Le Bordeaux c'est bon mais le Champagne c'est meilleur*

I waved Frog off this evening after a hearty dinner of merguez and mash. He was wrapped up warmly with his Allez Reims scarf and Fier d’être Rémois emblazoned across his woollen hat.

Tonight was a big night. Stade de Reims had beaten Monaco and Rennes to reach the semi-finals of the Coupe de la ligue. Bear in mind that the Stade is half way down the 2nd Division and has beaten Premier Division teams to reach this far. This semi-final match was to be played in the half-built new stadium Delaune, fifteen minutes walk from here.

I had planned on having the match on in the background whilst packing and possibly having a relaxing bath in a peaceful flat. In the end I spent 90 minutes sat on the floor in front of the telly. It was an excellent game and even though the final score showed 2-1 to Bordeaux, Reims really did do themselves proud. Frog has come home in a state of excited disappointment, clutching his commemeration scarf. It was a wonderful dream that Stade de Reims would go through to the final at the Stade de France. However, for the Reims team to be talked about at a national level again is quite an achievement for the long patient supporters.

I'm off on an early train to London tomorrow for a five day trip, so posting might be a little quiet. I expect a mix of drinking, working, friends and very sore feet after three days at the Vive La France event.

*Seen on a large homemade banner at the match

Here versus There

This time two years ago, I was still living in Paris. I spent two years in the city of lights before we moved and we're about 21 months into this Rémois adventure.

A subject of conversation that crops up fairly regularly in this household is living here versus there. Aside from the expected, that we have a better quality of life in a smaller city next to the countryside, Frog frequently claims that part of this is also due to the fact that there are simply no Parisians in our daily lives.

I was reminded of this subject recently by several things. Firstly, by her post the other day, in which she touches on this topic. I have to say everything noted about what the people in the provinces think about the Parisians rang very, very true in this household.

There are several expatriate bloggers that I follow, some are in Paris and I enjoy their observations on life in the city. However, there is nothing more irritating to me when an observation is made about 'the French' or 'France' and I think : NO! You're talking about Paris and its inhabitants. There is often a gulf between their habits and behaviours and those of the provinces.

Finally, I was embarassed to find an email in my inbox from the end of last November that I haven't replied to yet. The email came from a woman who had found my site whilst googling "living in Reims". Since she was considering a move to Reims to research and write about the champagne industry, she wanted to know my thoughts. In true laziness, I have waited nearly two months to reply and have now copied and pasted her questions below, along with my thoughts.

Your story interests me, as you're an English-speaking woman who has chosen to live in France & especially in Reims.
Hmmm... choice. Well, I was offered a job in Paris that was too good to refuse. I was young-ish, free, single and was offered a senior position on a European team, living in Paris, with expatriate benefits for a couple of years. "Well, okay then, why not..." pretty much sums up my the result of my period of consideration.

I wouldn't say I especially chose to live in Reims. North-eastern France is not the most attractive area, although €5 a coupe of champagne doesn't hurt. There are far warmer climes and Mediterannean lifestyles to be had in this country. However, the man I met in Paris had a very good reason to move here to start working with the family business. This decision was certainly more considered than, "Well, okay then, why not..." but the move to Reims, specifically, was more about his opportunity than mine. But yes, I'm very happy that I signed up for this new adventure.

What are your thoughts on the welcome the people in Reims give you as apposed to Parisians?
This is actually a less obvious question than you might think. Sure, the stereotypical Parisians are pain in the arse people. The 'true' Parisians move in tight social packs and don't easily let anyone in. They are not like Londoners vs English, Parisians are more of a 'type' than anything I found in London. However, Paris is an international city and many 'Parisians' are not really Parisian. I was lucky to work in a young international company and most of my team weren't 'Parisian' and even lived outside the French norms. By that I mean they socialised outside of work and I made several enduring friendships from the office.

By contrast, if Reims was like many other provincial cities, you would consider the people to be welcoming and friendly. However, this is Reims. The Rémois are renowned for being bourgeoisie (despite the fact that the city has the highest amount of social housing per capita in the country) and are pretty cold. I was warned of this fact by my (Parisian) boss before I moved here, she had studied at the (highly rated) Business School and was shocked by the people's attitudes here. The friendly folks from the region next to us, Les Ardennes, constantly remark on how difficult they find the Rémois. We have been lucky in that we have 'instant entry' into local life through the in-laws. However, despite the fact that Frog grew up here, we have a very low key social life, and those friends we have are originally from other regions.

Is the cost of living reasonable given it's not as big as Paris?
I think the overall cost of living is lower here. However, you have more choice in Paris - meaning a larger selection for life at the more budget end and more free galleries, events, selection of restaurants, shops etc. But housing is certainly a lot cheaper in Reims.

