Meltdown

Now we’re in the flat surrounded by boxes the list of jobs do to is getting longer. First on the list though is wallpaper stripping and repaint.

That’s why we found ourselves in Leroy Merlin yesterday afternoon. Most of the flat will be painted cream but I want to put some colour on a couple of walls. Browsing the aisles in the superstore we were searching for sample cards that show the colour selections so I could ponder at home.

I muttered to the Frog as we walked through the aisles:

Oiseau: Where are the sample cards? In the UK you get sample cards.
Frog: You’re not in the UK.

We found one area where old scrappy sample cards were put out with a notice that to borrow these from Leroy Merlin you had to pay €10 deposit.

Oiseau: In the UK they’re free.
Frog: You’re not in the UK.

Huffing, I take the scrappy sample card selection. I continued to mutter towards the checkout desk where we also have to pay for some wallpaper remover solution and a couple of sponges.

Items purchased we were redirected to the “Welcome” desk to pay the deposit. Muttering about ‘€10 for some shitty paper’ I took the money out of my purse. The woman took out a form and started asking for name, address which were duly given and then she requested ‘some identification please’.

Oiseau: What?
Frog: She asked for ID
Oiseau: I perfectly understand what she asked for. This is ridiculous. No.
Frog: I’ve got some.
Oiseau: This is ridiculous. We’re not showing ID to pay for the right to take home some shitty paper so I can later give them money.

The ‘ridiculous’ element was explained to the woman who explained it was so they could better organise their business. And did we have a loyalty card?

Oiseau: They’re not ever getting my loyalty.

Frog starts to continue with the process and takes out his drivers ID

Oiseau: No. We’re not doing this. We’re not showing ID and paying for this stupidity. This is ridiculous.

We both stare at each other.

Frog calmly explains to the woman who looks at me as the English freak I am.

I flounce out of the shop.

Oiseau: Where shall we go now?
Frog: With you? ..... Ha ha ha...... Nowhere!

We both agreed it was stupid, I continued muttering 'ridiculous' for the rest of the day.

In the meantime I still need to select some paint colours. Hmmmm.

Where The Heart Is

Four different beds in four nights. I'll be getting a reputation for myself!

But imagine my joy when I found out a couple of hours ago that my meeting in London tomorrow is cancelled. Thank goodness for people who cancel at the last minute. Normally I would be annoyed at such behaviour but after this week I am overjoyed!

I'm sure it's not a coincidence - this week I found my first grey (actually white) hairs. I would be highly distressed about this situation - since my Grandma didn't start the greying process until she was almost a decade into collecting her pension and my mum only in her late 40's - except I've had other things to think about.

Yesterday, the Frog excelled himself and moved into the new flat with just the help of his dad and a van. I felt huge pangs of guilt at being in a meeting room in Hamburg and not sweating heavy loads up the stairs (honestly!). However, when I got home late I quickly danced around the flat with exhilaration at our HOME! The Frog father and son combo had even put the bed together so we had something to sleep on easily.

I didn't sleep very well as I was anxious about getting up early and rushing off to London via Paris. And the cold shower and hair wash (note to work out the boiler instructions) was a shocking way to an early morning start.

But now I have a spare day tomorrow so I will leave Paris for the train back to Reims tonight and spend Thursday and Friday beginning the télétravail part of my life.

Can't wait to be home!

And about time too!

Cemetery City
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

Yes the photos are posted here! You asked for photos and there are probably more than anyone wanted...

It's been a little crazy since I got back and this week I'm off to London & Hamburg in the same 4 days that we're moving out of the in-laws and into the new flat.

Actually Frog is doing the moving whilst I shuttle around. He's being stellar again :)

I want to write about Argentina but will have to do some vignettes when life takes on a more regular rhythm!

Life's Independant Thinker

I have survived. Three days, two nights in a country hotel with my team.

I tend not to blog about work (other than the ‘I’m on a train/plane again” type of comments). But in this case I may touch on a few areas.

It’s fair to say and would be no to surprise to anyone who is in or around my team that we are pretty dysfunctional. We’re six people on a fairly flat hierarchy with one boss. And we’re all very different. In so many ways.

The brief to the coach who came for two of three days was to help us understand our personalities and working styles so that in future we can begin to avoid the tensions and clashes that typically characterise our team’s working day. We’re currently in a situation where me and one other guy refuse to talk directly unless absolutely necessary, usually using another team member to convey information between the two of us. We’re also pretty culturally diverse with Dutch, French, English, Belgian and Iranian representation in the team!

The woman who spent time with us was a very perceptive, smart lady who used the Myers Briggs theories to frame our discussions.

In the “type” analysis I came out as a I, N, T, J* or as the tag line says ‘Life’s Independent Thinker’.

* (Introversion – iNtuition - Thinking – Judging)

What was deduced - as expected - is our team are all completely different types. Now we understand who we and others are, the challenge will to take this insight back to the workplace to communicate and work more effectively. I have a fear that people will use this as an excuse (e.g. oops I’m 30 minutes late for the meeting ha ha that’s because I’m a Perceiver ha ha). I was amazed when one person in the team (the opposite of my organisational ‘judging’) did not even understand or conceive how being twenty minutes late for a meeting was ‘disrespectful’. He had not even placed a value on it!

The other part of the meeting that highly amused me was being able to apply this model to other people to understand their behaviour and how you might interact in future. I think the idea was that you applied this to workplace and other teams. I just sat there quietly analysing my family. I understand why when going on holiday my mum and sister drove me absolutely mad because they would be incapable of booking or getting ready until the last minute– usually losing and forgetting something on the way (as opposed to me having an excel spreadsheet that planned the Argentinean trip –importantly including scheduled, free, spontaneous periods). But my mum, sister and I on holiday would all always be in seventh heaven to sit together quietly and bury our noses in a book for the whole day (and sometimes evening) without saying a word to each other.

Oh and by the way, Frog and I are very similar. Except for the Sensor/iNutition part. (detail vs big ideas). That’ll be the ex-accountant thing then.

I have oversimplified terms below so you can get an idea:

Energy Source

• Extroversion
  
  Do you get your energy from being around others and find it draining to be on your own. Like to think out loud in meetings to get ideas going?
  
  
  Vs
  
  
• Introversion
  
  Do you like space and quiet to recharge your batteries. Find pause and reflection before speaking ideas. Prefer to spend time with a couple of close friends than a room full of people.
  

Data

• Sensing
  
  Like specific answers to specific things. Like to hear things sequentially rather than randomally. Like jobs with tangible outcomes rather than theories and concepts.
  
  
  Vs
  
  
• iNtuition
  
  Usually more excited about where you’re going than the detail of where you are. Always asking “but what does that mean?”. Believe that “boring details” are a redundancy.
  

Decisions

• Thinking
  
  Pride yourself on your objectivity – even if people describe you as cold hearted you know that’s not true. Enjoy proving a point for the sake of clarity – you’re very happy to play devil’s advocate.
  
  
  Vs
  
  
• Feeling
  
  Consider a “good decision” the one that takes everyone’s feelings into account. Try to smooth over conflicts (let’s all shake hands and be friends). Feel that love cannot be defined and find offence at people who try to do so.
  

Organisation

• Judging
  
  Are always waiting for others who never seem to be on time. Are accused of being angry even when you’re not – you’re just stating an opinion. Keep lists and use them ; if you do something that’s not on the list you may add it just so you can cross it off.
  
  
  Vs

• Perceiving
  
  Don’t plan a task but wait and see what it demands; don’t like to be pinned down to things but keep options open. Are easily distracted. Often lose car keys and mobile phones.
  

Home!

Iguazu Falls
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

We finally got back to Reims this afternoon.

The end of our northern Argentina trip saw us travel back to Buenos Aires via Paraguay (!). Once back in BA we were all about shopping and wedding celebrations. Both tasks were well accomplished.

I will write a proper post about the wedding when I have had a proper night's sleep. But as a preview, having started the wedding service at 7:30pm, 200 guests enjoyed dinner, tango demonstrations, disco, 'mini' carnival, dessert tables at 2am and pizza & beer served at 5am. Frog and I crawled to bed at 7:30am and the alarm went off at 9am for our flight home. An overnight flight and nearly 24 hours later we are back!

I am off for 3 days "team building" in a hotel north of paris first thing tomorrow. (The team doesn't need rebuilding it needs a psychologist). And then I'll post (a selection of) the 300 + photos from the trip!

Missiones

I had written an interesting account of the last couple of days - sun, Brazil, waterfalls, 12 hour storms and a journey to this small town San Ignacio where we have been based for 2 nights to visit the ruins of the Jesuit Missions in the jungle.

Then the electricity went out and I lost the post.

So that was my shortened version!

We´re heading back to Buenos Aires tomorrow night via a flight from Posadas and we´re thinking about popping over the border to Paraguay during the day. No reason really except we have time to kill before a flight and then we can say we´ve been there too!

