Fed up to the back teeth

Of the disrespectful French. At some point this weekend, some retard did this to my poor wee car. And naturally, they didn't leave their insurance details. Because in this forsaken country, it is not the done thing to have the slightest consideration for anyone but oneself. Now, I know probably more than most car-owners that if you have a car, it will get damaged. Yes, that sounds very pessimistic, but it's the truth. People will open their car doors into yours, they'll scrape past with supermarket trolleys or pushchairs or bikes or whatever. If you're really unlucky, other motorists will drive into you. I have owned my car for 10 years now, and every 2 and a half years, on average, somebody has driven into me. It's had 3 new front bumpers, 2 new bonnets, one new rear light cluster...

This means that I, more than many others, know full well that having a car means it will get damaged. Put it doesn't make the pill any easier to swallow. I just cannot get my innocent little mind around the concept that a person has caused damage to another person's property, and they have simply driven off, without a second thought. I wasn't brought up to behave that way. But it would appear to be the national attitude in this cursed country.

Or maybe it's something about this town. Disrespect and conceited, condescending deceitfulness are, after all, practised with skill and finesse by our town council. Local residents have only recently, and quite accidentally discovered plans to build blocks of flats just behind an existing, very small, lotissement (subdivision/estate). Now, if you or I common mortals wished to build a small extension to the kitchen, for example, we would be made to jump through many administrative hoops. Building permit application, declaration to the town hall, public announcement (ie permit application displayed on town hall notices board) followed by 3-month holding period in case any local residents wanted to lodge an objection... And of course you must pay for the privilege. But when it's the town council and their cronies who want to build 90 apartments, they can just approve the programme. No building permit applications for them, no public consultation, no planning procedures. Had this deceit not been uncovered, the first most residents would've know about the whole shambles would've been the morning the bulldozers turned up.

So possibly, the fine example set to inhabitants by the mayor and his cohorts is what leads to the sort of "petty" crime that saw my car door severely bent and nobody to own up to their misdeeds. Or maybe this town just has a higher than usual population of arseholes?

I know, I know. France doesn't have a monopoly on arseholes. But it is indeed strange that I have so many friends and acquaintances in other countries whose cars are never driven into. And even if they did, I am quite sure they would be able to report the crime to their local polis on any day of the week. Whereas, in third world countries, one can only report crimes from Monday to Friday, 8am to 6pm. Eh? I wonder if I can ask to only pay my taxes for Monday to Friday, and deduct Saturday and Sunday.

And on top of all this, Doggy has a lump in her abdomen. Operation tomorrow to remove it and the vet has promised a biopsy if it looks remotely iffy. I know this has nothing to do with leaving in French France, but it's not helping maintain healthy, happy serotonin levels in my wee head.

Sporting regards

Sport, in one form or another, has figured quite heavily in this house since this weekend. Friday saw the 21st Winter Olympic Games opening ceremony. Neither of us stayed up to watch the live broadcast, and my appetite for the Winter Games was somewhat stunted (perhaps even wiped out altogether) when, just as I was heading for bedfordshire, Hubby saw an online news bulletin about the awful death of Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili. It's as if the Games are tainted, I don't know if I can enjoy the excitement of my favourite armchair thrills from the bobsleigh and the luge (which are indeed my top two Winter Game disciplines) without thinking of that poor boy.

What somehow makes this most unfortunate event much worse is the conclusions of the officials who investigated (didn't take them long, did it?) the incident. "Human error", they pronounced confidently. So that's OK then. Nothing the matter with our run, it was that silly Georgian who didn't know how to steer his luge proper, like. So does that mean that every luge rider competing on that same track must now ensure their run is 100% faultless? Is there no margin for error in the mighty Whistler Sliding Centre track? The reason for the Georgian's loss of control of his sled may indeed have been a steering error. But, for heaven's sake, did the track designers not for one instant think to include some tolerance into their creation? Apparently not. Be warned, luge riders, don't go making any mistakes out there.

As a footnote to this story, I was also most disgusted that the editor of the France 2 main evening news bulletin thought it was acceptable to air video footage of the Georgian's accident. Not only does this show massive lack of respect for the deceased and his family (I wonder if the editor's child had died violently and suddenly, would he be happy to see the footage on national TV news?), but nobody thought to warn viewers of a more sensitive disposition (me, then) that they might like to look away. Indeed, the footage was shown twice: first in the headlines, and again in the actual news item. I knew it was coming the second time round and turned away, unwilling to be party to their sinister death-pornography.