Any advice to someone thinking of embarking on a life (even a temporary one) in Reims?
Reims is only 1 hours and 40 minutes from Paris. And from June we'll have the new TGV Est which will make Gare de l'Est just 45 mins from the door. So, you could look at it either way. You can easily escape to Paris, or base yourself in Paris and easily visit Reims. However, for all my complaining, I do like it here. The centre is small and charming, you might not immediately be made to feel like a local by others but it's very easy to find your way around quickly. Don't expect a rich cultural or diverse lifestyle, although if you dig just a little there are some interesting things going on.

Frog and I love to visit Paris. It constantly amazes me how I manage to forget what a wonderful place it is. Yet, I always travel back feeling the same way: I'm so pleased I came, but glad to be going back home to Reims.

Happy 2nd Blogday

It's my second blogday. I wouldn't have noticed but someone trying to get me involved in some corporate blogging project (yes, I mean you Toshiba*) obviously had an eagle-eyed intern (who I hope has read this example of how not to behave with corporate blogs).

So, two years on, I'm still in France and that life in Paris, on January 2005, seems a long, long time ago. One move across the country, a wedding and oooh far too many lovely moments with my Frog to mention, I'm still here in my squalid little blogspot. It is far too neglected, I have composed a hundred posts in my head (usually at night when I'm trying to get to sleep) that never make it to the screen. But thank you for visiting and dipping in and out of this adventure with me and my idiosyncratic grammar. An added bonus is that my mum, my original reader and intended audience, is also still reading, even if she sometime gets a little neglected too by association.

I'll leave you tonight with this tale from Frog last night. It has nothing to do with my blog, or me but seems to nicely sum up the facet that living in a small provincial city brings with it - local bourgeoisie eccentrics who have lived in Reims all their lives.

Frog had bumped into the rather strange assistant to our solicitor, X. X and his wife were part of our wedding preparation group sessions with the priest last year and we have giggled at his rather odd behaviour before. Frog said that X told him he was rushing to catch Galeries Lafayette before it closed. He needed to buy some new underwear and they, apparently, have a wonderful selection. (Trust me, we have the lowest stocked Galeries Lafayette in the country). X wanted to catch the Russian saleswoman, who is excellent at helping with the selection of said underpants. This probably sounds a little sleazy. If you'd met X, it's not. He's just rather desparate to wear the right labels and do the best thing - and in Reims, I now know that means running to catch the Russian underwear saleswoman in Galeries Lafayette.

I do not tell this tale to be snobby. I tell it because it made me laugh.

* I am watching with interest simply to put you into a case study for one of my clients, I can just imagine the agency brainstorm this project came out of and the brand positioning they are trying to create. However, it's nice that someone wrote a personalised introduction to an email that she obviously had to send out to hundreds of researched blogs. I hope she made her target. Sadly, I do not think that I'm an opinion leader. That's in the second part of my mission to take over the world...

Late Starter

Yes, I know 2007 started a good ten days ago but I'm having a bit of a delayed reaction. I admit to slumping a little in the overall mood stakes and have found it hard to find the energy to wish peace and goodwill to all, when struggling to find a reason to get out of bed.

But hey nonny nonny, onwards and upwards. I've spent the last couple of days trying to focus on getting ready for this year. A shorter new haircut, a facial (thanks Frog for the pampering spa vouchers) meant that even a doomed sales shopping trip today, when the changing room fluorescent lighting and small French sizes seemed to be conspiring against me, will not knock me back into the panic attack terrain that I slipped into last week.

So, pausing briefly to summarise 2006 with the comment written in one kind friend's Christmas Card, "I guess you'll have mixed feelings about the last year but at least the wedding was excellent!", let's move on swiftly to see what we have to look forward to in the first two months of 2007:

• A freelance project lined up to start tomorrow (may they all follow quickly afterwards).
  
  

• A trip to London to visit old colleagues (hire me for your short term needs now!); drink with old friends (yes, I'm still on the booze); visit best mate with her New Year baby (I will not cry) and plying the bubbly at Vive La France (try saying that without sounding cynical).

• Another year, another Saint Vincent. This year the village celebrations are hosted by Frog Family. Let's see if the family members can all put on a smiling front and not kill each other in front of the hundreds of guests. There are, however, reasons to celebrate. The assemblage of a vintage 2006 has just been created, which apparently (I haven't been privy to the tastings) is of great quality.
  
  

• Host another best mate jetting in from Brazil for a few days R&R, on her way to meetings in Europe. (She is the one who had a secret a couple of months back. Again, I repeat, I will not cry).