Off for an early night now after a couple of local beers and Frog thrashing me at cards. I have to write that since he´s sat next to me as I write ;)

In reply to previous comments:
Yes, there will be photos. Lots of them - current count of just the waterfalls is 100 plus! Be careful what you wish for!

The Falls

We`re currently in Iguazu Falls in the north of Argentina. We have splashed out and are staying at the Sheraton which is the only hotel allowed in this subtropical natural park. The falls are incredible - as Frog said we`ve had what will be the highlight of the trip on just the 2nd day!

So here`s the short summary of highlights so far:

• Dinner in Buenos Aires with best mate and her fiance who she told me over dinner she had secretly married in a civil service in NY 6 months ago. That was a bit of a shocker.
  
• Fabulous piece of beef steak and glass of red wine that I had anticipated were as wonderful as expected.
  
• Already bought my first fabulous handbag and belt in matching green.
  
• Discovering the view of the tropical forest and falls from our room.
  
• Boat ride through the rapids of the waterfalls this afternoon that drove us under the strongest falls section - we shrieked and got absolutely soaked but a real thrill.
  
• Sunset drinks on the terrace overlooking the Falls tonight after all the park guests had left.
  
• Toucans, monkeys, racoons, hummingbirds and tropical butterflies. Frog is still holding out for a puma sighting...
  

Off to the Brazil side of the Falls tomorrow and then down to S Ignacio to see the deserted missions (as in the De Niro and Jeremy Irons film).

But first some more cow for dinner!

In Transit

Writing from Madrid airport waiting for our flight to Buenos Aires tonight.
But it's important to say:

¡Happy Birthday Frog!

Whilst in Reims this morning I went to get my 'bits' waxed and Frog headed off for a celebratory hot chocolate and paper reading session. Looking for a sunny terrace he spied the Latina Cafe with suitably groovy music playing on the terrace. All comfortable and lapping up the latino vibes in preparation for the trip he had to swiftly hurry away after a group of pensioners from the Ardennes region sat next to him and in thick rural accents discussed their incontinence problems of late. The mood was quite shattered!

We`ll celebrate the birthday in proper style tomorrow night...

¡Hasta luego!

Hope

Yesterday I had spent the morning sat hunched over my desk. A couple of colleagues came to chat and I grunted in response before returning my focus to the screen. I was focused on The List.

The List is the piece of paper of all the things I have to do before I can leave the office at 5:30pm this afternoon for 10 days vacation.

The List is long. The List is full of all the things that need to be done so that when I return I can jump straight into 2 overseas trips and a bunch of meetings. When my mobile rang, I picked it up and grunted, fearful that this would be someone adding to The List.

But on the other end of the phone was my best friend in New York, Gail. She who is getting married in Buenos Aires. The grunt soon turned into shrieks as the realisation - yes I was going on holiday - struck me.

That's why I'm so focused on The List. And suddenly it felt okay to be stressed out - because in 48 hours I'll be in Argentina! Friday night I'm having dinner with my best friend and her husband-to-be and I'll be munching on the best meat that the world can offer accompanied by a fine glass of wine. That's before Frog & I fly to the rainforest and then back again and I will be bridesmaid wearing a fancy dress and shoes in a large basilica followed by partying till dawn.

As I came off the phone I realised that's why I hunch over my desk and exhaust myself with silly 5am work trips. So I can do these fabulous things. And that makes The List okay by me.

Walk in the Woods

Walk in the woods
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

We set off on Sunday afternoon for a walk. I had spent the majority of the 4 day holiday being tired, ill and then tired again. This was the first time I perked up and declared it was time to get some fresh air.

We bounded off with this smelly dog and entered the woods next to the Frog Family Home. True to form, the dog disappeared and we got lost.

But it was a good kind of lost. We found WW1 craters, possible trenches and this magnificent memorial. Set up at the end of the 19th century it pays tribute to a young 18 year old hunter, accidentally shot dead. "Hunters Pray For Him".

This is still hunting territory and Frog Father and his pals still bound around here. Luckily we're out of season as Frog and I completely lost our way and ended up by the miramars set up high for hunters to look out for wild boar and the like. Hunting season is not so far away as the husks of corn that are scattered to lure the wild beasts can still be found on the ground.

Finding our way home again, we waited for the dog to come back a few hours later, as is his habit. Darkness fell, we went to bed and the next morning there was still no sign of the hound. As he's so old we had all been waiting for this day when he didn't come back.

I called from a meeting in Brussels this afternoon to check with Frog if there was still no sign. A negative reply and I consoled myself with the fact he must have run himself out, exhausted doing the one thing he loves. The 3 hour train ride was spent mentally composing a fitting blog obituary.

Back tonight from the station, 24 hours later and there as an apparition is an absolutely knackered, wheezing wreck of a dog. Curled up on his "sofa" in the yard, his little eyes peering out before snoozing off again.

It could be a couple of days before he raises his head again. Apparently that wouldn't be a first for him either. Rest well, Job.

Victory in Europe

VE Day Reims
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

I wasn't aware until meeting Frog that the Germans had signed their unconditional surrender in Reims. The document was signed in Eisenhower's base which was a recquisitioned high school. Whilst the room of the signing has been preserved as a part of the Surrender Museum the school continues albeit renamed the Roosevelt Lycée.

Apparently, this year is the first year that Reims has celebrated its role in the end of WW II - with a three day programme that began on Friday. We missed the ceremonies yesterday morning with the French Prime Minister Raffarin (I've been tired and sick this weekend). However, we went into the city in the afternoon to enjoy the rest of the celebrations. Unfortunately the North Eastern French weather was not kind to us or the veterans with sporadic heavy rain showers and a cold wind all day.

The city was decked out in bunting showing flags from the UK, US, France & Russia accompanied by strings of the European Union flag. Interestingly, the bunting showed the USSR's hammer & sickle whereas the large flags near the War Memorial had the new Russian flag. There were jazz bands playing around the main streets and cars parked on the main place from the war period (plus some bizzarely placed 1960's models) and the French Army was out and about showing off a couple of veteran tanks, allowing kids to climb in one by one.

The Reims celebrations were infact promoted around two events, the surrender and then the 1962 reconcillation agreement between De Gaulle & the German Chancellor Adenauer. However, there was very little evidence of the Germans in the city this weekend except for the unruly German child with his father sat next to us at lunch.

We met up for dinner with Frog brother and his wife and had planned on watching the Big Band show out by the Mairie at 10pm. However, the rain was pouring down and the temperature had dropped so I suspect that was cancelled. We drove home ending up in front of a TV documentary about the events.

One of the day's conversations between the Frog and I was how much my nose resembles De Gaulle's.

Action Star

As promised, Frog and I went out last night for a film and dinner. Firstly, I don't recommend Kingdom of Heaven. Our joint critique was - Didn't appreciate Brad Pitt as Hercules? You surely won't be keen on Orlando Bloom as Defender of Jerusalem. Shocking I know but there's only so far that good looks will go to support an epic character.

Later over dinner we moved away from the film discussion and onto how Frog himself had been involved in these types of village antics as a youngster:

Frog: I'm a bit of a maverick as I've got so many influences on my character: the village, my family, London, Marseilles....

Oiseau: What? A maverick like Tom Cruise in Top Gun?

Frog: No. More like Mel Gibson. In that film, Maverick.

Oiseau falls off her chair with laughter

Frog laughs and then thinks

Frog: That was a stupid answer... For a stupid question

Truce is called as the main course arrives.


Damn, he's starting to notice my traps...

Ode to Frog

It's a day off for Pentecost and I am just surfacing from the week that was.

And what a monster of a week. Having moved at the weekend it's our first days in the village staying with Frog parents. And I've been commuting to Paris Monday, Tuesday and to Hamburg yesterday.

Of course when we're in our new flat I will be 5 mins from the station but for now we're in a tiny village 20 mins from Reims.

Step to the plate, Frog. He has been an absolute star.

• Monday and Tuesday at 6am the alarm went off and he drove me to the SNCF.

• Yesterday, the alarm went off at 5am to signal the start of a day driving me that involved two round trips of 3 hours each to the airport.

He hasn't once complained, is still singing (albeit to Ronan Keating which would normally be absolute grounds for an ironic comment from me) and when I pointed out on the return trip from Charles de Gaulle yesterday that the European Semis (it's a football thing) had started he said, "But your safety and return home is more important for me". And it almost sounded sincere!

To cap it all I got breakfast in bed this morning!

After 45 hours working in three days, I say, hoorah for four days off now and just three days next week before we fly to Argentina for a much needed break. And hoorah for Frog.

We're off for an evening of cinema and dinner on me to say thank you.

I will write a proper ode one day and a post soon that doesn't talk about how tired I am!

