The Sensitive Spot

I'd say my French language skills are okay. But they're not great - I work in English and speak English with Frog at home (his English is fluent and otherwise he wouldn't get to keep it).

However, I can follow a movie, read a magazine and watch the news. I can keep up with most of the conversation at the Family Frog dinner table, although I have to be pretty sure of myself - or have drunk enough - to really join in a group conversation. One on one I can more than get by. Dermatologist, Dentist, Doctors, Minor Surgery I've done them all and survived.

I do get terribly self-conscious and I guess it's a sign of progress but I hear the mistakes all the time. For example - the gender mistakes - if - it's la bière - it must be une Leffe I request or the waiter will just look puzzled at "un Leffe" (the important stuff you know).

But as my job prospects for next year have an even larger question mark than before hanging over them I am really starting to panic. Discuss integrated brand planning & marketing 100% in French? Write in French? That's a whole other ballgame.

Maybe it was just the result of a tired and emotional state of mind the other week, but when we decided to treat ourselves to a lunch of steak, frites and a lovely glass of red wine as reward for having survived the latest in the moving sage, the fact that the waiter didn't understand me reduced me to tears. It took three times of my repetition to get the plat du jour understood, he then asked me my drink order in terrible English, refused to understand a request for a Brouilly and brought me the worst house wine. End result was a rather watery Oiseau at the table.

It's not like I didn't have similar problems in NYC with waiters - an English accent with a hard "t" in water will not get results and a handy Spanish phrase could work wonders. But this really naffs me off.

Frog is not a great one in dealing with me in tears, but he almost boosted my confidence by later (oh so kindly!) recounting the tale to his parents ("you didn't tell them, I cried did you?" , "Um, no. Well, um, yes") who said they were surprised and how much they thought my French had improved since they met me last year.

So, progress will continue andI hope there will be a real boost after spending the summer break with several of Frog's French friends. Although I'm not entirely sure that'll be the type of language to help with the CV and Letter of Motivation that look likely in the autumn, quoi!

Overheard...

These were recounted to me recently by friends who were at the largest UK literary festival last month and staying in the VIP's hotel:

Sting in the hotel bar as Bob Geldof walked away after a quick chat:

"Everytime I see him he looks more and more like the Ghost of Christmas Past."

Friend who saw Jane Fonda walking earlier in the day into her hotel room on the same floor as his own, later that evening walked past the same room to hear enough nocturnal activity noise for him to ascertain that the lady is quite the screamer.

Not quite as great as her Jon Bon Jovi story last night, but these made me chuckle.

Lookin' Good

I'm just on the return leg of a trip to London (important frozen pea business to attend - don't knock the frozen food business it paid for this little excursion) kicking back in the Eurostar lounge.

I arrived last night to be introduced to my sister's boyfriend over a drink and a curry(the boy is not 'new new' but I haven't been allowed to meet him before. I'm not sure if that reflects worse on him or me). Before I arrived I sent a couple of little texts to explain that I would be arriving looking a little worse for wear. And that was before the train from Reims to Paris sped through the middle of a storm and I discovered there was a hole in the train roof right above my seat.

I had spent the morning at the dermatologist with a list of things to be done. This was my first trip to a French dermatologist and only second after the top Manhattan specialist a few years ago who tried to decipher what element was causing my face to be red, swollen and itchy to the extent that I couldn't open my eyes any more. My skin has a habit of behaving like a spoilt child, and this time I had a large cluster of white spots which had appeared all over my cheeks and eyelids over the last couple of years.

As I lay down on the treatment bed the charming French lady smiled and held aloft a couple of sterile metal implements and asked me to close my eyes. Ten minutes later she had squeezed all white impurities out of my face. The cheeks were fine, it was when she applied what felt like full body weight on my closed eye as she struggled to push out the nasties, and I felt my contact lens and eyeball sinking under the pressure that I began to panic.

One squeezed face, one frozen wart and examination of itchy legs later and I had a bill for €45. Total. Take that expensive Mr Manhattan. That's full priced service French style. If I'd done it real French style with a special government card it would have cost even less.

So this is why I warned my sister I was turning up in London displaying a makeup-less, red, bumpy monging face. And I'm sure she was so proud to finally introduce her elder sister to the boy.