• Trying not to inflict major bodily harm on Frog when he forgets to engage brain before mouth. His finest example yet came after seeing An Inconvenient Truth on New Year's Day, "Well, if you think about it, all of the earth's problems are fundamentally due to an explosion in the population and you're actually helping the environment". Yes, the resulting evening lurched between states of silence and screaming hysteria. Gah, men.
  

• Travelling for more wine fairs in Amsterdam & Brussels. These are for professionals, which are always easier than consumer fairs. (I'm looking forward to seeing my friend Aaron's newly purchased flat in Amsterdam).
  
  

• Ski-ing. Yes, a holiday. After "working 'is 'ands to the bone" through the crazy Christmas period, Frog is taking a holiday. Harvest to New Year is the busiest time in the industry and, being a small family business, that has translated into no time off for Frog since August (the French 35 hour week has no relation to life in a small family business). However, the good news is that they sold a record amount of bottles over the Christmas period and with February being the quietest month of the year, that's the month that we get to go away. We'll be off to Les Arcs to break a leg, or something, the first week of Feb followed by a trip home to Dorset.

I know it sounds as if we're really busy at the moment and I'm pleased that the next couple of months are packed but I really feel like I'm treading water at the moment. May 2007 unfold without any nasty surprises, that's all I can say.

Chez Nous

Since I'm trying to put to the back of my mind the fact that we now have no dessert for our Christmas dinner (a disastrous early preparation session this afternoon, bloody, bloody Delia) and that I shall probably have nightmares after a real 'hack' job in trying to de-head the turkey (I'm all for knowing where your meat comes from, that's why I buy from the farm... I would just rather they did the dirty work), I interupt this panic session to take a seasonal photo tour of the flat.

Mum and D are arriving tomorrow lunchtime, so this is the last time it'll look tidy for a while!

Enter through the front door....

I bought the mistletoe and holly from a couple who regularly set up at the top of Rue de Vesle. The guy asked me how much I wanted to pay (it's Christmas and I'm a pretty lady, apparently!) which completely threw me. As I told him, I have no idea! He suggested €2 - 3, so with Christmas spirit and a sense of guilt, I handed over €5. A good business trick - though I don't think it'd work out that postively if I tried it out on my freelance clients.

Through the long narrow hall...

... and into the kitchen. Here you can find the reason why Frog should really come home when he says he's going to*. If he's late, he returns to find I ate all nearly all the home made sausage rolls and the two that are left are now lonely and cold:

If you had been in the kitchen about an hour ago you would have seen me freaking out over the turkey. I've spared you the close up of the head. Look away now if you're a veggie....

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...

...

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Into the living room, you can see the sparkly tree bought from Joachim, downstairs. It's handy living so close as he offered to bring it up to the second floor of our building ....

... now spot the swedish christmas horses that were a gift from a friend last year (thank you Jonas!) they now guard the christmas cards and oranges by the fireplace.

... pause to admire the old battered bookcase that I've cursed over the last couple of days, as I worked on reviving it with a couple of coats of cream paint, expertly multi-tasking, whilst watching The West Wing DVDs borrowed from the library.

Take a half pace across the room, past the Danish Christmas mobile (ahh, I remember the old days when I used to travel for business and buy little, local treats)...

... and to the final, second fireplace in the dining room, my New York mirror, decorated with the stars I bought for my first Christmas in Manhattan.

This is our first Christmas in Reims, nearly eighteen months after we moved in. We've been setting up the flat, little by little (there's some irony in the fact that when we first moved in, I had no time but a healthy salary and now lots of time and a limited income!) and there's a warm feeling to be had from seeing my home looking festive.

I have a couple hours of peace, whilst Frog freezes at the Stade de Reims. You'll find me on the sofa, digging into a tub of maltesers and enjoying the quiet!

* He's forgiven since he was buying my gift(s!) and in the village meeting a client. I have fared better than Mother Frog, Frog took a call from his father this afternoon, asking him to buy a gift to come from him to his wife. Apparently, I'm on wrapping duty. I reckon she might notice that the wrapping paper comes from our home...

Your Culinary Advice Required

Miam miam!
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

So, here is the plan. Christmas Eve will be spent at the Frog Family home, enjoying a French style celebration. I know that the menu will include their traditional oysters; foie gras; roast something, that's not turkey and a buche de Noël (christmas log), .

The 25th will see the Frenchies joining my family at our flat. The idea was a traditional English Christmas lunch served as a dinner.

I find it highly amusing that just before Christmas, Mum usually takes off, with her friends, on a 24 hour hop across the channel to stock up on cheaper French delicacies that can be found in northern, industrial France's hypermarchés.

This year, she will be crossing the channel with shopping bags filled with English items that are difficult to find in France, including single and double cream; paxo stuffing; crackers; stilton; extra large turkey foil; parsnips and home made Christmas pudding.