Antics

Last night I took the 7pm train back from Gare de l’Est to Reims. It was my first journey “home” and it felt pretty good. Once the train passed Epernay I looked out across the vines that stretched as far as the eye could see. Frog’s village and their vines surround the three neighbouring small villages but are ‘plot like’ in comparison. From the train you could really see how big this industry is to the region.

I managed to catch up on a little blog reading yesterday and read several posts about Sunday’s Fete du Travail. If you read any of these explanations you’ll see that the lilly of the valley (muguet) is one of the central traditions of the day. What nobody else mentioned (and makes me wonder if this is some weird inbred village tradition) is what happens in the little Frog village...

Having finished up a family dinner late Sunday evening we left Brother Frog’s house in the village and could hear “youthful” noise from further up the small street. Brother Frog said he was going to go over to their hangar where various paraphernalia is kept and make sure it was okay. What I didn’t realise is he went over and stayed there till 2am to ensure that nothing was taken out. The next morning as we drove past the small Mairie the significance of the conversation became clear.

Scattered across the front of the Mairie were farming implements, carts, traffic signs and posts. Apparently, it’s a tradition on May 1st for things to be moved and “redistributed” around the village.

Which really is like any morning following a drunken student’s night out in the UK. There were certainly several of my housemates who saw collecting traffic cones and signs in our living room as a standard nocturnal activity and their own contribution to interior design.

Shock to the System

Yes, it has happened. We have finally moved.

Sunday lunchtime we were sat out with Frog family in the sun. Reeling from the tiredness of working in the office and running around packing, cleaning, moving on Friday/Saturday this was the first time I was sat still and not thinking of the tasks ahead - and that's when it hit me.

I don't live in Paris anymore.

• We are staying in a village of 500 people until the flat is ready at the end of the month.
  
• I have to commute for over an hour and half each way to the office
  
• I am in the provinces.

Wahhhhhhhhhhh! *

(* In a good way of course)

Awkward Silence

I work for a FTSE 100 company. Based in the French office but on a European team I have a fair inkling of who the most senior people are globally - I've seen them in photos and met the old chairman once for a smile and handshake when I lived in the States. But 99.5% of the time I am a little ant on the ant farm.

However, yesterday, as I was rushing to get a sandwich for lunch from the downstairs café to eat at my desk (how very un-French of me!) I realised that I was stood waiting for the lift with the French CEO and the Worldwide CEO. Just the three of us.

WW CEO must have been on a day visit - I've seen him once before and he's a very stony faced man. I have smiled and said "Bonjour Monsieur" to the French CEO occasionally in the corridor. But this is a large country office and he doesn't know me from any other ant.

As the lift arrived I had a quick panic "should I leave them in the lift together, or should I join them?". I realised I would look pretty stupid if I didn't get in. So I rode the 6 floors down in the glass lift in a very awkward silence. The French CEO pointed out the Sacré Coeur in the distance to the WW CEO and then we continued in silence.

Six floors seemed to go by very slowly. When we got to the bottom, Monseiur CEO gestured me out first, said 'Bon Appetit' and I scurried off.

I hope their meeting went better than the awkwardness that flooded that lift. But it gave me something to laugh about later and realise I quite like being a little ant.

Budding Vines

Budding Vines
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

Spring has come to the hills of Saint Thierry in Champagne.

Frog went home yesterday and spent the afternoon out in the vines and production area taking photos. I love this one as I'd never seen the vines in bud before.

Jersey Boy

So, now that I think I have convinced my over-stressed mother (who was behaving worringly out of character) that my boyfriend is not going to leave me because I blog about him. I shall continue.

Frog had a little personal guided tour of my recent posts and all of your fabulous comments about him. And he glowed, looked a little smug and finally pronounced "it's okay you can still blog about me". So it's your own fault now.

But I don't have any funny stories about him, cos he's a bit of a stressed frog at the moment about the move and it was me who was the stupid one last night. Having looked up the cinema times to see Garden State yesterday and decided to go to the Pathé in Boulogne - which is just one stop away - I took us on a merry trip the wrong way up a Line 9 to the Champs Elysées to the wrong cinema and wrong time.

A quick DOH moment and swift jump off the train we did finally make it there. Do go and see Garden State. I appreciated it and it made me a bit teary at the end. Even Frog liked the bits where "nearly grown ups" behave like retarded teenagers. And New Jersey has never looked so interesting as when Zach "I have a blog too" Braff is in it.

Viva Espagna

Frog and I got back last night from a fantastic long weekend in Valladolid.

We were in the region of Castilla y Leon (just over an hour north of Madrid) for the wedding of Frog's old college housemate, Dani. Dani is half-English and half-Spanish but grew up in Valladolid - his bride was also from the city.

One of the things that Frog and I discussed while we were away is that we have been extraordinarily lucky with the experience that living overseas has given us. Not only did we 'profit' from the experience at the time but we continue to have our lives enriched by a door into more travel, invitations and further introductions to new friends to be made in far flung places.

The highlights for me of the trip were:

• Wedding Service: at the English College which is a church and seminary college for priesthood training for the English Catholics fleeing persecution in Protestant England & Wales (they may not still be fleeing following the English Reformation but they still come here to train!). A trilingual service including a bilingual homily by a Yorkshire Priest, sung service led by the English seminary students, selection of Spanish and English hymns (I could sing along to ones I knew which made me a little homesick!) and mass in Latin.
  
  
• The food and wine: was fabulous. The region is famous flor its vino tinto and even Frog who doesn't usually touch the red stuff made his way comfortably through a couple of glasses. Leaving me to finish off the bottles!
  
  The city is also famous for its tapas. The night before the wedding a group of us made tour of bars, selecting the best tapas that each bar was renowned for. I have no idea what we were eating to tell you about but it was all yummy. Highlights I think were the raw ham.
  
  The local regional dish is lechazo asado which is a salted roast lamb. I loved it so much I ate it at the wedding dinner on Saturday night and again for lunch on Sunday. If you're not a fat fan you probably shouldn't order it but I an a self confessed fatty, and the crispness just melted in the mouth leaving a very tender meat. Frog is not a fatty but he ate a piece of baby bull steak on Sunday which was so soft that you could have cut the meat with a teaspoon. Miam miam.
  
  After getting used to Paris prices our jaws hit the ground when we got our bill for Saturday's 3 course lunch with wine - 22 euros! The waiter looked amused and Frog cringed as I took a photo of the magnificently simple pear poached in wine.
  
  
• The reception: was held at the site of a large winery. Drinks (large balloon glasses of the famed vino tinto naturally) and canapés were taken in the stone cellar amongst hundreds of wine barrels. Frog ran around snapping photos to take back ideas for the family house.
  
  Dinner was upstairs in the restaurant of the winery, seated for over 200 people and an amazing menu:
  
  Pickled Game Salad
  ++++
  Monkfish with Pine Nuts
  ++++
  Tropical Sorbet with Frozen Wild Berries
  ++++
  Roast Lamb with Green Salad
  ++++
  Pastry Dessert with Chestnut, Walnut and Mandarin Ice Cream *
  ++++
  Coffee
  ++++
  Local Eau de Vie
  ++++
  Marinated Cherries dipped in chocolate
  
  I will dream for a while of the walnut and chestnut ice cream each filling their respective hollowed nut shells. Miam Miam!
  
  
• Dancing: one of the things I love at French weddings is watching the traditional dances. In Spain there was a great selection of local dances with all Spanish guest joining in. I always find it's the older generation to watch when these come on - and the eighty something grannies didn't disappoint here with flourishes and kicks to put the average English wedding to complete shame.
  
  
• Language: Usually when Frog and I are living or travelling we are fine on the language front. Between us we speak more than competently four languages (with the Frog pushing that average up). Spanish, however, is not one of them and we were both as linguistically lost as each other. Frog has more confidence to go up to a complete stranger and when all else fails I have Italian which I speak putting a thick Manuel accent on it in the hope that something will be understood! But the common lack of language put us on a fairly unique level playing field!
  
  

Reprimanded

I have just been 'told off 'over dinner by a whining Frog.

Apparently, I make him look like a figure of ridicule. I write about his "poor" grasp of the English language. I tell everyone how his literary prowess reaches the heights of Robbie Williams autobiography. And I describe how he dances around the flat naked.

In my defence I didn't describe him as being naked as he pranced around the flat. He inserted that delightful detail himself.

What would I have to write about if it wasn't for him lighting up my life!

Pack it up, Pack it in...

There is a new hero in my life. - Father Frog. Not only does he groove at weddings he turns up in the evening at our appartment in Paris - after a long day of driving and deliveries in Belgium - in order to help us with the first round of moving out.

He has filled in all the holes where the picture nails used to be and looked for what tools he needs to bring back next week to fix things and ensure that the bastard flat agents con us out of as little deposit as possible.

Having sped home from work yesterday evening I joined father and son frogs to help load up the van with boxes and furniture. He wouldn't hear of Frog accompanying him on the ride back to Reims to help with unloading tonight into the cave.

