Gourmandise

After an entire working week in a hotel room in Hamburg it's good to be home. Not that we've really stopped since I got back!

I arrived Friday evening at Charles de Gaulle airport and instead of heading to Reims, took a taxi into the suburbs of Paris. Frog had been making deliveries all day in the city and we were meeting up at a friend, David''s, flat for dinner. A group of eight of us ate and chatted and I found it a little bizarre going from a week of German and English (alright, I'm not speaking much German but that's the aural surroundings) to an evening of fast, colloquial French. I managed to keep up until about half past midnight. After toasting the arrival of Frog's birthday, I left the others and fell into a donated bed.

Back to Reims on Saturday morning, last night we took off for Frog's birthday gift. I was buying dinner at the Assiette Champenoise, a two star Michelin restaurant and hotel, which is just outside the city centre. The suburb it's situated in is pretty grotty which makes it all the more surprising to turn into a classical, beautiful setting, away from the street lined with dark, smokey bars (where Father Frog likes to meet his mates every morning for a café).

Frog took the large tasting menu accompanied by glasses of a Krug cuvée and I selected a couple of the à la carte items. I'd been worried that I would be hungry watching Frog work his way through the enormous menu. No fear of that. The servings were copius for this type of establishment and the morsels that came 'between courses' included a pre-dessert table including smallsticks of candy floss (how could I resist?), mini chocolate eclairs, peach flavoured marshmallow, peanut brittle and more...

We left holding our stomachs and were handed a small bag containing a loaf of bread for this morning's breakfast. Since it's already 10am, I'm still full from last night and soon heading out for lunch to celebrate Father Frog's 60th birthday, I might have to freeze the loaf for a day when we'll appreciate it!

Much to Frog's discomfort I worked out why both he, his father and sister's birthdays all fall within one day of each other. Nine months back is August, traditionally the only month (in addition to a quiet February) when the wine makers have time on their hands. Seems that's one another local tradition that we'll have to watch out for!

The Great Debate

Well last night was the much hyped TV debate between Ségolène Royale and Nicolas Sarkozy.

It's a slightly odd feeling when there is so much riding on the presidential candidate and I am no longer an expatriate 'passing through'. As an travailleur indépendent (self employed) who hands over nearly 75% of income to the government in either cotisations (fees) or taxes, I have as much to win or lose as any other French person and yet I have no voice.

So, that means that Frog gets it in the ear!

A few things I have noted:

• The popular press refers to Ségolène by her first name and 'Sarko' by his surname.
  
• Last night's debate reminded me of occasions I have experienced at my family-in-law's. It begins courteously and then as the discussions progress the sniping begins until voices start to rise and it descends into full on verbal aggression. Doesn't sit so well with my passive aggressive tendencies and at times I found last night's debate quite stressful!
  
• Whilst Frog and I agree on the economic policies required for this country, I'm a little more left leaning when it comes to social and welfare policies.
  
• Frog was quite scared when he saw the results of the first round in his family village:
  
  1. Sarkozy (160 votes); 2. JM Le Penn (65 votes); 3. F Bayrou (50 votes) and 4. S Royal (47 votes).
  
  So despite Le Pen's national downfall, this village apparently still stays faithful. Which is odd because what I understood as so often the source of tensions don't exist here - although it's a conservative rural village, it's also one with a relatively wealthy profile since people either own vines or have a regular income working the vines or servicing in some way the industry. And I'm pretty sure there's 100% non-ethnic diversity.
  
• What's also strange in a small village is that you see the exact numbers i.e. only 47 people voted for Royal and I'm sure that I know two of them. In fact I suspect the Frog Family are split 50/50 in their support between the two final candidates. At least we can claim that none of the Le Pen voters were from his family...

Perhaps in the end there's a slight relief that I can't vote since I do find that my left/right; social/economic conscience are split down the middle.

Oh and the debate? I fell asleep and missed the one most explosive moment....

Sunny Climes

The north east of France has been hit by the unseasonally warm weather. For nearly three weeks now we've had days that have hit upwards of 28°C in the afternoon and no rain. Whilst I'm happy to sport my tanned décolletage, now that our income depends on something more fundamental than the whims of a consumer's shopping habits, you start to watch the weather a little closer.

Despite all the technological advances of recent years, the results of the harvest will come down to the pure force of nature. The lack of rain isn't a concern for the moment, given that the previous months were wetter than usual. However, the vines are now a month ahead of themselves in growth and drought or a change in the temperature bringing a late frost is still a worry. The chance of frost isn't discounted until mid-May.

I don't remember the technical term (and Frog left the photo in the village otherwise I'd have shown you) but the very young grape forms have already appeared on the vines. Similarly, the cherries in the garden have also shot out in the form of little green balls. At this rate they'll be harvesting the grapes in August.

Because of the long dry spell, the treatment of the vines had been postponed until after the first rains. The village did have a brief shower on Saturday which meant that Frog spent part of his Sunday preparing the tanks so that the workers could go straight out to the vines at 8am on Monday (today). Tomorrow is a holiday so it was a race against time to treat as many vines as possible before the end of the day. Father Frog is on holiday and this is the first time Frog has had to to this - I think it's been a busy day - learning on the job as the tractor broke down and a neighbour's had to be begged/borrowed for the afternoon. Luckily, they have a good relationship with other vinegrowers in the village and a young, experienced worker, Benoit, who's eager to do things well.