I am now struggling to sort out the starter in our English menu. We'll just have one starter (Frog Mother provides two) and I think something smoked salmony would fit the bill. I was thinking smoked salmon with mini blinis, créme fraiche and lumpfish (i.e. cheap, pretend caviar). Easy to assemble, tasty and not too expensive. The problem is that when I mentioned this to Frog, he got all French and said "well maybe with some asparagus and little cherry tomatoes..."

What think Frog is forgetting, is that our English main course is so much heavier than a French one. In fact, when we eat this at the correct lunch hour (2pm), we can't usually face pudding until the evening. I think my solution is correct but I don't want the French getting sniffy.

Menu

- Starter
*********
- Roast Turkey with crispy bacon
- Roast Potatoes
- Brussel Sprouts with chestnuts
- Roast Parsnips
with
- Gravy
- Bread Sauce
- Cranberry Sauce
- Stuffing
*******
Selection of English & French cheeses with Port
*******
Choice of:
- Delia's Iced Chocolate Chestnut Creams with White Chocolate Sauce
- Christmas Pudding with Brandy Butter
*********
- Coffee & After Eight Mint

Tell me I'm being really stupid to worry about this....

Getting Back On Track

I've been spending the last few days working on a freelance project. Whilst being really happy to have some work, and that this is quite an interesting assignment, it has sent me down an odd little emotional tunnel (again!). I'm working for the first time on pharmaceutical marketing - looking specifically at secondary breast cancer support for patients and carers. Yes, a real mood lifter!

So, I've stopped dreaming about deformed babies and am now dreaming about having reunions with family members, past and present, who are cancer sufferers. I'm just spellchecking the document this afternoon, so hope to bill them and quickly move onto more joyful times!

I'm pretty ready for Christmas now. Just a couple more gifts to buy and then I hope to do some baking and preparation for when the hoardes descend. Well, Mum and D anyway. We'll be going to Frog Family's house for Christmas Eve feasting and then there will be a return visit with eight of us around the table for a more English style Christmas Day meal. It'll be my first time doing turkey and the works and I'm hoping that Delia will be a reliable guide. The seating plan will need some engineering to ensure everybody has at least one person next to them who can speak their language. Once I've worked out what to serve as a starter, I'll post the menu. The 7kg turkey is ordered from a local farm in the Ardennes and will need collecting on Friday.

I came to the conclusion last night that I have, quite probably, married into a family that is more messed up than my own. At least with my paternal family I've gone through several decades of working out which relationships I can manage, and which will just have to shut up and make do without me. The issue, I have now discovered, with in-laws is that you don't have that freedom. I just have to continue in my passive-aggressive way, screaming when we're safely home and I'm in a calming, relaxing bath, chanting a mantra, 'It's their problem. Not mine. They're unhappy people. I am not'.

London

After several days of muttering (I don't really want to travel... I don't want to be left alone for a weekend... I want to see my Mum.... I don't want her to have to drive over from England...) Saturday morning found me sat on the Eurostar with Frog on our way across to London.

He had a long standing meeting with an importer and I had planned on staying home, putting my feet up and taking it easy in my first trimester. Well, since my part of the plan had fallen apart, I had finally decided to head to London. Whilst Frog opted for his planned weekend with his mates, I made my way down to Peckham to meet Mum and squat in my sister and boyfriend's house whilst they took off for a four week Christmas break in the southern hempisphere.

I don't miss living in London but I do love visiting. Highlights as an expat visitor follow:

• Watching a month's worth of QI episodes recorded on Sky Plus.



• Managing to not completely lose it when sat in a pub surrounded by hundreds of screaming babies and children. My hunger overcame any other natural instinct.
  


• Walking along the South Bank and feeling like a tourist taking photos.



• Visiting St Paul's for the first time, after spending years passing it on the #8 bus.



• Walking into the Tate Modern and realising that the new "Slides" installation was not a series of colour images but real "wheeeeeee" slides.



• The look on Frog's face, just for that split second, when I told him that I had nearly texted him to tell him I was leaving him for "another man".
  


• Sitting in a pub in Peckham, eating a Sunday roast with Mum and realising that my best friend from home from the ages of 11 - 13 years, who I hadn't seen since she left Wimborne and moved to Norwich with her family, was sitting at the table next to us.
  


• Eating a coconut pyramid, just like my Grandma used to make, with my large latte whilst waiting for a friend in Covent Garden.
  


• Having lunch in my friend's very cool member's bar and (whilst being very pleased to see her and remembering that I used to work in this industry) being more cheesily impressed when I realised that Strictly Come Dancing is filmed in the studios there.
  