So after buying him dinner in our local brasserie we waved him off until next Friday's final move out. Now Frog and I are left in a rather empty flat. In which my lovely frog is treating the new space as his personal dance floor as he prances around the flat celebrating that we have 10 days left in this hole. He just bemoans that we have lost the large mirror already that he uses to preen and strike his vanity poses in front of. Oh funny, vain little froggy!

Bedding down on the sofa in the living room (that will act as our bed for the last 10 days) it seems like the adventure is really beginning.

Les Gros Titres...

...no sniggering at the back – that means 'the headlines'. I think.

It has been a whirlwind of a week. In 6 days I slept at home once, the rest of the times included my sister’s shared bed, a draughty auberge and a stack of cushions on a West London floor whilst travelling Paris – London – Paris – Reims – Lac du Der Chantecoq– Reims – Paris – London – Paris. Unsurprisingly I am now sniffling and gulping down Echinacea.

So here goes on a couple of highlights:

Mystery Man

My sister is dating a man who has met most of her friends and family (well the ones that matter) apart from me. I have been told not to take the fact that he preferred the company of his sofa on Thursday night to a drink with me and sis, personally. So he still remains “tall publishing man of mystery” (but he reads this blog so careful on the comments!). He hasn’t made it onto my blacklist yet because he organised a great personally dedicated new edition of one of his author’s books. The author in question apparently thinks my sister is fabulous (aside from her success at selling his books across Europe). Her book has a one word dedication: “Run!”. Clearly a man with confidence in his editor!

Sister and I had lovely dinner in Clapham and caught up on gossip, news and plans. Given the choice between her sofa and a shared bed, I duveted down with her in the queen size. The next morning she told me she sleeps better with me than with the boyfriend. Since I am tall but certainly not 6’3” tall and have considerably less testosterone (and from what I heard, hair on chest) I am a little concerned about the surprised tone in her voice when she announced this.
Having slept on a good Aussie friend’s floor this Monday night (on the second round trip to London) I did miss my sister and her queen size.

Over Fifties

The wedding by a rather large lake in the south of the Marne was lovely if rather icily cold. I represented the inappropriately dressed English contingent, in a light summery dress as bitter winds blew off the lake. The village and church were beautiful and we were all warmed by a trio of gospel singers and copious amounts of champagne.

The marriage ceremony itself had started at 3pm with a vin d’honneur at 5pm and then dinner at 9pm. As everyone had imbibed (too) many glasses of champagne by 7pm, a muttering amongst many of the older men folk that they were looking for distraction. Frog went back to the auberge where we were all staying and tracked down a pack of tarot cards and a back room. We slunk off discretely in small groups to set up a couple of card games before dinner. Frog Father and his accomplices (including Father Frog’s friends, Frog Sister & husband, cousins, wives, Frog and myself) were found hiding out by Mother Frog at about 8pm who very loudly declared her disgust at her husband for leading this low behaviour at his “own son’s wedding”. Ahem.

There were eighty odd people at the wedding and the majority over fifties. They are all regulars at these types of family events so I seem to have met most of them before. The older generation showed us 'young ‘uns' up as they enthusiastically danced to to waltzes, accordion, sixties twists, seventies disco and eighties rock hits. All faithful French favourites with the odd Abba hit thrown in. I am rather proud that I am now one of those who jumps up, hands in the air to Claude François. Is this assimilation? Father Frog was an incredible sight as this usually quiet assured man turned into a jiving hipster. Apparently nobody had witnessed anything like this Father Frog behaviour before. At 2am Frog and I rather shamefully left the rest of the over 50’s to continue partying and kicking balloons around the village hall floor until 5am.

Yawn... must try harder at the next wedding, on Saturday, in Spain.

Wow!

What a week!

And I only have 10 mins before I have to get back on a Eurostar home to Paris.

I'm sorry to those I disappointed by not creating an audiopost last weekend. The good news is that we're off on Friday to another wedding in Spain. So may convince the Frog to also contribute to a spanish themed post.

I will try and write a version of the interesting things that have happened in the last week. To include:

• The non appearance of my sister's boy (although he made up for it by getting me a dedicated copy of one of his cool writers new books)
• A very cold wedding in the south of Champagne featuring over fifties behaving badly and an illicit backroom card game.
• My fabulous attempts to be suave Euro traveller going horribly wrong when I attempted to board a Paris -London train with tickets reserved to travel in the opposite direction.
• The delicate politics of now returning to Paris to schedule a meeting with my boss in order to explain that our London office no longer wants to work with one of my colleagues but exclusively with me.

Running for train now!

Going Quiet

Things are probably going to be a little quiet* on the blog for the next couple of days:

Thurs:

• Up at the crack of dawn to travel to London
• Meetings in Canary Wharf and Crawley (could you imagine nicer locations? I could)
• Dinner and stay with little sis (yay!), although I still won't get to meet her boy, she is turning down some do at Le Gavroche* * in order to have dinner with me in Clapham. For that I salute her. I would do nicer things if she went but also swung me an invite as well...

Fri:

• More meetings in London
• Flight back to Paris to be met by Frog chauffeur at Terminal 2F
• Drive to Reims

Sat:

• Brother Frog wedding
• Get to witness Frog being best man.
• Will not witness best man Frog speech as he has been banned by the bride following his performance two years ago at sister frog's wedding. Sounds intriguing doesn't it? I'm sure I haven't heard the whole story
• Sit at the top table with the Frog and rest of bridal party. (I don't think that's normal for the partner of the best man but they're clearly looking after me and not leaving me and random french family members to stuggle with conversation!)

Sun:

• Recover from French wedding champagne, dancing and hi jinks

Mon:

• I'll be back on form. Maybe.
  

* Unless I make a drunken audio post on Saturday night. Which is tempting. Drunk dialling meets drunk blogging.

**Michelin 3 star restaurant that is the exception to the French restaurant rule that I usually explain to family and friends - I have no desire to visit when in the UK. Suspect we'll end up in the usual Indian instead.

Family Ties

My mum and dad divorced when I was very young (this sentence began life with the word "parents" in it but it felt wrong - they are distinctly separate entities) and I have what I consider to be two families:

• the 'normal' one (mum, sister, grandma, aunt, uncle and cousins)
  we get to laugh, argue, agree to disagree, laugh again, strop, support, love etc.
  
• the 'freaky' one (dad, ex stepmum, current step mum, half brother, two stepsiblings, grandma, grandpa, uncle and multitude of cousins and ex aunts - aunt number four or five?... I lost count)
  just plain old dysfunctional really

For many complicated reasons I haven't spoken to my father for over five years. Anyone who has known me through the years understands why I came to this point. And frankly I'm a lot healthier in mind and spirit since I made that decision.

I do choose to keep contact with my ex-stepmum and much younger half brother. (You may note the use of the word "choose" which reflects that I am trying now to actively control my relationship with this family). However, my younger sister still keeps up with the rest of that side of the family. I respect her decision and relationships (as she does mine) plus I have the bonus of hearing the continuing freaky family sagas through her.

The story of my grandfather's funeral is a classic and will keep for a later date. I'm prompted to tell this particular story because my cousin has just got in contact with me after about seven years.

My cousin's father is not someone I especially like (I am the master of understatement here). This dislike was apparent from an early age - I found him selfish and immature. He is my dad's younger brother and has a multitude of children with different wives and mothers that I have to concentrate just to remember them all. His eldest son, my cousin 'Harry', is just a couple of months younger than me. Since my uncle was out cavorting and then leaving women and Harry's mum had in the meantime started her own new family, Harry often came along on holidays with my dad and sister and (then) stepmum. Harry still keeps in close contact with our grandmother and sees my dad and his new family.

Harry and I lost touch seven years ago because, honestly, I was tired of the competitive conversation of 'my dad is worse than yours' that he seemed to need to have. I understand why he felt my dad was a damned sight better than his but that was never a reason for me to feel a need to justify my feelings for my father. We all had our own issues.

But Harry has got back in touch with me this week and wants to catch up. I feel rather heavy hearted since I heard from him. Not because of him but because I feel like I'm potentially opening a door that I went through a lot of energy and emotion to close.

Basically, Harry is a nice guy who's had a rotten family. This tale was relayed to me recently and just summed up everything that goes on in that freaky family:

Last year at Harry's 30th birthday party invitees included his younger half sister from his mum's second marriage and a younger half brother from his dad's second marriage. Neither of these half siblings are actually blood related to each other and infact had never met before. But that wouldn't stop you feeling horrified, or stomach churned when it turns out your half siblings are having a drunken snog in the darkened corner of your birthday celebrations, would it?

I'll reply to Harry's email this week. I can do polite and friendly communications. I just feel bad lumping him in with what I consider the other rotten eggs but am worried about where this is leading.