I was going to add a grouse about yesterday's 6 Nations result, but on reflection, I'm leaving that out of this post.

Anxious fatty cyst woman

Yesterday I went to the Doc. Actually I saw the replacement Dockette, as Doc was on holiday. Is on holiday. Anyway. I went because I have a little lump at the top of my thigh. I already asked a doctor about it in December and he said "oh that's nothing, it'll go away all by itself". I duly forgot about it. Until the other day, when I noticed it was still there. So, being a slightly anxious type, I decided to see if it was still "nothing".

And it is still, "nothing" that is. A fatty cyst (ha ha, that could be me all over!). It will go away by itself. So while I was there I stocked up on the pills to make the thing in my head that's not right work properly. (I am doing very well, only take 1 or 2 a week.) Dockette not knowing my file, she asked a few background questions before handing out the prescription. What sets it off, how do I sleep, etc. Apparently I present textbook anxiety symptoms. Good to see I can get something right, I'm a textbook example!

She asked where I worked. "[Employer]," I replied. "Oh, right," said she. In a "that explains a lot" way. This isn't the first instance of a GP tsking like that when my employers are mentioned...

Ach, I dunno. I love what I do but I don't know why I'm doing it where I do any more. Is it time to move on? At the moment I'm seriously lacking in motivation. I feel like I've been in the same "place" in relation to my work/job content for the last year and a half at least. Sometimes I'd like to freewheel for a couple of days (you all know what I'm talking about), but that's not an option because if I don't do the stuff, no one else will (oh poor me!!). What I mean is, look at Hubby. If he's feeling demotivated, he might ease up the tempo a bit. So his work doesn't get done. At the end of the day, what are the consequences? His work doesn't get done. I feel like easing off and my work doesn't get done. It doesn't get done and maybe a product catalogue isn't printed in time and maybe the company misses out on customers and sales because of it. And maybe my employers will decide they can find someone else to do my job.

I'm feeling a bit all over the place. I don't know where to go from here. I'm fed up (can you tell?), tired, and feeling seriously under-valued (both financially and skills-wise) in my job.

I want to be alone

I am sick fed up to the back teeth with everyone and everything. I'm going to take Doggy and hide in a hole under a tree and I'm not coming out again until everyone has GONE AWAY.

Blog friends are excluded, of course, but everyone else must leave the planet immediately because you are all pissing me off and making me upset. Go on, get out of it.

See you all later when the horrible people have gone xx

Horrible laptop screen and other tribulations

The yucky laptop screen has come back again. Grr.

Hubby still doesn't have a new job :(

I have far too much work. I would like for it all to go away :((

We have a new fridge. It's called BOSCH and it's space age. It glows in the dark. No, it doesn't really. Our old fridge unfortunately stopped making the freezer bit cold. Only half a fridge is not much use. It had to go.

The (naughty) car is feeling much better. It needs a wash though.

Maybe soon I will come back and share more randomness with you. Miss you all bloggy people. But too busy, too tired, too much work. Also too much faffing around on facebook. Tsk.

Night-night xx

Why we pay for European breakdown cover

Or how not to end your trip home for Christmas:


We set off back to France this morning but didn't get very far. We made a quick pit stop at services on the M74 in south west Scotland, and Hubby had barely finished reversing out of the parking space as we set off again than the dashboard lights lit up in their very own Christmas display, the power steering failed and the engine started to make a very unpleasant noise. Hubby promptly re-parked. We sat for a moment then he tried the engine again. Warning lights and nasty noise. Off again. Hubby got out (in the rather horrid wintery shower) and looked under the bonnet. Looking under the bonnet only serves to confirm to me that I know nothing about cars or diagnosing what might be wrong with them. I mean, I can identify different bits of what's under there, but my automotive knowledge stops there. We tried the engine again. Same result.

I got the book of words out and found the page about warning lights. Under the battery warning light it said: when this light comes on, stop immediately and contact your Renault dealer. Oh bum. Oh bum oh bum oh bum. Hubby decided some oil might do the trick, even though the engine management system said it had plenty. He ventured off to the petrol station and instructed me to call Dad as my bottom lip started to tremble.

Hubby returned with oil and the news that the chap at the garage had called out a breakdown truck. I had stopped crying and found the number to call the insurance company. Felt better after we had spoken to them as the agent did a good job of being reassuring in a "we're here to sort it all out" sort of way. That'll be why we let them rob us blind for cover, so that when we need them, they can say "don't worry".

