochelle / FH and LB, on the platform / A reunion, a bridge, a house, "our" Ile de Ré / The ocean, vast, grey, vibrant, alive / Coffee, and wine, lots of wine / Ferrero Rocher and card games / Reading in silence / Biting cold air on an almost deserted beach / A strengthening of the core as vitality returns / A place, an anchor / FH and me, on a train to Paris / The last night of the year / A barge, Notre Dame, the Seine, the Eiffel Tower, friends, surprise, heat, a glow / Dancing, dancing, dancing / A touch, a look, a smile / 6 am in St Germain des Près / New shoes and cold hands / Coffee, croissant, train, sleep / Happy


Each little memory poured into the void: the listlessness is crushed and dispelled.

Some photos to follow, and perhaps some resolutions, too.

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2011
Moment by moment

A Day Early...

... is better than a day late...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LOVELY LITTLE SISTER xxx

Terminology Test

Well, my BB couldn't go on being my Baby Boy forever, could he? Especially now that there are two of them.
But fear not: my quest for appropriate terminology has not been curtailed by this minor setback (terminology is my trade, after all), and a new system has been developed.
So, from now on, BB is Big Brother.
And LB is... yes, you guessed it, you clever bunch... Little Brother!

And FH is still - of course - my FH (er, until further notice. For as long as our marriage survives the ultimate "two young kids" trial.).

Just kidding. I think ;-)

Blog on Pause

I know how bitterly disappointed you will all be... but alas: no more blogging from me for the next two weeks.
We are off on holiday to Le Lavandou in the south east of France: it's last chance saloon for a bit of relaxation before new baby arrives.

Watch this space for future photos of lithe, sun-tanned bodies on golden beaches (yes, that'll be everyone else apart from me :-), and pale-skinned little boys lathered in Factor 50+++ suncream.
I bet you can hardly wait!!

Face Lift

In case you're confused, no, you're not imagining it: the blog has had a face lift.
Well, given my current state of lethargy, one of us had to (me or the blog), and it's cheaper and easier for the blog to go under the knife...
Do you like it?
Was it better before?

Picture Perfect

The other day I was standing in our back garden, manoeuvring myself like a cat into the last patch of sunlight, when I happened to look up at the sky.
It struck me that the view before my eyes was somehow familiar...

After days of searching my brain and the Internet, I finally remembered where I'd seen it before...

Vincent Van Gogh, 1890 (Saint-Rémy), Van Gogh Museum Amsterdam

Shirley, Toulouse, March 2009

Turning A Corner

The first glorious signs of Spring at the bottom of our garden...

I hope they kick Winter's ass all the way to November...

Thirty-something

So, today I turned 31.
31!!
I mean, I was fine with 30. 30 felt OK - like it was a little room just to the right of the 20s, to which you could always pop back, if need be. A sort of "connecting door" situation.
But 31 feels serious. Like you've been kicked out of that nice little room and left to wander the long, thorny path all the way to 40...
How did I get here?! I'm still so young, she doth protest!

I spent most of my childhood feeling older than I should... and now, suddenly, the tables have turned. I should have taken root at 29. 29 was good, I liked it a lot: you could be young when you wanted and adult when it suited.

Anyway, I like to look on the bright side so, as the old cliché goes, I'm trying to enjoy the fact I'll never be this young again...

PS Exciting commentary & a few pictures of our long weekend coming soon.

Three Cheers for Technology!

A solution has been found. A mega solution. ZE solution.
We now get TV via the Freebox, with no need for an aerial.
I have more TV channels than I need, want, or will have use for.
And, inevitably... I no longer care so much about TV. I am breezy, detached, indifferent. Phew.

Technology has won through.
Sweet irony?

BB, a book-loving baby... with no need for TV.

Tables Turned...