Bad bad bird

Over two weeks and no post from me... it was Ben's fault. When I saw him he said "I'm so amazed how you manage to post regularly". "Oh, it doesn't really seem like an effort" I replied.

Well, blogging has been more effort than I could stretch to recently. Having moved into the flat, we had to repack bags and move out again. Nearly two weeks living back with the Frog parents in the spare room, a couple of overseas trips for work, half my team resigning and 2006 budget not being given for work next year and the result is my sanity (which naturally has a domino effect on the Frog's own patience with me) has been stretched. In addition we've had plumbers breaking the bidet and the builders wrecked the parquet in the lounge/dining room. BUT...

...the bloody builders finally left and the next day whilst I was in Paris working Frog Mum and her friend volunteered to make a first cleaning attack on the flat. Now after spending the long holiday weekend working hard (including poor worn down Frog covering for me whilst I collapsed one morning with a migraine level headache) and visiting Castorama* to the extent that the shop workers greet us as we rewalk the aisles, the result is we have a working and clean bathroom and kitchen. The new sofa has been delivered courtesy of Father Frog and van, clothes are in wardrobes and I just finished putting the books on the bookshelves. Just a lounge full of boxes and a parquet floor to restore left!

Semi-normal blogging service might be resumed soon.


* Like B&Q

Dodgy Bog

I am tired. Tired of living in one room of a flat whilst the builders strip, time, sand and paint the rest of the rooms. For two weeks we still had a functioning kitchen (although covered in so much dust and grime that you wouldn't want to cook in it), bathroom and toilet. But since last weekend we haven't had a shower so I have spent every evening doing an additional commute to Frog family house for a luxurious hour in the bathroom.

All the while I've had in mind that it's okay because in a few weeks time it will all be over and we'll have our beautiful flat. Remembering also that if we left it to me and Frog to do the work we want it would take about two years. If anything happened at all.

But today, having been poked away in the suffocating bedroom working for several hours I came out of the room to discover all the rest of the doors in the flat had been taken off. Including the toilet which I could now see was pretty much looking like it had come through an earthquake and is much the worse for wear for having five builders using it over the last week in oppressive heat.

I know my mum brought me up not to be a molly coddled lambkin and to find the 'fun' in late night dashes across campsites to the communal loos. I've been to festivals. I lived and travelled in India. I have regularly experienced the standard French café loo. But I just cannot bring myself to use our own toilet. So tonight I will be crossing my legs and praying that I can hold out until I arrive in the Paris office tomorrow morning.

Lacking Cultural Reference

I bought a new pair of earrings in the sale that are longer and more dangly than my usual style. I wanted to wear them for work today and was about to ask Frog if they were okay or maybe just a bit too Bet Lynch.

But he wouldn't know who she was, so I didn't ask. I still put them on and now feel very self-conscious in the office convinced that everyone is looking and sniggering about some cultural reference equivalent to 'she wouldn't look out of place pulling a pint in the Rovers Return'. But I'm not sure what that would be in France?

A Clucking Good Time

Chook
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

I spent a fun filled weekend in the Pas de Calais countryside celebrating an old friend's 30th birthday.

About fifteen of us pale english people (plus one franglais baby) stayed in a rather strange mini village of little gites that came complete with attendant chickens and horse, situated close to the Birthday Boy's French girlfriend's home village and family restaurant.

(In an attempt to get closer to the wildlife the horse bit me - if anyone wants to know what a horse bite looks like just imagine a big fat lovebite/hickey - and the chickens seemed to enjoy following Frog around. )

It was so relaxing to see people I've known for years and indulge in the 'do you remember when...' stories. Babies, weddings, new relationships and broken up relationships may have happened in the last eight years but the old jokes remain the same.

Equally satisfying to me was Frog turning to me on the way home and saying "you all talk very fast, don't you. It was difficult for me to get the chance to join in". Because that's usually my line in France!

Choo choo!

Summer meadow
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

As I sit trapped in our bedroom working, I am trying not to suffocate from the killer combination of 35 degrees heat and inhalation of dust created by decorators working in every single room in the flat at the same time. I spent yesterday on a call with a colleague in London who was laughing at me as I tried to lean as far out of the bedroom window as possible to escape the noise of the workers in the flat.