The Frog School of Packing

Anne asked me how the preparation for the move to Reims was going. I replied that I was determinedly not blogging about it because people would realise what an ungrateful wench I really am. I hate packing - for holiday or new home it's an effort I resent. Which is clearly rather shortsighted if you're planning a month in Brazil or swapping a mould ridden hole above a butchers for a bright parquet floored apartment with cathedral view.

Plus I packed 95% of my belongings into boxes and storage last summer when I moved out of my flat into the afore mentioned hole. So what is really left to pack is mostly Frog's stuff.

What I have discovered since I whinged earlier is that the Frog is a master of packing:

Frog Packing Lesson

• put on your oldest clothes that make you look like Wurzel Gummidge*
• put aside all clothes and shoes that you no longer wear
• all books, dvds, bedding to be put in plastic wrapping before being placed into the box
• label each plastic bag before it goes in the box with clear explanation of the content
• each box to then be labelled in not one but two languages
• all filled boxes should be stacked neatly in the living room

Whilst he does this for a couple of hours each evening I am free to cook and receive rebukes when I tell him off for buying chicken thighs which I will now have to debone to make a planned curry. I am clearly a terribly ungrateful girlfriend.

* I looked for a photo of Wurzel and couldn't find one... sorry

Stalking

I have been stalking someone's blog for a while now. I don't just stalk any old blog. This is a blog with a meaning and purpose.

I found Julian Merrow Smith's Shifting Light through his wife Ruth's (also rather splendid) blog. Both living in Provence, Julian is an artist and from his official site I can see that he's the type of artist that I would stand and look at his work in a gallery and 'oooh' about.

So, until the day when some lovely benefactor commissions a portrait of me (yes, I know in my dreams) I was very excited to see that Julian has a blog that houses a diary of mini oil paintings that he updates daily. And at $100 each mere mortals like myself can decide that this is far more exciting than any pair of shoes and purchase their own piece of art.

So, after stalking for the last few weeks and missing out on a couple (I'm thinking 'pear with blue background') I was very excited on Saturday to hop online and see a beautiful 'lemon with thyme' had just been posted.

When the paint has dried and the package been sent on its way to Paris I can't think of a better place to appreciate the little bit of Provence than in our new home in Reims.

Saint Anonymous

Frog gave me a lift to work this morning which meant we got to catch up on what he did after I fell asleep early in the evening:


Frog: I finished the Robbie Williams book ... you know it's because he's young, rich and famous that he can just choose who to sleep with any night.

Oiseau: Unfortunately you are no longer any of those three things, are you. Okay, maybe you're still youngish.

Frog: I'm definitely not rich. But having read the book I don't think I'd like to be famous anyway.

Pause

Unless I was like, head of a charity and then I could be famous for the good things and the charity would benefit from it.

But if I were a criminal then I'd want to be inanimate.

Oiseau: Inanimate?

Guffaws of laughter

Frog: You know ...

Muffled words

... oh I'm not saying anymore it'll just end up on your blog.

Oiseau: Ahh... you mean like an "anonyme"... object. Ha ha.

====
Maybe John Paul II lasting influence is still having its effect on the Frog's confused morals.
===

New Toy!

Melancholia*

In order to save everybody from an "I'm fed up/tired/stressed" type of post (which I usually find is rarely of interest to anybody except the whinger) I shall not be blogging today.

Back tomorrow.

* One of my favourite words. I remember the exact moment I learnt it at school in a poem read to my class when we were 7 years old.

Indian

Last night I went for an Indian with a couple of anglo copines. We made our way to Passage Brady which is in the 10th arr. and a covered passage that crosses Faubourg St Denis and houses a collection of indo-pakistani restaurants and shops.

The only restaurant to go to there is Pooja . To get there you have to walk past all the other restaurants who have waiters hanging out on the street trying to persuade you to choose their establishment. As one guide I read said, Pooja needs no such efforts as its reputation goes before it.

I lived in northern India for six months when I was 18 years old (I made a terrible English teacher) and despite all attempts of the school chef to put me off dhal and chapatti (by providing this combination as a daily lunch dish over more than 100 days) I still want more!

We certainly indulged last night. I like the restaurant - Pooja tends to serve northern Indian style dishes. We had very good samosas to start followed by shared butter chicken, gosht madras, dhal, vegetable & plain rice, poppadum, a fantastic garlic naan bread. To finish we scoffed kulfi (an indian icecream that comes in mango & pistachio flavours) lassi and rounded it up with a cup of real chai.

Chai is an Indian tea including cardamom and cinnamon spices and traditionally it is heated with the milk already added. It needs to be drunk very sweet. It reminded me of the endless cups and opportunities to drink it in India. When travelling chai boys will come around to you at bus stops, train stations to sell you cups of sustenance for the rest of your journey. When I was teaching at the school in the Himalayas we would be woken up in our rooms by the chai boy who gave us a cup to start the day.

One morning the chai boy didn't turn up. The next night I was woken by a banging on my room door at 3am. The boy was there offering the usual drink. Apparently he had overslept the morning before and got such a scolding for it that he had been so worried (and without watch or alarm clock) that he got up at that terrible hour to serve the next morning. We all felt so bad for him.

I rolled home last night very full and happy but am now busy planning my own culinary efforts to use the naan bread and chutneys that I bought in the great Indian superette in Passage Brady.

Mourning

The Frog couldn't sleep last night and told me this morning that he had spent part of the night watching TV. He was watching coverage of John Paul II's life.

Of course Frog is a good Catholic boy but last night he realised why he was so sad about the pontiff's death.

When Frog was younger he went on a school trip to Rome with his class and the priests that taught them. They attended mass at St Peter's which was taken by the Pope. Following mass the pope walked through the cathedral reaching out to the pilgrims. Since Young Frog was at the end of the pew as the Pope passed by a school friend took a photo of the Pope with Frog grinning next to him in full frame. This was Frog's first and only touch with celebrity. Albeit religious celebrity.

So, the conclusion that was made in the early hours of this morning was that - with the Pope's death - the Frog had lost his one and only celebrity connection. And so he mourns. However, he announced as I was leaving the flat this morning that he has decided upon a target to make a new celebrity connection with. That target is Robbie Williams.

Couldn't get much further away could you?

Self indulgence

Saturday was all about me, me, me. I have been watching my pennies for nearly a year as I've been on temporary contracts, without knowing if it was going to be renewed from 2 months to the next.

So, now I have the contract till the end of the year in hand I was a woman on a mission this weekend. We hit the shops on Saturday after lunch at home and I made my first impulse buy on a very glamourous pair of sunglasses. I am not allowed to lose or sit on them for the next 100 years and they cannot leave my face for the rest of spring/summer if I am to get my money's worth. But they're beautiful and I feel like an elegant Italian in them.

Next up I bought two new pairs of shoes, a pair of tan suede flat shoes for being the women around town and a pair of slides for the summer. I did however make myself pause to think about a a great pair of swanky black heels. Now I've justified that I can wear them to several weddings this year and tower above the frog (and all average height french)I shall make a return trip for those on Saturday.

Next up I found a pair of green (no black!) trousers and a beautiful pair of linen shorts. I have never found a pair of shorts I loved. They never quite hide the bits I don't like and flatter the parts I do. But these are beautiful and I'm waiting for our first trip of the year to the Var to wear them.

Final stop was the hairdressers. I've basically spent the last four years that I've lived away from London waiting for trips home to get my hair cut by a hairdresser I like. Then about 6 months ago I met someone who lives in London and waits for trips to Paris to do the same thing. So we did the sensible thing and swapped hairdresser info. A great Japanese guy on Rue Cambon in the 1st now cuts my hair and I have spanking new shorter cut that I bounced around with for the rest of the weekend.

After all my exertions I met the Frog in the park where he'd been lounging and we headed home to get changed for dinner. Since it can't always be about me, me, me, I treated the Frog to a meal in a favourite restaurant that we found in the 6th last year:

Aux Saveurs de Claude
12, rue Stanislas
6th arrondissement
Telephone: 014 5444174

The winning dishes between us were his St Jacques in ginger starter, my duo of quail in a rich morilles sauce and the shared 'tout autour du chocolat' dessert. Accompanied by a Petit Chablis and finished off with a Poire William digestiv.

A very happy, slightly drunk couple made the last splash out of the day as we hailed a cab to take us home.

I'm sure if this was my regular style it might become boring - but having saved up it was quite a thrill to throw all fiscal caution to the wind and indulge.

Champagne Tasting

The frog has been involved in organising several visits to the family champagne house from anglo speakers. Historically, they have generally been friends of friends, potential private customers who get a tour of the vineyard, production and cave and then a tasting.

Because there has been some mutual friend connection these have been quite social occasions and a selection of bottles for tasting usually get finished off. The usual result is that Frog and I end up collapsed after the guests have gone, succumbing to the proceeding champagne induced snoozes.