Meantime, Mum and Dad had leapt on their white chargers (read red Mégane and green Clio) and were en route to ground zero. When the recovery truck arrived the bloke took one look under the bonnet and said "ah yes I see the problem, it looks like the crankshaft". Does that sound bad to you too? He said it wasn't a very major thing to fix, providing it hadn't damaged anything else (I like the disclaimer). We transferred everything to Mum and Dad's cars and, declining Dad's kind offer of continuing home in his car and leaving ours in Scotland, we went back to Midlothian. I have decided that I'd rather stay here until we hear from the garage on Monday how long it will take (and how much it will cost) before going back to France.

Needless to say, the insurance company is delighted that we decided to go back to Mum and Dad's rather than requiring a hire car to continue our journey. Of course it is, costs less! So we are having an unexpectedly extended stay in Scotland until the voiture is fit to travel. You'd think I'd be pleased at getting extra time at home but in truth I would rather be in my trusty motor speeding southwards. Some folk are never satisfied.

Faced with an empty text box

My blogging has been lacking lately. No posts, no visits to my blogroll. No nothing. One explanation is that I have been avoiding my laptop. The horrid fluorescent felt tip pen came back and I didn't want to use my laptop in case it made it worse. Anyway, it seems to have gone away all by itself for the moment.

Another explanation is feeling slightly guilty (as deftly-explained by Princesse Ecossaise) about not maintaining my blog and visiting everyone else. Which is silly really, but that's what I'm all about, isn't it? Silly, I mean.

Yet another explanation is lack of anything blog-worthy to tell. Lately I've been low and worn out and just not right. I can't sleep because my brain likes to be awake at 4am and think about things in a very excited and busy way. My body thinks this is a crock o' shite but it can't get my brain to SHUT UP and GO TO SLEEP. It's been so bad some nights I've switched the light back on and reached for a book to pass the time until sheer fatigue inevitably takes over. Doc has given me some proper drugs because the drowsy-making anti-histamine tablets weren't making a jot of difference. I hope my brain will quickly come round to the idea that thinking is for daylight hours, and the only decent thing to be doing at 4am is sleeping.

Hubby is jolly fed up with his stupid job. When he tells me about the stupid working methods they have and management's flat refusal to invest in any tools that might make his team's job easier and help them produce better, more reliable results, I am struck by how patient he is. I just could not work in the environment he works in. I'd have shouted very rudely at people and probably assaulted my boss long since. Poor Hubby.

The company in the UK that wants a telephone interview hasn't been back in touch this week to re-schedule (the first attempt went nowhere due to difficulties with their conference call system), but hey. Hubby is very diligently practising his English. We used to speak mostly French to each other but now it's mostly English. I have taught him useful idiomatic English such as "innit" or finishing every other sentence with "but" (this is to prepare him for visits to Lanarkshire to see Bro & Family). But he is under strict instructions not to show off this mastery of modern English during any interviews!

Doggy is as delightful as ever. Here is proof:

Pic taken with my new toy, which is now back from after-sales hell and works again. Obviously. That hairy blue thing behind her used to be a slipper, but she savaged it. She's that sort of a doggy. Can you tell from the photo?

If you were paying attention you'll have figured out that Bro & Family have finally moved West. They sold their flat very quickly (within two days of it going on the market!), but finding a new house didn't happen quite so quickly. And when they did find one and their offer was accepted, it wasn't looking likely they would get entry the same weekend they had agreed to vacate their flat. It was all a bit of a soap opera, but they are at last installed and have a postcode that starts with "G". The day they moved in, some curious kids from round about stopped by to see who the new neighbours were. Sis-in-law says she didn't understand one word they said. It's Sis-in-law's birthday today. Everyone say Happy Birthday.

Anyway, that's enough from me. I'm going to change my "currently reading" book and make a cup of tea and visit some blogs. Cheery-bye.

What's your point ,caller?

So what *is* my point? What is the point of this blog? Do I have anything useful to say? And why is the wifi so bleedin' slow today?

First I have long overdue blushing thanks for Mya's nomination of this blog for a glittering prize. One day hopefully quite soon I'll display it with pride. But for now I'll just say "thank you, Mya, I'm touched".

I have lots of blogs to catch up on. I lazily technorati'd this morning to check out the latest news from my "favourite" blogs. Was upset to see that the dazzling Miss D has been struggling with her demons, and indignant to read Sugar's story of her freaky date and how all men just want to bed you. And there's lots else going on in the blogosphere and look how behind I've got!