But! It is still better than being in Paris right now. Although... I have started to rather enjoy the train journey from Reims to Paris.

The summer landscape as we travel through the Champagne region is beautiful. Especially between Epernay and Reims there are fields of vines, wheat and large meadows with grass and poppies growing. Even the cuttings by the side of the tracks are full of wild flowers.

So in honour of train travel here are the top three train journeys from my life:

Epernay to Reims in summer (note the homeward bound direction!) I have to pinch myself a little that 'I really live here'. Wait till winter when the vines are bare and the region freezing again and I may change this view!

Mumbai to Goa, India
When I was 18 years old and travelling around India, after teaching in the north I travelled south to meet friends in Goa for Christmas. I remember sitting on the steps of the train carriage as the train made its way through the foliage of green jungle chatting with another traveller whilst the train staff came around asking what meal we wanted them to telegraph as an order to the next station. The vegetarian thali that was brought onto the train for us to eat was served on a banana leaf and we ate with our fingers.

Waterloo to Poole, UK
That's the real homeward bound trip. And its worth doing just for that second when you get out of the train at Poole and in one breath fill your lungs with salty air. I have a craving when I'm away from the sea for that salt rush.

With apologies to my red headed friends

I got the news last week that an old Uni friend of mine and his wife had just had a baby. A couple of days later the photos were sent out and I remarked to Frog that the little girl seems to have inherited her father's auburn locks.

Frog: So that means she's got red hair
Oiseau: Yes a full head of it
Frog: Poor baby. It's going to smell
Oiseau: What?!
Frog: Yes. Everyone knows red heads smell.
Oiseau: No they don't!
Frog: Yes - I think they sweat differently or something
Oiseau: On what scientific fact are you basing this?
Frog: Have you ever shared a dressing room with a red head?
Oiseau: Ummmm...
Frog: I used to play football at Uni with a red head and he smelt. He just had to take his shoes off and the smell was... urrghhh.
Oiseau: Let me get this straight. One red headed guy you used to play football with had smelly feet?
Frog: Red heads sweat differently. They smell!
Oiseau: I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you!

Silence

Brruuuuce

On Monday night, much to the amusement of my rather trendy colleagues, I went to see Bruce Springsteen at Bercy.

Frog is a huge Bruce fan and this was the third time he had seen him. I have never really got into the man but do remember that when I was in the States I liked the parts of The Rising that I heard. But that was probably more to do with appreciating his reaction to Sept 11th than other more reactionary Americans I was surrounded by at the time.

So Monday we met up with a friend Davide and sat down for a two and a half hour solo acoustic concert. It was fantastic. I forgot how much I love concerts and even though I wasn't a major fan and didn't know most of the songs the sheer power and quality of his musicianship shone throughout.

Frog provided me with the funniest moment of the night when I turned around as we queued to get in and noticed Ron Howard was right behind us. Yes, Ritchie Cunningham, no less, was in town.

"Psst" I discretely motioned and whispered (cunningly in French so as not to draw attraction, from the man) "Tu connais Ronnn 'Ohh arrd? Il est là ... derriere toi". (I have the Howard pronunciation in French down pat which anyone who knows my identity will appreciate!)

Frog with all the subtlety of a ... loud frog... turned in English and said "Where - oh yeah it's Ron Howard'. Practically in his face.

Frog doesn't understand the coolness required around celebs that only living in Manhattan can give you. (Top spot was dinner in Prune right next to Maggie & Jake Gyllenhaal and Kirsten Dunst. Though obviously it was Jake I drooled over ignoring the rest of my own table for the rest of the night.)

Very cool Frog. Ron Howard ducked away and the next thing you know he discovered he was in the wrong queue and turned about face. The fact he was queuing in the wrong place was clear once we reached our seats which were up in the gods. I imagine he was down in the row right in front of the stage. If I could have seen that far I might have spotted his baseball cap.

The point of realising exactly how long ago it was that I was at a concert was when I noticed that people don't sway with lighters anymore. They wave their illuminated mobile phones. That's technological progress for you.

Trapped

Trapped
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

Sunday was the Frog family garden party. Nearly forty customers, fellow champagne-makers, old time employees; friends and family were all invited over for a day in the garden.