Last weekend a Swedish couple who share a mutual friend with us, came to visit for the afternoon. They are waiting approval for an alcohol importers licence in Sweden - which is not easy to come by. Pre-approval they were touring over the Easter period for potential products to import to the blonde Nordic nation that loves to drink.

A lovely chatty, informed couple, we completed the tour and sat down to taste. Since my mum was staying she also joined for a chat and drink. Nearly four hours after their arrival, we waved them off, wobbled and promptly fell over. All the bottles put out to "taste" had been finished off.

So the challenge for the Frog now is to set up his tastings so that they really are a "taste" and then onto the next bottle/cuvée. Especially now that he is targeting wine societies and wine tour companies to visit and set this up on a more regular basis.

Pour/taste/spit. That's all it needs to be.

But it seems such a shame not to finish the bottle each time. Another example of his anglo influenced behaviour!

Cadbury's Creme Eggs

Possibly the most sugar ridden sickly treat in the world. Five minutes ago I remembered I packed one of the Easter treats in my bag this morning and am now grinning whilst gasping for water.

It's the little things in life, you know.

Easter in Champagne

Sunset Chemin des Dames
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

We had a fabulous long Easter weekend. Mum was coming to Reims for the first time and since we were all staying with the Frog family this was also the first time that she would meet the other family.

I wasn't actually nervous about this at all - Frog and I knew everybody and knew that (acts of god aside) everything would be fine. However, understandably, my Mum was a little nervous given the language barrier and strange family residence. I had been given strict instructions by my younger sister to "look after Mum". Like I'd do anything else!

Mum surprised me with her level of french - it was pretty good! After the first 24 hours she was having basic long conversations with all the family members. And her French is far more polite and formal than mine has or ever will be!

Frog mum and brother also put some of their English into practice. So my mum got more efforts than I get! But as in all international exchanges there was lots of smiling, sign language and more smiling carrying us through the weekend.

Notably, we spent the weekend eating and drinking. Plus a quick tour of Reims & cathedral and a walk through the local vines where we tried to lose Job. Our longest trip was 45 mins to the Chemin des Dames to visit the WW1 sites. I caught the sunset above whilst Mum was taking photos of tanks to give to her other half whose father had fought on this site in the tank regiment in WW1.

Whilst I knew there wouldn't be any problems over the trip I am so pleased that I also really enjoyed it! It's not often that I get to spend time with Mum away from either of our home environments and she's not only a great mum but great company as a friend.

The additional bonus of the trip for me was that Father Frog and I chatted. He's a lovely man but he tends to avoid direct conversation with me as I think he's nervous that he'll get stuck with a communication problem that he can't resolve. But I was clearly the lesser of two conversation 'evils' compared to my Mum and he cracked jokes and chatted in an almost relaxed way with me!

Next time Mum comes we'll be moved into our own flat in Reims. Four weeks to the Paris departure and counting!

To give him his due

Napoleon 2
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

Here is the little big man in full effect.

(This is where I curse Blogging for its date/time structure not supporting a more flexible narrative).

Napoleon Complex

Napoleon
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

So, you're driving down a small road in the northern region along Chemin des Dames with your mother and boyfriend. Ostensibly you're on your way to the WW1 sites and the Caverne du Dragon, since this was an area of extremely heavy fighting during the Great War.
Suddenly, you glance out the window and you notice, in the middle of fields that sweep for miles, a statue looking very lonely.

Actually, Mum spotted it and we stopped on a dirt track to see what this strange apparation was. And there we found Napoleon in all his splendour viewing the site of what was a large Prussian battlefield. According to a small plaque this used to be the location of a windmill where Napoleon postitioned himself to view and lead the battle.

A rather surreal sight. The statue was placed there in the '60s after the original windmill was destroyed in the WW1 battles.

So here is our hommage to the big little man. And as the frog was reminded, they may have killed Nelson but the English won Waterloo.

Truly satisfying

My first day after the long weekend I spend trudging through the rain in London for meetings with people who didn't turn up* Waiting to go home this evening, tired and grumpy at Waterloo I check my blog and notice that my little weather pixie shows the same nasty rain in Paris. Now I'm happy.

My mum once told me that I am always miserable until I notice someone worse off than me and then I seem to perk up.

Selfish but evidently true.

* Okay they were ill with gastro and couldn't help it.

Normal Service

I hope that normal service will resume in the next 48 hours.

I could blame Blogger or I could explain that I've been in Reims since Thursday evening. We got back to Paris this evening and I will be spending the majority of tomorrow on trains on an aller retour for the day to Crawley (any Americans reading this should just imagine Newark without any of the glamour and excitement).

So I will while away the hours on Eurostar tomorrow summarising the Easter weekend when "Oiseau Mum met Frog Family" .

Froggisms

Travelling back on the Eurostar tonight I called Frog to tell him I'd managed to catch an earlier train than planned and a gave a quick rundown of my day's events. His response to my whinge was "make sure you get a nap on the train because otherwise you'll arrive home very nervous". Of course he didn't mean 'nervous' but 'grumpy old cow'. And it's not that he was being particularly sensitive, he had chosen slightly the wrong word.

The thing is his English is so good that I really notice when he makes a froggy slip. But I love the froggisms - they always lead to laughing together and some of them now are just habit and delivered with a knowing smirk.

So here are three of my other favourites (since mum is an avid reader not all are listed here due to an attempt to preserve her/my modesty):

• Screaming Ducks
  One weekend in the summer house I was awoken very early in the morning by the frog stomping to the window and slamming it shut. "What on earth are you doing" I muttered. "The duck is screaming and woke me up." The screaming duck never returned to the house but the legacy is that ducks will never again quack in our household - they are forever stuck screaming. Mallard meets Munch.
  
• Palms of my feet
  Of course it's logical - if your feet are hurting after being dragged around the shops, it means the palms of your feet are sore. Makes me think of monkeys for some reason.
  
• Tainted hair
  I have never tried to hide the fact that I'm not a natural blonde. (Although since I haven't been near a hairdresser in a while I seem to be reverting to the mousy brown of yore.). However, I and many others are referred to by the frog as having "tainted" hair. Which seems quite fitting really, especially when it is delivered in a disdainful voice.

I recently learnt that an extended member of my (English) family is upset that I refer to the love of my life as the "frog" in the blog. I think it's felt to be offensive. I hope no other frogs are offended. This one loves it and even prior to the days that blogs existed called himself that. And we know how the fairy tale ends when the princess kisses the frog...

Ribbit

Hooray!*

I was going to write a post about how I had a lovely Saturday because I met up with Katia and she shared with me her fabulous ice cream place and we got to hangout. I got to chat and laugh with a girl. That I don't work with. So this was going to be a post about how I didn't realize how much I missed my girl friends. French girl friends just haven't happened and well... This may still end up as a post one day.

But in the meantime this morning I have just been offered an extension on my contract (had been due to run out April 30th) to now run until end of 2005 continuing my role here in the world of soap, soup, pasta sauce and ice cream. AND - this is the big part that everything was hanging on - I will télétravail (work from home) for 2 - 3 days a week. The other days will be shared between Paris and London/Hamburg/Brussels (love those northern European cities!)

This means not only will I be moving to Reims (yes we have a view of that cathedral from our new lovely flat!) in five weeks but someone will pay for me to continue working under the conditions I have asked for.

Alright it's still not the job I dreamed of - but now I can be gainfully employed, live in a beautiful small city with the lovely frog, justify the expense of hiring a cleaner and pay the new mortgage.

Hoorah hoorah hoorah!

* By the way what is the French equivalent for "Hooray"?

Swerving

My legs are hurting rather a lot today. Not only did I have a semi private yoga class on Friday - two of us turned up and there's there's nowhere to hide behind the mat you just have to go for the stretches - but like many other Parisiens I took to my roller blades yesterday afternoon.

Frog and I headed off to Bois de Boulogne for an afternoon of skating. I have only skated in Paris once before and the last time we went out it all ended up with a head injury, ambulance and trip to casualty for the Frog. (If you ask nicely he'll show you the scar.)

So we were both a bit wobbly to start with but ended up spending several beautiful sunny hours speeding around the park. I say speeding but I'm not really being very accurate. I prefer to meander.

I pride myself on the fact that I learnt to blade in Central Park. My friend Aaron took me to the top of the Great Hill and listened to me scream as I sped down the incline. We used to pass many afternoons on the path down the West Side of Manhattan, only stopping for refreshment at Chelsea Piers with a bottle of Vitamin Water.

I realised yesterday that Central Park is rather different to Boulogne. In Central Park the cyclists shout at you, the bladers pose and the runners ... well they run. And it's only two years later that I realise there were never any large numbers of children in Central Park "on the road". Unlike in Boulogne. In Bois de Boulogne everybody is part of a family who are roller blading, cycling or scootering. And the anarchic French like to put their little kids on colourful bicycles, helmet securely on head and set them off to learn how they will eventually drive one day. Like maniacs.