Er - remember how I said that daytime TV was a real pain, a horrific temptation, a destroyer of brain cells, etc., etc.?
Well, since yesterday, we no longer have TV. And not by choice either. We still have the physical object, but we no longer have an aerial, since the nice men who came to repair the roof (remember the wind storm?) decided thoughtfully to take the aerial down as well. And they're much better at removing things than replacing them, it seems...
So, you're probably thinking: great! Temptation removed - problem solved!

No. No, no, no. By virtue of some bizarre quirk of human nature, since the TV option has been brutally removed, it's now all I can think about!!
Suddenly, I NEED to watch TV. Even daytime TV! The mere fact of knowing I can't makes me pine for it all!!
I suppose it's like, if someone tied your hands behind your back, you would go crazy with desire to scratch your ankle or something. I'm sure you can think of your own analogy.

So, what to do??
I'm so ashamed...

One Small Step for Woman...

I am not particularly modern. Or technological. I am, for example, one of only a handful of people over the age of 8 in the northern hemisphere who does not own a mobile phone (or want to).

However, recently I succumbed to broadband Internet access, in the form of a “Freebox” (cunning name: of course it’s not really free).

All of this makes me nervous. Words like broadband, text, LAN, Wifi, unlimited access, etc. give me the vague, irrational feeling that the whole of humanity has taken a wrong turn somewhere. Does anyone else feel like this? Or am I just weird?

I know what lies ahead for me now: hours of teeth-grinding frustration and futile conversations with hotlines in India who don’t understand and can’t help me.

Yep, this whole Internet, mobile, Blackberry, GPS lark makes me think that modern man has missed the boat somewhere along the line, but (and I’m sorry if the mixed metaphor is getting confusing), it seems I still can’t help jumping on the bandwagon…

BB celebrates the arrival of the Freebox by... climbing on top of it...


... and riding it like a horse..


PS I am still home alone and ill. But I have found a good, unread book at the back of my bookshelf ("Notes from an Exhibition" by Patrick Gale), so I am safe from the clutches of daytime TV for the moment...

The Sick House

We have been one sick family over the past week and a half (in the literal sense, of course). Both BB and I developed flu, and FH has been looking after us. It all seems to start at the crèche, which is a scarily efficient breeding ground for germs. Throughout the winter, BB brings home a new virus or bug practically every week, like other kids might bring home a piece of artwork.
So, last week BB had a temperature of nearly 40° every day, which is pretty scary when accompanied by bleary eyes, lethargia and - horror of horrors - a temporary loss of appetite (though his appetite was the first thing to recover, naturally).

Then, on Tuesday night, I developed such a high fever that I began to see stars and started gibbering in some incomprehensible language (days later, my flu degenerated into severe bronchitis, requiring the administration of cortisone, antibiotics and an electronic breathing machine... but that's another story).

The moral of this tale lies elsewhere:
After my horrific night of hallucinations, FH called SOS Médecins, a sort of emergency doctors service. In less than 45 minutes, a very nice, competent doctor was at my bedside. He did some initial tests, made a diagnosis, then called a lab to prescribe some blood tests, just to rule out the risk of something more serious. Doc no. 1 left, and half an hour later, the guy from the lab turned up, having driven over especially to take my blood sample, since I was too weak to move.
In short, by 10 am Wednesday morning, I had been seen, treated and reassured, all for a very reasonable fee (most of which will be reimbursed: the healh service here works that way).

So, if any government ministers happen to be reading this blog, take note:
a decent health service is somethig no-one really thinks too much about when life is purring along nicely. But the day you find yourself burning up under the covers, too weak to move and rigid with pain, you are mighty glad to have a competent doctor dispatched to your bedside within the hour.
We are very, very lucky to have such a wonderful health service here in France. Whatever state the economy is in, and whatever cutbacks have to be made, we must cling on to this precious asset for dear life!

(I refuse to post a photo of myself ill. It's just too scary).