Since it was so hot yesterday a large white covering was put over the terrace. The terrace itself was overlooking the pool.

You can see the sheep roasted on a spit at the top of the garden here, that was feasted on alongside couscous, salad, cheese and plenty of champagne and wine.

Part way through the meal, Frog left the table to go to the loo. Honestly, I hadn't really noticed he'd been gone a long time. I was sat next to a lovely chatty woman (who for once didn't want to talk babies and weddings) and Frog has a habit of disappearing into loos for hours armed with reading material. It was only when Brother Frog came over and said "Frog wants you to know he hasn't abandoned you but he's locked himself in the loo", or words to that effect, that I realised he'd been gone a while.

The mechanism for the key had snapped when Frog tried to let himself out of the toilet. With no window or other means to get out the Frog family members tried various implements but short of knocking the door down had no luck. So the blade part of a saw was taken from its handle and slid under the door.

Frog spent the next hour sawing through the 3 cm metal lock to escape.

I as dutiful girlfriend stood outside giving words of encouragement, trying not to laugh and waiting with my camera for the 'escape' shot.

He made it out eventually, covered in sweat and much relief. Just in time for dessert and then a much needed dip in the pool.

I think he saved his parents some cash because most of the rest of us wouldn't have managed to saw through the lock and the door would have been forced before meltdown occured!

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close...

... is the book I finished last night. I have been living with it for the last few days and completely submerged inside the plot and characters.

The joy for me was the creativity that Jonathan Safran Foer brings to the novel. Images, blank pages, blurred fonts that support and raise the narrative to a higher involvement. I have a confession - I'm a terribly fast reader which means I often end up 'skimming' but with this book I was completely involved.

It is also terribly sad. So, I was trying to explain to Frog the other evening why reading this book was so special and remarked that I had cried twice on the train into Paris. And he laughed at me.

Oiseau: Oh, but you wouldn't understand. You don't even cry at sad films.
Frog: I do.
Oiseau: Like what for example?
Frog: Top Gun
Oiseau: No. Ha ha ha ha
Frog. Yes.
Oiseau: Don't tell me - the part where Goose dies
Frog: Yes! I was twelve years old and suddenly I found I was crying. It was very sad.
Oiseau: Well I clearly underestimated you. I take that previous comment back.

Never underestimate the power of Top Gun.

The Before Shot

Before
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

Yes - the work on the flat began today. Frog and I caved in and realised that nothing would get done by either of us with our current working hours.

So, the decorators arrived this morning (hey, I moved to a bourgeois city I might as well act like one) and look what they revealed underneath a couple of layers of paper in the salon.

Nice!

News from the Front

So, routines are starting to appear and I like it. As Frog and I agreed this evening on our way back from Carrefour, newly acquired loyalty card in hand, routines are there so you can have the fun of breaking them. And we've needed a routine for a while.

I think this week is how things are supposed to be. I will have taken the train Tuesday & Thursday to Paris and worked from home Monday, Wednesday & Friday.

I'm surprising myself with how self disciplined I am working from home. Maybe it's because I simply have too much to do but I sit down and start about 9am (unless I'm checking out doubleglazing samples* like today) stop for lunch (an hour on a sunny café terrace for a soup with Frog if he's around or a bowl of home cooked pasta in front of the BBC news) and then back to the 'desk' until 5:30pm. Oh and a quick shoe shopping trip squeezed in the middle. Honestly, the shoe shopping took less time than the daily average that my French colleagues spend by the coffee machine.

On other news, Frog has finally proved to me that he had childhood friends. I have been teasing him about being a Billy No Mates since we haven't seen any old school friends in Reims. Then today he spotted two of 'em. Unfortunately, one was stood outside a church next to his mother greeting mourners to a funeral (we're guessing his father's since Frog decided this wasn't the time to renew acquaintance) and the other he bumped into a couple of hours later in the street outside said friend's family shop. Actually I saw neither of them so I'm still taking Frog's word for it that they exist.

However, Frog was a little shocked about how much weight one of his friend's had gained. "He's turned into a real fatty" as he eloquently put it. So, Frog is now checking himself in the mirror and wondering what his friends will think of him fourteen years on since the summer when as 18 year olds they shared their celebratory post-exams holiday in the sunny south.