I swear the little blighters see you and then aim right at you. I swerved, I braked and yet I never quite hit one. I did witness others' crashes and tears and laughed out loud when a screaming six year old who had just narrowly missed me, once again turned her head to talk to her friends behind her and say "when you look behind you, you lose control". Really. No flies on that one.

But I had a lot of fun. We sat by the water and read and then headed off to find a café for my first citron pressé of the summer. A perfect Sunday afternoon.

Essential Friday Reading

Ideal for moments of procrastination at work:

Necrophilia among ducks ruffles research feathers

The strange case of the homosexual necrophiliac duck pushed out the boundaries of knowledge in a rather improbable way when it was recorded by Dutch researcher Kees Moeliker.
....

Ducks behave pretty badly, it seems. It is not so much that up to one in 10 of mallard couples are homosexual - no one would raise an eyebrow in the liberal Netherlands - but they regularly indulge in "attempted rape flights" when they pursue other ducks with a view to forcible mating.

...

His findings have provoked a lot of interest - especially in Britain for some reason - but no other recorded cases of duck necrophilia. However, Mr Moeliker was informed of an American case involving a squirrel and a dead partner, although in this case it is not known whether the necrophilia observed was homosexual or not as the victim had been run over by a truck shortly before the incident.

She's a maniac...

.... maniac on the dance floor and she's dancing like she's never danced before

Di da di da di da di da di da di da di da di da dahhh (imagine pounding jumping up and down training music).

No, I still haven't been inside a gym this year, I was listening to this whilst waiting for the train morning. There are many things I hate about travelling on the RER - the train system that links the suburbs of Paris to the centre. They are dark, smelly, if you miss one you have to wait 20 mins and they are usually taking me somewhere I don't want to go (i.e. work).

However, I do love the fact that they pipe music onto the platform. So, this morning I was waiting for the train whilst listening to the hit from Flashdance. Often it's Phil Collins which doesn't quite set my day off in the same way but easy listening classics are quite a lovely start to the day and a chance listen to music you would never usually choose/admit to.

As "Maniac" faded out a French classic started and the woman sat next to me on the dirty plastic seats started to hum loudly along. A great distraction from the grime ridden smelly subterranean and guaranteed to ensure one of the tunes gets stuck in your head for the rest of the day.

GISBE

Oh no, I just found out through someone else's blog about the GISBE (who received their gift from the person I was paired up to send to) that my recipient on the Upper East Side of NYC has a blog.

I didn't see it on the original list supplied! And so I had NO idea if what I bought (which is on its slow France - NYC post way) was appropriate or not. The good thing is that I don't think she's Jewish (well her husband likes ham according to one post) as iIwas freaking that one of the products I have gifted is rather pork based.

If only I'd found the blog before! I would have been more inspired. I think.

New Day

Since it's so beautiful I have swapped out the snowy bird image on my profile for a more seasonally fitting oiseau.

I'm not thrilled since last night I got my tax forms which I have to complete. Easier than the US but tougher than the UK. More expensive than both.

The HR director who I started out on a bad foot with when I arrived (think aggressive NY manager meets uptight French hierarchy) has agreed to help me calculate my reported income. (I'm paid in London it gets horribly complicated). For which help M. HR Director will be paid in the gesture of some champagne (yes, I worked out the show French courtesy and bow down to your superiors thing eventually).

Reasons to Celebrate

1. As most bloggers in Paris are today, I am celebrating the fact that spring looks like it's finally here. The sun is shining, birds are singing and even the hole known as St Ouen looks ready to bloom. What a difference a few days makes!
   
   
2. My mum is buying a flight for Easter and coming to Reims for the long weekend. I haven't seen her since Christmas and am very excited to see her again. We'll be staying with the frog parents - luckily they have a rather large house so there will be no falling over each other in the morning. It's her first time to the region and I can't wait to show her around my 'soon to be' new home city. And of course drink some champagne. I'm also looking forward to witnessing the attempts at Franglais conversation from Frog Mother & Mum (I am an evil daughter).
   
   
3. I wanted to 'celebrate' Zinnia. I just got her morning post (what a difference an RSS feed makes!) and as usual it reminded me what a great writer she is. Her stories read effortlessly, I can't believe she lost out on the best writing award at the 2005 Bloggies. I very rarely comment on her posts as there's very little left to say except glow, be moved by her work, sensitivity and sometimes appreciate (what I sense) is a rather wicked sense of humour beneath it all.

Guess I ought to get on with my work saving Europe from bad soap marketing.

Comment System Changed

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.


Added by Oiseau:
And that'll be why I have lost everybody's comments...
BUT - if Frog didn't read the comments on the last post yet - this could be a blessing in disguise!

Found!

I have found the perfect dress to be bridesmaid at my friend's wedding in Buenos Aires.

Armed with the fabric sample (think claret/bordeaux) I went into a fantastic shop in the 9th on Saturday.

In my search I have tended to be rather intimidated by bridal shops - on a Saturday they are usually stuffed with Bridezillas and snooty parisian assistants. But in Cendrine, the assistants were two absolutely charming late middle aged women. They didn't laugh at my french or my request. They tutted a little over the bride's selection of colour but then pulled out a fabulous sample to try on. The dress is perfectly flattering and they are able to have it made up in an almost exact match.

It is also unfortunately way out of my budget. I decided to swap the silk that I tried it in for satin so that I could save 100 euros on the price. But I think I may resell after the wedding and in the meantime try and swallow the cost.

As the two dames admired me in the dress they asked if I was engaged. Upon the negative answer they gasped, "Well by the end of this wedding you'll have at least ten proposals".

When I relayed this to the frog his response was "Are you expecting ten proposals from the same guy or ten different men?".

This of course is the frog who believes that his brother and sister-in-law have the right approach. They had a civil ceremony two years ago (since they wanted to marry quickly before her Colonel father was posted to Bosnia for a long period of time) and now her father is back and retired they are have been able to plan the church blessing, white dress and large reception for this April.

Apparently this is very sensible. How did I find the most unromantic man in France?

Smelly Dog

Smelly Dog
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

This is Job.

Job is the frog family dog and he's getting a bit old. Father Frog used to take Job hunting with him but now he can't keep up the pace and he spends most of his time sleeping or looking for attention. He's sweet but also rather smelly.

I included Job in a set of photos I posted on Flickr. Now, I don't put any photos of family & friends public there (just a few of myself) since the world and his wife looks across these posted photos. There's a certain element of privacy I extend to people who wouldn't choose themselves to share their image.

But Job is a dog and I didn't really think about his feelings of privacy.

However, I found the other day that some random Flickr user had selected Smelly Dog as one of their favourite photos.

What? This is not a great photo - it just makes me laugh because it captures an old smelly dog. So, I clicked through to the profile of the person who had selected this photo as a favourite.

I can now see why this guy chose the photo. He has created a portfolio of hundreds of other peoples posts of their dogs.

This is really weird.

I feel a little disturbed by this dog obsession. And that I have put Job in the middle of it. Did anyone ever read John Fowles' The Collector?

Thought for the day

I have just finished a book my sister lent me (which is due to come out in April) called Firecracker by Sean Stewart. I really enjoyed the book - as one of their cover quotes says it's "Spooky, funny, sad and haunting".

Though that quote is from someone in The Jane Austen Book Club which conjures up images of large skirted Victorian women sat around in a circle discussing books (this would also be where my mother sighs as I have probably got Jane Austen's time period all wrong). The other quote given is "Stephen King meets Ibsen".

Anyway... there were two lines in the book that really made me think "Yes. That's exactly right". Because as a 31 year old I'm not always clear on how to link what my life is now with what I used to think it would be like and what my values were when I was younger. And when did I become a grown up? (And this is not a 'I'm unhappy with my life post' I am more than happy at what I have in my life!)

The two lines I will share are:

"A man who isn't a socialist at 20 has no heart. A man who isn't a capitalist at 30 has no brain"

and talking about having to go through the motions when you are really upset about something:

"One of the things about being a grown-up is... learning how to act right even when you feel wrong"

Quite sad to have finished the book - it was a refreshing change from the usual format (Ibsen meets Stephen King was the giveaway that it would be slightly different!).

Meatballs & Glowsticks

More than a couple of mojitos, half a plate of fries, a couple of stolen dutch meatballs. MMMMmmmm.

Had a lot of fun last night. The surreal world we live in means I knew many of the details of the people's lives I was drinking with last night. But didn't know the people at all.

Some really pleasant surprises and just wish I had spoken to a few more people. Fab venue, great conversation and lovely glow stick cocktails. And even the token male Parisian blogger - may have gained a new fan for his baseball team's new season.

The frog used to think all people who blogged were wierdos. I'm kind of sorry you all proved him wrong last night! My secret blown.