• Meeting a grumpy Frog back at Eurostar on Monday afternoon, who had turned up to his meeting and found that his importer was off with the flu.

Alright that last one wasn't a highlight of the weekend but the reason we both went to London never happened and yet we both had a much needed escape.

I came back with a renewed energy, I have now cleaned our once neglected flat to a sparkling level and feel ready to take on Christmas!

Little Saint Nick

Little Saint Nick
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

I had this little brioche Saint Nicholas with a milky coffee for breakfast on my birthday last week. One of his currant eyes seems to have slipped but he tasted delicious, nonetheless. My birthday, as my American friends would say, sucked big time. I had had an early scan the day before to check the progress of a new 7 week pregnancy. The results weren't good and so I spent last Friday anticipating my second miscarriage in the space of three months.

The good news is that it has been less physically traumatic than the last one. The bad news is... the bad news. So, no birthday trip to Paris, no concert, no James, a cancelled highway code test and so on and so forth.

I'd like to write a deep and meaningful post, but the truth is I'm a bit numb to it all at the moment. I shall, instead, retreat back to my favoured position of lying on the sofa watching DVDs.

High and Low

A couple of years ago, I mentioned my duvet coat. The photo below was taken of me, in said duvet coat, this time last year. It was snowing in Reims, we had friends to stay for the weekend and it was a little parky.Contrast that with the fact that this week, people have been wandering around the city in jumpers or light jackets. A peak of 18°C was reported on Saturday. Madness, I tell you. I love the sun, but this doesn't feel right.

I've had a fairly quiet couple of weeks. The news I shouldn't share, as it's sure to jinx things, is that I have been getting good marks in my Highway Code practice tests. After a shakey start in July, I had a bit of a break over August and September and started to work on it again last month. I've been pencilled in for the exam towards the end of December. The best score I've had this week is 37/40. The worst is 29/40. All on the same day. I think I need to find some consistency.

To continue my high and low theme for this post, I'll share the list of films and books which I've been busy devouring over the last week. Swings of cheese and laughs through to wrist slitting despair:

• We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver. Utter utter darkness. Why on earth would I read this when I'm thinking about pregnancy? I have no idea. But it was excellent.
  
• Bergdorf Blondes by Plum Sykes. I know, I know. But I'd just finished Kevin and it made me feel better.
  
• Babel I don't believe it's out in the US or the UK yet. It won the prize for best director at Cannes this year. It has an all star cast and is set in Calfornia, Mexico, Morocco and Tokyo. If you've seen Amores Perros or 21 Grams, it's the same style of interweaving stories from Alejandro Gonzàlez Inàrritu . And it's very bleak. In retrospect I can see it was a brilliant film with ourstanding performances and brave global themes. However, at the time I just wanted to get out as I sunk further and further into misery.
  
• Désaccord Parfait I loved this light comedy starring French favourites Charlotte Rampling and Jean Rochefort. Yes, I know Charlotte Rampling is English but the French adore her. Rochefort hams it up a little (alright, a lot). It was directed by Antoine de Caunes (R..r..r..apiiiidoooo and Eurotrash for those who remember it on UK TV) but he's a member of a French TV industry dynasty and I think (as the film and his UK TV history shows) he understands British humour. Okay, it was very cheesy. But I laughed.
  
• Fast Food Nation If you read the book, you'll understand where the film's coming from. It was pas mal, but felt like it was lacking something. Oh, and it's another depressing look at the world picture.

Next weekend we're in Paris. It's my birthday and we have tickets to to a concert on Friday evening. Before returning to Reims on the Saturday, we're going to see James in version originale. Now, that will be a high!

Mulling it over

I've been suffering from restless nights for the past week. Any slightly worrying thought that can, seems to pop into my head and refuse to budge, whilst I toss and turn half-way between dreamlike thoughts and consciousness.

Last night I had the most awful realisation that kept me awake for hours but we'll have to jump back two days for the source of the problem.

Tuesday afternoon, I had carried out my good deed for the week, welcoming a young French woman into our flat. Brigitte is a troubled first year Med student. Apparently, despite ending up in the top percentile of her year, she has gotten herself into a nervous wreck and is working herself into a deep depression about being unable to cope with the workload.

Her Mum, a friend of Frog Family, is now very worried about her daughter's health and called me up to ask if I would mind helping her daughter with the obligatory English coursework that she has to complete. Having been in that situation myself (not in the top percentile of Med school, but getting myself into a state and having a great Mum to pull me through), I was more than happy to invite Brigitte to the flat that afternoon.

She had a ten minute oral presentation to prepare and had already written out her notes. The subject was the History of Christmas and we spent a couple of hours going through her papers, correcting some of the grammar, vocab and confirming pronunciation.