* a frequent and unpopular discussion at the moment. The things I could tell you about the benefits of PVC...

Lost & Found

Glossy!
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

Lost:
One Multizone DVD
How? I have no idea. Frog's lesser model has somehow found its way into the new flat whilst my flashy one is... who knows where?

One Wine Glass
Despite all my best efforts to inadequately pack Frog's revolting green chunky crockery they all survived. I managed to drop a wine glass unpacking.

One Poole Pottery Coffee Cup
The retro pottery set - I lusted after for a month before I caved in and bought it - travelled London - NYC - Paris and only one cup chipped on its way to Reims

Found:

One Fab Hairdresser
I took the risk of Frog's mum's recommendation. And he was fabulous and gave me 10% discount for being a Frog "relative". Admire the new chestnut lights that cover the recently acquired grey hairs.

Shoe Shop
The next street along has a great store displaying so many shoes that I want. Now. It's just a choice between them and the slate tiles for the bathroom... Hmmm.

Bank Manager
Saw a lovely man at Crédit du Nord who organised the transfer of my account from Paris to his branch. Frog accompanied me as back up with the financial lingo and the numbers that I can't even do in English. But I then suffered the indignation of being ignored and all dialogue directed to Frog as if I didn't exist. Humph.

Money, shoes, hair ... and umm... love. That's all I need, right?

Crusader Marching Band

Crusader Marching Band
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

No, not a scene from Monty Python - that is what you're seeing - saxophone playing knights.

This weekend is the Fêtes Johanniques in Reims - which means celebrating all things Joan of Arc.

Reims loves Joan. Joan kicked the English out of France and brought Charles VII to Reims cathedral to be crowned King of France. They seem to forget that another group of French (Burgandy I believe but I'm happy to be told I'm wrong) sold her back to the English for 10,000 so they could burn her at the stake in revenge.

So this weekend there have been celebrations of all things Joan and Reims. It's been marvellous. A medieval village reconstructed in the centre complete with working blacksmith, chain or armour making and the stocks. An open air craft market with some really nice pieces (not just the animal painted enamelware!) and also a tie-in with a Folkloric Dance festival.

I never knew Reims had so many people! The sun was shining all weekend and today culminated in the highlight with a parade of over 2,000 people. This included marching bands, WW1 style horse parades, dance troupes from everywhere from the Cook Islands, via Brazil to Salzburg and other random medieval groups.

Finally Joan came riding through the streets on a horse with Charles VII next to her through the city. A young Reimmoise girl is chosen to be Joan every year. Frog made some quip about a tough search for virgins around here... which I chose to ignore. But I guess it's like Lady Godiva in Coventry but clothed...

It's all been a lot of fun and - yes the English were there in the parade. The twinned city of Canterbury sent a dressed up medieval delegation with what looked like the Archbishop and a set of morris dancers. "Up for England Up for Saint George" shouted by the group didn't seem to be so much appreciated ... but we had a great view from our windows to wave support!

European Studies

I have just come back from several days locked in a chateau with managers from eleven European countries:

Culturally Insensitive Moment of the Week
When an image of a cardinal of the catholic church appeared in a presentation (modern life philosophies discussion - U2 were in there as well) the German manager punching the air victoriously exclaiming "Yes! We are the pope" several times. The Polish manager sat right next to her and looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Last Country at the Bar
Hungary - 3am

Largest Language Stand Off In the Coffee Breaks
The francophones vs. everyone else who prefers to speak English

Most Notes Passed to Each Other During Presentations
Czech, Poland & Hungary

Quietest Participants
Ireland, Greece & Norway

Heaviest Smoker
Portugal

Funniest Presentation
Canada, eh.
(yes, Canada invites itself to the European annual meetings claiming more affinity with us than with the Americans!)

Closest Moment to Violence
The UK manager and her taxi driver who after a 3 hour drive from CDG airport asked for payment when she assumed it was prepaid and had no means of payment or French to respond to his gesturing at the meter.

Most Gracious
Netherlands (okay I'm biased she thanked my group at the end for having organised everything)

Need a little sleep now!