Thanks Petite for organising!

Blogger Disco

Since it's Red Nose Day, I am doing my cross-channel bit by adding a song to the playlist at Troubled Diva's Blogger's Disco.

And I get to think about fab tunes I haven't heard but would love to have a dance around to... so I'm going for The Breeder's Canonball.

Les Dents

Today I took what I consider to be a brave step. I went to a French dentist.

It's not that I'm worried about the standard of French dentists (I'm English remember, we are not renowned for our great dental care). I was more worried about having my mouth wide open, metal instruments inserted and poking around whilst trying to stay focused on understanding what the dentist is saying to me.

Frog gave me a quick run down on dental vocabulary. Can't spell them (I can't write in French at all) but I can now ask and understand a simple check up, clean, gums, incisors, molars and wisdom teeth.

Of course, as with many of my worries, they were all for nothing. My dentist was charming, noted I had a 'petit' accent anglais (that always amuses me when there is nothing petit about my accent) quizzed me on the fall of America to independence (yes, I could agree, it was because our King George went mad), told me BBC news was easier to follow than CNN because of that nasal accent those Americans have and then he proceeded to inspect my teeth.

Magnificent he said, nobody would know you hadn't been to a dentist in four years (ah, la honte), I have mama and papa to thank for such strong beautiful teeth. I obviously drink tea as I have a little staining on at the back but, hey, that's the English for you.

20 mins later, clean, rinse, spit and I was off.

All for 29 euros. I love this country sometimes.

Heat

Whilst I was in London yesterday I made a quick pit stop to WH Smith's in order to stock up on magazines. Having blown 30 pounds (alright there was a copy of Malcom Gluck's Super Plonk 2005 for the Frog as well) which is just a shameful amount of money, I walked away with a fine selection of magazines to get me through the next week or so.

The eclectic mix included Vanity Fair, Living etc (planning the new home deco), Easy Living* , Fast Company and Heat.

I am a huge Heat fan, I get strange looks when I travel with colleagues as I pull out The Economist Predictions for 2005 & Heat next to each other. Heat is the UK's biggest gossip magazine aimed at 23 year old women who want all the dirt on celebs, it shows their spots and cellulite, who's sleeping with who and tells you how to recreate those same outfits for £20. Love it.

The Frog is also a convert to the magazine. And when I return from the UK (or an indulgent trip to central Paris newsagents) he just as quickly grabs it.

Hence tonight's dinner conversation:

Frog: So what about Jude & Sienna then? I wouldn't be happy
either if she'd been partying whilst I was working. But I could have told him
that's what happens if you go out with a 23 year old. Just asking for
trouble.

Me: Really. So that's why you're not going out with a beautiful
young actress then?

Frog: U-huh. But I bet Sadie is really happy inside. She won't
show it but she will be.

Me: You know I saw the Sun headline yesterday was Brad & Jen
are back together again.

Frog: No. Can't be. She'd never forgive him. Because Angelina is
higher class than she is.

Me: Right. So you think Brad & Angelina really got it on.

Frog: Of course. And she's got some assets.

How. Disturbing.

*it's a new Condé Nast publication. Call it work research but I was very disappointed all the women in it were clearly taken from the editors' personal address book and it was full of promotional pages masquerading as editorial content.

Drifting

I spent 8 hours on 8 trains & tubes yesterday, for 3 hours in a meeting room in Crawley. Frog asked me how the weather was in the UK yesterday, and honestly, I have no idea! I walked from train station into taxi and out of taxi into office.

But I did take advantage of our UK office's company store which sells all of the products this personal care, foods company makes at a very low price.

So, as I sit here shattered after yesterday's trip I just had the bright idea to get the box of herbal tea that I bought in the store. Yes, a mug of mint green tea just might pick me up.

Except for some strange reason I had bought chamomile. Ready to curl up under my desk and drift off anytime now.

Bad bad bird

My gifts for the GISBE are all purchased and sitting on the dining table and I still haven't managed to purchase bubble wrap or a box in order to send them off to NYC.

The guilt is weighing heavy on me now... and I'm off to London for the day tomorrow (sadly just for work, no play) so no progress expected tomorrow.

Even Frog who used to do the little things I didn't manage to get to (because he had lots of space during his unemployed days) is now focused on a busy mission to sell champagne.

If I publicly announce how awful I am maybe this will motivate me to sort it out.

Dressmaking

Bit of a request here...

In my quest to get my bridesmaid dress in the bride's choice of fabric (bride's happiness should be fairly high on the list of dress criteria, I guess) I am going to try and get a copy of a previously worn bridesmaid dress I liked made up.

Do any of the Parisian bloggers know/recommend a decent dressmaker?

Getting a bit stressed about this so all advice much appreciated!

The Marmite Effect

On my trip to London last week I bought a new pot of Marmite and treated myself to breakfast in bed this morning.

I love Marmite. Many hate it and for the non-Brits who haven't heard of it it's a savoury, yeasty, salty spread that we grow up with in the UK. It has a very distinct taste & smell. You never grow out of it - if you ever liked it in the first place.

If you saw the last round of TV advertising in the UK, the scenario from this morning may sound familiar:

Oiseau appears in the bedroom carrying a tray of toast (nutella and hot milk for the frog, marmite and coffee for herself):

Frog: I can (h)ug you but no kisses...

Nice to be appreciated.

Bridesmaid

I'm very excited that my best friend in NYC has asked me to be bridesmaid at her May wedding in Buenos Aires.

Today I finally got myself in gear to try and find a dress that matches the fabric sample Gail sent me in the post. No success yet, but hey, that's another post...

So, Frog and I are flying over for a 2 week holiday to Argentina before the nuptials and are very excited about this trip.

Me: You know if you play your cards right you might even get to pull one of the bridesmaids.

Frog: Yeah, but it's always more exciting if you don't know them before.

Smack

Rock 'n Roll

It's almost unheard of in Paris to socialise with your colleagues but we're an international(ish) team made up of a mix of French, English, German and Iranian. So eight of us headed out last night to unjeudiapary.

The format is really for cadres celibataires (single professionals) but I think all of our group are married, living in etc. so this was an opportunity to enjoy a champagne open bar for a couple of hours at Maxim's (very cavernous, belle-epoque 'nightspot') for the price of €12 and have a bit of a boogie. And people watch.

I love watching the french dance at weddings . The french love to rock 'n roll dance - you know the twirling, dipping and swinging style. They are very serious about this. And I take great amusement at watching a young couple earnestly rock 'n roll to latest hits. (Frog and I have been in dispute about taking dancing classes for the last 10 months since I want to salsa and he just wants to rock.)

As the lightweight that I am now, since we started early (7pm) I had my several glasses of champagne, a bit of a boogie (no rock 'n rolling I hasten to add) and headed home, curled up in the duvet by 11pm. Only to be woken up at nearly 2am by a frog who had just returned from an evening playing cards with his friends. Wild living indeed...

Snow on the vines

DSC00205
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

On Sunday when I left frog family, frog drove me to the railway station. The snow was beautiful across the vines and apparently the freeze is good as it kills all the "bad" things that can attack vines. So Frog took a few photos on the way back.

Here's a quick peek if you were wondering what the snow on the vineyards in the Massif de Saint Thierry, Champagne - Ardennes looked like.

Duvet Coat

I miss my duvet coat. Cunningly, it's a dark long bronze coat that looks like a duvet and has a big hood with fur all the way around it. When I pull the hood up I have a peripheral vision of 45°.

When I lived in Manhattan and commuted by public transport to Greenwich CT everyday my duvet coat was a lifesaver in the winter. But NY winters are long and whilst trekking on the cross town bus, 6 line subway and Metro North I used to moan about how I wanted to put on a normal coat again that didn't make me look like ten ton tessie. Especially when I went straight from Grand Central to a cool downtown bar and had to lug the duvet with me.

I haven't worn the duvet in 2 years - I haven't needed to. The European winters have been mild so I get to wear a normal coat through the winter, accessorised with hat, glove & scarf as needed.
But these last few days, I just dream of my duvet coat and how warm it would keep me. But alas it is stuffed in a box in storage, not to be seen till May when it wil be too late...

Just because...

... I can I'm sat in the Eurostar "salon" at Waterloo on their free internet access, complimentary drink in hand, struggling to blog with an english keyboard. Someone has moved the letters and punctuation keys around so all my 'q's are 'a's and all my 'm's are ';' s... It's the small cultural differences that make the difference!

Good meetings... better time seeing and staying with my good aussie friend Leander. L made me laugh last night when we went for japanese and on hearing the table next to us she complained "I don't come to japanese restaurants to hear kiwis drone on....".

The japanese restaurant was a small family concern with a couple of women fully kitted out in the kimono and flip flops, achieving an amazing running trot/shuffle as they served tables.

The train is delayed but I'm going to make my way back to the bar... and steal the magazines to take home.