Now, my immediate reaction was that she's clearly an overachiever. Whilst her notes had a few standard French speaker's mistakes, it was all in pretty good shape and when she spoke she had a good accent. My second reaction was, my English has gone to pot!

I'm so used to hearing French versions of sentence structure (in French or from Frog's version of English) that I struggled to impose an English structure on her work!

We got through the work, and I hope I encouraged her confidence a little by the time she left. I had no worries that she would do well in her presentation on Thursday.

So, fast forward to last night at 4am. For some reason this was the moment when I suddenly realised that I had not corrected her final sentence. Her humorous conclusion is a comment on drinking during the season. She wrote 'hot wine' and I had neither noticed nor corrected this to 'mulled wine'.

Why it took 48 hours to realise this I don't know. What I do know is that I need to concentrate a little on my English skills. I can't be crap in two languages - one of them has got to give!

Original Version

If you want to see a film in Reims you have three options. You could jump in your car and drive to fifteen minutes to one of the commercial parks and the huge Gaumont multiplex, where every film is shown in French or dubbed into French; you could stroll down the Place d'Erlon and pay to enter the smaller Gaumont, where every film is shown in French or dubbed into French; or you could stop at the top of the Place d'Erlon and hand over €7 to see a film shown in its original language, be it French, English, Italian... with French subtitles.

The Cinéma Odéon is Reim's Cinéma Art & Essai, or what I would call an arthouse cinema. They'll show American blockbusters and French arthouse alongside more exotic programming and series of foreign films. The common thread is that are all shown in version originale (vo). In the last month, Frog and I have seen Flags of Our Fathers, Black Dahlia and Scoop. Nevermind that the last two were very average films, it's our cinema. I'm happy to see a French French film, but don't ask me to watch a film dubbed in French (version français - vf). It's disconcerting to see an old familiar face open their mouth and another person's voice appear.

Our concern is this - the owner of the Opéra cinema (built by architects Thion and Rousseau in 1923) is reported as being open to offers on the lease which runs out next year. He says that its 130,000 visitors per year makes it unprofitable and that the space is not workable. In addition to the smaller salles, there is one huge screening salle (sith a beautiful ceiling) which is either freezing in the winter (we are now used to watching films with our coat and gloves still on) or baking in the summer and there is no central space for exhibitions and a café. The owner has had enough.

The city of Reims has replied by saying that Reims will not lose its Cinéma Art & Essai but that another more suitable, central building needs to be found. There are mutterings that the disused and decaying covered market (built 1927-1928) might be an option. My fear is that even once a decision is made (and decisions are never made quickly) the speed of works here are so snail like, we will be cinema-less for a long time and the Opéra will be turned into another soulless shopping mall inhabited by tatty shoe shops.

(Mis)Communication

So, there I was last night, getting ready to go out and see this beautiful and majestic performance by Raghunath Manet*, when my instant messanger pinged. I was really happy to see it was my dear friend, who now lives a long, long way away.

We hadn't spoken in ages, so she regaled me with the fact that she's spent the last couple of weeks in bed with a virus. Family members were apparently summoned to come and look after her as she was really knocked out by the lurgey.

Verbatim:

Me:
so, are you feeling better?
Her:
yes... I just found out some news that I am not
supposed to share but I am dying.

Now, what would you think? My stomach flipped, a million thoughts raced through my head... I know she's had a couple of operations in the last year... have they found a tumour?

I thought for several seconds, and just replied with a single question mark. Could I get out and see her soon? I think I could stretch to an airfare if she's really sick.

A seemingly long pause

Her:
I don't want to make you feel bad but i am 6 weeks pregnant with TWINS
Me:
ahhh - that's fab
Her:
crazy.

Crazy indeed. I could have killed her!

She'll read this and think I'm a big dork for that misunderstanding! But I'm really thrilled for her, she miscarried at the same time as me so it looks like our luck could be turning.

Anyway, my dear, I hope I've hidden your identity well enough until the 12 weeks reveal. Fingers crossed!

* If this guy ever shows up in your town, make an effort to go. He combines an electric interpretation of southern indian classical dance, with dancers and musicians. I loved the fact he took the time out to explain the origins of the movements and music. This dancing Shiva from Pondicherry provided quite a culture shock in Reims!

New Occupation

I have a new daily occupation, that of 'boob prodder'. Naturally, there are other things that I can be found doing in and around Reims. You might find me sat in front of the computer, tapping away on the odd freelance project that comes swinging my way; you might see me sat, sulking, in a classroom as I continue to battle with the French highway code; I can also be found pottering around the local library, wondering which annoying person is hogging the DVD volume 4, series 1 of Nip/Tuck that I've been waiting to see for weeks.