Tomorrow will be a break from all things viticole as we're escaping to the city (yes, there's an irony in the Parisians escaping to the country this weekend!) for a trip to Paris. We're going to be tourists for the day, you'll spot us waving from the bateau mouche!

Asperges

I spent last week in a three day, heatwave, whirlwind trip around three German places: from the far north of Hamburg to the south west Frankfurt and Karlsruhe. I'm afraid that, other than the building complex I had a meeting in, the only thing I could note about Karlsruhe is that it's twinned with Nottingham and Nancy. But the sun shone and whilst I waited for another colleague to finish inside my assistant and I had a sunny sandwich and impromptu status meeting on a bench.

Hamburg is my German base and a lovely city. I hope that when I go there for one week (in two weeks time) that the weather is as beautiful and I can enjoy the Alster lakes properly.

An overnight trip to Frankfurt was my first time in the city. Actually (as is often the case) I didn't make it to the city centre but was based in a dorf just outside where our agency's offices are. We stayed in a very eccentric B&B and after a full day of meetings were invited out to dinner by the agency team. There were six of us, all women, including one colleague from the international team that I first met in 2000 and despite my moves from London, New York, Paris and Reims and hers from London to Copenhagen, we've always kept in touch. In fact she was the person to give me my first freelance project last year.

We headed towards what I was told was a typical Frankfurt restaurant. I'll admit my prejudices conjured up some dark, smokey restaurant and I wasn't over optimistic about the cuisine. Once we had made it past Gerty, a sprightly 85 year old woman in charge of the parking spaces, we headed into a large garden area packed with locals and decorated with twinkling lights as dusk fell. Our orders were taken by a middle aged, mustachioed man who was more interested in giving us his opinion rather than taking any orders. I have to say it was the best meal I've enjoyed in a while. We were served local apfelwein and the seasonal speciality asparagus. Here in Frankfurt, as in the Champagne Ardennes, the asparagus is the large, thick, juicy white variety that I had never tasted until I came to Reims. The asparagus (or spargel) was the centre piece of the dish with the schnitzel, new potatoes and hollandaise sauce served as sides. Dessert was what I can only describe as what tiramisu would be if it's main ingredient was apple.

So that was my list of firsts - Frankfurt, asparagus of the season and my first al fresco dinner of the year.

Spring

Yes, I know, I know.

No excuses.

I promise I will write more in the next couple of weeks. Honestly.

What can I say? It's hot. The experts in the region say that the vines are about three weeks ahead of themselves in terms of development. So Frog is hoping that there's no frost and rain in the next couple of weeks that would prove a deadly combination.



The cherry trees that we snapped in blossom one week ago are now all green leaved.



We've been out and about visiting local sites over Easter with my family (back when coats were still necessary), you can probably just make out the sails of the Mumm windmill at Verzenay in the background.

In other news on a more 'serious' front...
I'm gainfully employed at the moment - a fixed freelance role for the next year. The upside is that I'm earning some cash and am occupied doing what I'm good at - which keeps my mind off other more emotional stuff that happened over the last year. The downside is that it's in Germany! So, I'm doing three days a week work and spending every other week in Hamburg but also increasing my previous knowledge of the country through meetings in Berlin, Frankfurt and Dusseldorf! It's the kind of situation where I get really into the projects when I'm there and think it's great to be working again. And then I come home, look around and think, 'why would I want to leave this again?'

Frog says he's happy for me to do this as it keeps me happier (read easier to live with?) than I was before when I was kicking around at home with less projects happening and generally less occupied. It also can't be a bad thing when your other half realises he can't take dinner on the table every evening for granted!

I guess I should look at this as the perfect situation ... for now.

As I said, more news soon ....

Winter Stroll

Champagne
Originally uploaded by oiseau.

I've been a little bit neglectful (again) of the blog. But I have no apologies to offer. I've taken a step back from everything in the last month and just tried to 'go with the flow' (cue much guffawing from anyone who knows me and my controlling tendencies).

You might be forgiven for thinking the photo above is from our holidays in the south-eastern Var but we haven't left yet. The photo is from our three hour walk around the village yesterday. It was incredibly mild weather with a bright sun and blue sky. I saw catkins, rosehips and blossoms during our stroll. Which doesn't seem right for the beginning of February. You can see the set of photos here.

Since I last posted we have zipped from Reims to London, back to Reims, onto Brussels and across to Amsterdam for different wine fairs. I seem to have collected a nice little culture of germs across the continent and am still fighting a lingering cough and cold. It wasn't all hard work since London and Amsterdam gave us the chance to catch up with friends and let our hair down a bit during the evenings.

However, the fairs are tiring and it's hard to stay patient at the end of the day when a noisy minority of the 'tasters' (who have actually been swallowing for a while) swarm to your stand for drunken badgering and an intent to finish off your champagne. The professionals are actually far worse than the general public. Upon one Belgian restauranteur's acclamation that 'the English obviously have no taste' his French friends joined in in agreement. As he continued to demand more champagne, I gently warned with a smiling, 'You should be careful what you say, as I'm English'. He, of course, continued and I could only point out that we might then agree on one thing, "I might have bad taste as an Englishwoman, since I had indeed married a Frenchman".

Luckily the Frog has a sense of humour.

So, Frog is back at work following up with his sales leads and we just have to get through the next 48 hours and we'll be on our hols. They'll be the first we've had together since August, tied as we are now to the production and sales cycle of the house. The only plan we have is to drive down to the family house in Cavalaire with a stack of books. Everything else will be played by ear.

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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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...