Infectious

Last summer, within weeks of meeting Frog I had been dragged to a family wedding in Lyon. I think we'd only been going out three weeks or so but since I'd met his parents within 24 hours of our first date (that wasn't planned) it somehow seemed logical to go headfirst into a family wedding environment. The wedding was in Lyon and we planned to drive there and then onto the Var for a long weekend.

This involved a very long drive from Paris via Lyon, further south and then back again. Let's just say we got to know each other better. We were stuck in a car with no CD player but a tape player and all of Frog's old teenage tapes. You know the type of mix tapes you spent hours compiling and recording from the radio.

So, Frog thinks this is the time and space to introduce me to some great French music. An education of sorts. And that's how I discovered Indochine. Think of a Gallic style Duran Duran, with added overstyled, wailing, heavier synth sounds and irritating 80's voice tics.. Repeated playing of L'Aventurier was not going to win me over. I did full blown Anglo disdain and contempt for about 11 hours straight on the way back.

So why is it that now I have my newly purchased ipod mini that one of the first downloads I purchased from the Apple Music Store was L'Aventurier and 3 Fois Par Semaine (another 'classic')?

I told Frog that it's because this terrible music reminds me of him whilst I'm away travelling. But perhaps there's a more sinister truth - it's good old fashioned infectious pop and it's grown on me. Tics and all.

Evening View

Reims
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

Well obviously not this evening's view since it's been raining here all day. But I did take some shots last week.

I am proud to really show off (in every sense of the phrase) our new view. This is from the left window of the salon to the cathedral. It's beautiful in the evening to turn around and suddenly 'catch' it lit up.

From the right side of the salle à manger we have a view of the Palais de Justice. If you click on the photo above it'll take you to more views and pictures of Reims that I've taken over the months. Enjoy!

Biker Dude

Putting aside all thoughts of unpacking more boxes and cleaning I shall whisk back in time to three weeks ago in Buenos Aires. I was booked to go out on the Hen Night with the American bride, Gail, and a bunch of her friends and family. This left the Frog with no plans for the night.

"He should go with the boys" confirmed Gail. "They've got something planned. No idea what - but get him to meet at 8pm with my cousins who will be leaving from their hotel".

So, I rolled off for the girls' night (which turned into a very pleasant night of drinks, meal and more drinks).

Frog headed off - a little nervous - to spend the evening with a bunch of strange guys including the groom's Argentian friends and the bride's male relatives.

I got back around 4am to find Frog had got back just before me. And he'd had a great night.

Oiseau: How were Andres' friends?
Frog: Oh, yeah, very nice - a bunch of liars.
Oiseau: ?
Frog: Liars
Oiseau: Ahhh, lawyers like Andres.
Frog: And Gail's family and friends are great. I met Greg, Chris & Joe. Greg is so cool.

Greg was to come up in much of the conversation and time we were there. He was the ex-boyfriend of Gail's elder sister and although they'd split up decades ago he had since adopted her family.

Greg was a 56 year old Californian biker. Of the real biker ex-Vietnam service variety. His greying beard and worn face were just distractions from his twinkling eyes that were usually seeking out women to turn his honest charm on. His party trick was to show off the tattoos that mostly covered his body, including the skull across his back. He was some kind of new wonderful exotic person for the Frog.

Frog: He got injured in 'Nam and should have got the Purple Heart but he threatened his shrimp.
Oiseau: What?
Frog: Yes, his army shrimp.
Oiseau: Eh?
Frog: Oh no. You know...
Oiseau: Shrink.

At the beginning of the night of the wedding between the church and hotel I was with the wedding 'party' as bridesmaid and having photos taken and Frog had attached himself to Greg. Who in turn had attached himself to someone I only refer to as 'Malibu Barbie'.

Whilst the rest of the wedding celebrations were happening in the ballrooms of the plushest hotel in Buenos Aires, Greg had taken Frog under his wing and escorted a lovely New York friend of mine plus Malibu Barbie to the bar.

I can honestly say I have a tendancy to the jealous girlfriend . But in this case, I know that Frog only had eyes for one person at the bar. Greg. And Greg in turn kept coming up to me at the wedding to tell me what a great guy I had. Repetitively.

When we talk about our trip and favourite moments, he still comes up in Frog's "best bits". Which makes me smile because that's what travelling is about - the new people we meet that we would never encounter at home.

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!