However, the one consistent task I seem to have adopted, is the prodding of the boobs. The first pregnancy kind of crept up on me - it was planned but not expected so quickly. So, the boob soreness realisation was pretty much the same day that I was sat in the doctor's surgery, being prescribed a confirmation blood test.

The day the soreness disappeared was also the day that I was stuck in the Early Pregnancy Unit at King's Hospital, London being told by a very sweet, young doctor, that there was no heartbeat to be seen on the scan.

This time of course, the cycles are plotted, and the weeks are dragging out. And so I prod my boobs. I don't think I do it in public. I rather hope not. And there will come a point when I will have to wonder if the soreness is the real early symptom or simply a result of over zealous prodding...

Would you buy a bottle of champagne...

... from someone with dodgy French language skills?*

This was the question Frog and I were pondering, as we drove up to the borderlands of Belgium & France.

Frog is testing out several different types of sales channels for the champagne and since the house has never really gone into the world of salons or fairs, this is virgin territory for us both.

First up was a professional fair in London in September. If you discount the fact that was the day I began to miscarry, it all went very well. Wine buyers from the worlds of restaurants, distributers and retail came and sampled the family champagne. We had very positive feedback and have followed up with several solid sales prospects in the UK.

The bonus in London was that I could speak to my fellow countrymen whilst digging into some of my marketing skills and knowledge of the family house. Frog is fluent in English and relishes every opportunity to show off his ability.

Let's fast forward to last weekend, a first salon public... in Belgium. The plan was that this was a low key event where we could make our mistakes. I would do the running around, washing of glasses, keep note of sales etc., whilst Frog would do the sales spiel. The reality of course is that when you have hundreds of Wallonies wanting to get their €5 worth of entrance fee in free champagne tasting, you have to roll up the proverbial linguistic sleeves and get stuck in.

I am proud to say that I coped gallantly and even sold a decent amount of bottles myself, in between running to wash the stack of flutes at the tap set up at the back of the exhibition hall. It was a bonus to meet some lovely people from all over France who travel to sell their foods and wines. It was like eating all your favourite holiday foods in one place. We also found some friendly locals, although, the downside of a salon public is that you meet all the public. Including those you'd usually rather avoid.

Highlights

• Being situated next to a charcuterie stand from Les Ardeches, whose owner kept passing over a variety of saucissons for us to graze on during the day.
  
• A lunch of foie gras sandwiches, bought from the flirty trio of guys from the Périgord.
  
• The entertainment provided by the two hot tempered Basque girls. By Sunday evening, they were being dragged apart, screaming obscenities at each other, that I imagine were Euskara.
  

Lowlights

• Handing over €700 in duties to the 'resident' Belgian customs man, who was more chunky knit cardigan and loafers than crisp HM Customs' uniform. Apparently the several flutes of champagne he consumed during the weekend didn't sweeten him up enough.
  
• Frog pissing off the local celebrity and animateur of the salon, Pierrot of Lille by asking "And who are you?". Consequently, Frog had to later grovel and offer champagne, which led to him coming to our stand and interviewing Frog with a microphone. (Result: a huge crowd of Pierrot's followers crowding around the little stand and probably accounting for a good proportion of the weekend's sales.)
  
• My sore aching feet.

* According to my Mum, it's also my English linguistic skills that are failing. Thank goodness the digital red pen doesn't exist yet...

Wobbly

I found these cards on this site, courtesy of Daily Candy. It almost made me laugh, but not quite, since I was having a bit of a wobbly day yesterday. Anyhoo... My mum is, as we 'speak', driving down the A26 from Calais to Reims, to spend part of her half-term holidays chez nous. I can't believe that I haven't seen her since the wedding in May. Thank goodness for Skype, is all I can say.

I plan on using Mum's visit as an excuse to indulge in all the 'non-champagne' tourist visits that I haven't managed to do in the last year. It's the year of celebrating Art Deco in Reims, so expect an 'Art Deco Guide to Reims' post some time soon.

In fact, to start the tourist theme, here's a photo from last night's inauguration of the new lighting of the cathedral. The city seems to have cottoned onto the fact that our UNESCO World Heritage site has been woefully treated. A multi-million project to light the cathedral has finally been completed and we joined hundreds of other Remois on the parvis last night to watch the switching on ceremony. Our mayor spoke surprisingly eloquently and the 'unveiling' was gradual, the illuminations being introduced in phases, accompanied by a group from the local music conservatoire. The music was relayed by speakers all around the outside of the cathedral, so that you could wander around and take in the results. It was a great atmosphere and quite spectacular (I shed a tear and got emotional but that's probably just my raging hormones again). My photos, without a much needed tripod, didn't do it justice.

Blimey...