Gone With the Wind

Our brave tree, a Survivor

On Saturday, we experienced our very own Caribbean-esque storm here in Toulouse. The wind howled at more than 150 km/hr all day, creating a very eerie atmosphere (shutters banged, trees creaked, electricity cables wobbled dramatically…).
FH spent most of the day with his nose pressed against the window, providing live, breathless commentary on the state of the rather large tree (see above) that was bending and swaying just in front of our house.
“It’s going… it’s going! No, no, it’s OK! Wait! It’s going, it’s going...!”
And so it went on. For hours. FH has never been one to shy away from a bit of drama…

It has to be said, we don’t usually get much in the way of extreme weather down here in the south-west of France. A sprinkling of snow (and that sends the city into turmoil) and a very hot summer are about as extreme as it gets. So people tend to get a little over-excited when a wind storm of this calibre hits us.

Anyway, w escaped not too badly, all things considered. Sure, the chimney didn’t survive (but it has been teetering precariously since about 1945…), and the streets are littered with fallen branches, but no-one here was injured, not even the Twingo, and our good old tree survived.

FH gathered all this information first-hand. He became self-appointed damage inspector next morning, authoritatively patrolling the neighbourhood with Gruff Old Man (our neighbour).They were very sweet. I suspect that, deep down, they’re almost a tiny bit disappointed that the storm has passed…

Red, White and Blue (X two)

At the risk of upsetting any very patriotic British readers, I have to tell you that something quite wonderful happened to me last week. The République of France finally decided to accept my nationality application. As of January 1st, I am French (as well as British)!

I realise that the significance of this event is 90% symbolic and only 10% practical (I’ll now be able to vote in presidential elections), but for me, it’s important. Not least because of the long, complicated, bureaucratic and fairly invasive process I’ve been through to get this innocuous sheet of white paper informing me “Madame, you are now French.”
The process involved putting together a dossier weighing approximately two kilos (you can imagine the sort of solid proof of good citizenship one is expected to provide: right down to a hard-won letter from a northern English police station, confirming that I have never been committed of a criminal offence in the UK…), and no less than three separate interviews (at the Tribunal, Préfecture and Police Station), accompanied by FH and BB, during which we had to “prove” to a series of rather unfriendly civil servants that we have not been merely pretending to be married for the past six years.

Anyway, the République has finally given its blessing.

It’s important to me in the sense that I’ve chosen to become French, mainly because this is my home and there are many, many things that I love about this country. Adopting a nationality as a conscious decision is quite different from just inheriting it as a birthright, although this whole process has also made me reflect on the immense privilege of being born British (or into any rich European country).

But, all that is by the by. Vive la France! I have now earned the right to moan, complain and not realise quite how very lucky I am… just like all my fellow countrymen!

Seeing the Light

Just to let you know that any frustrated readers who wished to comment on something I’ve written, but were flummoxed (what a great, under-used word that is!) by the French instructions on this blog, can now do so! The language has been changed to make it all a bit easier.
All you have to do is click on “comments” at the end of the post, and create a profile.Please feel free to comment on anything I write. It’s nice to know you’re out there.

Parapluie contre Paradis...

So, I have a blog. To the dubious, I will say this: I was valiantly anti-blog for a long, long time, so don’t think that this has all happened on a whim. I still have the niggling feeling that there’s something terribly narcissistic about the whole process but, well, you know how it is: my friends are all doing it (and doing it well), so… why not me?
And despite my reservations, today, a small, self-indulgent part of me is going “This is it! I’m famous! I have a blog!” Sad, misguided, celebrity culture… here I come!

The thing about blogs is that they usually improve a lot over time. In other words, the worst is now. Bear with me, oh-so non-judgemental readers, there are wittier, more interesting times ahead!

Oh, and lastly: I finally decided to jump on the blog bandwagon after a very enlightening discussion with a wonderful friend – O – who I bumped into by chance on Saturday afternoon when we both dived into the only non-busy side street in Toulouse at exactly the same time.
O convinced me that bloggers are not pathetic, and that, by testing my ability to write readable stuff on a regular basis, I would be taking important steps down the road to publication (recognition, fame, Nobel Prize for Literature, etc.).
Sincere thanks, O. You know who you are…