... at the Nyetimber vineyard the English pickers get stools to sit on! You certainly wouldn't see that occurring in any of the vines in this region.

Seeing this photo today, I was reminded that we were given a bottle of this prize winning, English sparkling wine as an engagement gift from a couple of friends in England. Nyetimber retails at a very high price (over £25/€36) and there has been much talk about how they beat the quality of a large Champagne house in blind tastings. Well, they probably do rival some producers, as not every champagne house produces the highest quality. (And, at that price I should hope that it is a quality product.)

We put the gift aside and opened it one afternoon when we had Frog Mother, Father, Aunt and Uncle around for Sunday lunch. Everyone had a good taste and agreed it went down very well. However, once the mouthful was finished, there was something missing. It took us a while to put our finger on what that was. Finally, we realised that what this was was a lack of a certain taste, that infamous terroir that the French talk about, a familar note wasn't to be found in the English wine.

Of course, this was no blind tasting and the panel were a little biased (and somewhat keen to move to the table for lunch). However, if I showed Father Frog a photo of the English pickers, sat on stools, any credibility this wine had mustered would disappear in a flash!

Escape

Basque Evening 2
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

I like wedding gifts. Especially those that you can save for times when you need a bit of a pick up. We took advantage of the gift voucher for a weekend in the south-west and zoomed off on Friday in the TGV from Paris, destination South-West France.

Two nights and three days of discovery in an area that was new to Frog and me. Things that I found out:

• Frog can comfortably put away five cakes in one day.
• I can happily eat confit de canard every night, if offered.
• If you order a rather rough local red, you don't notice after the first couple of mouthfuls. That is, as long as you don't try and taste it but swallow it down quickly. You can pleasantly manage a whole bottle that way.
• We'll both believe we're exercising the food away by wandering around our temporary weekend home town.
• Even a small branch of the largest bank in France (probably) blends into the local style.
• The Salies de Béarn salt water has many uses, we enjoyed taking advantage of being pampered with the mineralising spa treatments.
• We didn't giggle too much at the sight of each other wrapped up in hot mud packs.
• The Atlantique's waves provide a surfer's paradise.
• You can spend a Sunday afternoon sunbathing in the city of Biarritz followed by a stroll around an art exhibition.
• If your stomach is big enough, it can stretch to one final Basque meal before heading back on a night train and couchette to Reims via Paris.
  

Surrender

This weekend was the first following the successful harvest. Traditionally, this means having no plans, enjoying a lie-in and indulging in general slobbiness, which Frog and I relish. Except this year all the family were summoned to the village for an official meeting, Saturday 9am, to discuss the future of the House. For reasons of family discretion, I will have to save publishing any details of this, the latest part of the saga, for the book that deserves to be written, covering the highs and lows of a family viticulture business in this region.

By, the time Saturday had been taken up by an analysis of the morning's events, Sunday morning rolled around and we were still uptight so didn't manage a lie-in then, either. Once up, we enjoyed a long walk in the autumnal sunshine, through the city.

Reims is where the Germans surrendered to to the Allied Expedition in 1945. I've blogged about this before but we've never visited the place where the document was signed.

The headquarters of Eisenhower's allied forces were based in one of the local high schools, now named Lycée Franklin Roosevelt. So, it's here that a little museum has been created, and the original room preserved. Frog might have sat a couple of exams there, but had never visited the rooms.


There was something a little humbling about seeing the small class room and simple museum. A basic exhibition of photos showed Reims under occupation and documentation of its subsequent liberation. It's a relatively small city and there was a moment of realisation for me that, yes of course, the Square des Vicitimes de la Gestapo is placed just around the corner from our flat because that's where the Gestapo HQ was. And an 'oh' moment upon seeing a shot of the (then) sous-préfet of Reims smiling with Eisenhower. The sous-préfet shared not only the same family name as our current (somewhat derided) Mayor, but the same facial profile. Must be a family member we agreed*. Photos of the procession of the liberating forces show tanks rolling down our street alongside the café that Frog and I have a Friday evening coupe with our neighbour, the florist.

Strolling back home early evening and greeting another neighbour as we neared the flat, I realised that I'm getting to know my little city much better. I don't just live here, I feel like I'm becoming more a part of the city. This isn't another place that I'm passing through, this is where my life is and all plans for the future lie. It's a good feeling.

*Wikipedia tells me the sous-préfet was the father whose brother was one of the local victims of the Gestapo.

Champagne Harvest

Champagne Harvest
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

Yes, it's over!

Of the six and a half days spent harvesting nine hectares of vines, I spent half of that working in the house. I know that grape picking is back breaking work but so is helping to feed 50 plus workers twice a day and clean up around them. I now have to sleep some....

You can see the set of photos here.