I still don't seem to be able to hold on to an idea long enough to be able to write one down. I so want to blog about just what we've been up to (braderie last weekend, it was really warm and we made about 200 euros - yay!), what we're going to be doing (visit home soon-ish), and just generally give forth on anything and everything (as I'm prone to do)... But my mind is in a big rush and won't let me take the time to make up a proper post on anything. So you're just getting a sort of stream-of-consciousness pile of nonsense. Sorry!

So we did the braderie. It was hot (in October?!). We sold champagne corks (no kidding).

Hubby had an interview in Brussels on Wednesday but we don't really know what for. That doesn't make any sense. The employer is an IT services company and the job would be as a "consultant". But no further information. The compensation package sounded very generous so it probably means they expect you to work 10 hours a day. Every day. Hmm.

On Friday, Hubby got a call from a company in the UK that had already contacted him a couple of weeks ago. They want to arrange a telephone interview. Exciting!

I made Greek stuffed tomatoes out of my Rick Stein book. Surprisingly managed not to butcher any other fingers (last week I did some amateur amputation surgery with a Sabatier paring knife on my little finger - damn sharp them knives). They were a bit fiddly to make but really pretty tasty.

I also think I've accidentally stumbled on some kind of time warp/hole/thing. In the office, we don't have Earth minutes, we have Work minutes. They must only contain about 22 Earth seconds, and probably a Work hour lasts about 13 Earth minutes. This is the only possible explanation for how quickly the days whizz by. Except there is also a sort of reverse time warp that happens when someone says "I'll send you the files in about ten minutes", and two hours later, you still haven't received them...

I opened my last pack of tea bags this morning. I only have about 42 tea bags left. We're going to Scotland in 3½ weeks. Two cups of tea a day into 42 tea bags doesn't add up to enough tea until we go. Even mathematically-challenged Lis can work that out (and I didn't even need a pen and paper to do the sums)!

I wanted to debate (well, have a one-sided rant) about the hypocrisy of being a member of Les Verts (political party not unlike The Green Party, surprisingly enough), but nevertheless driving one's child to school every morning although you only live about a fifteen minute walk away (with no busy roads to cross en route). I don't get how you can join a party that claims to fight for the environment, but pollute so wantonly and pointlessly. But there is nothing to debate. The person in question is a hypocrite. End of.

I also want to know why the eco-mental green-friendly liquid hand soap is only sold by the dispenser-load. I mean, they don't sell refills. You have to buy a whole new dispenser each time. It doesn't make any sense.

And lastly, I'd like you all to have a look at the Earth Clock. And think on. Thanks to maxxo for leading me to that. Maxxo is a clockwork bunny who likes brewing nice cups of tea. I think she sounds interesting.

Overstretched

On Friday I did something rather silly and cried at work. It was Hubby's fault. He rang me just as I was looking at my Inbox and thinking I probably wouldn't be able to escape until the following Tuesday. I had to scuttle off to the ladies' and dry my tears and blow my nose.

It's been a tough couple of weeks. Work is stacking up in all quarters. There is the day-to-day work, then the project work on top of it, and the emergency can-you-squeeze-this-in work. Plus the other person in the team was off three days in the last two weeks. I'm not blaming her, everyone has times when they need 'unplanned' leave it's just the way things go.

I'm debating whether it's worth discussing it with my manager. She'll almost certainly blithely tell me that I don't manage my priorities/workload properly, and that's why I'm overstretched. I beg to disagree. When someone asks on Thursday morning if you can fit in a job which, after examination you will take less than an hour and can easily be fitted in along with all the other stuff, for Friday end of the day, you say yes. When at ten to five on Friday that same person sends you the documentation again saying "we made a few changes" and there is 50% extra work, it's not my failure to manage my workload that's the problem.

Also, when I plan priorities and work to come, I do so on the basis of available resources. When 50% of your resources are suddenly removed, it kicks your clever and careful planning into touch, somewhat.

Ach I dunno. My manager is a very insightful person who brings a lot to our activity, but she doesn't understand the nitty-gritty of what we do and is given to flippant remarks like "you're so lucky, you can outsource your work". Riiiiight. But when I do I have to triple-check it because no matter how much care I take in referencing my suppliers, they don't know the company the way I do and sometimes just don't "get" the content of documents. So I have to check and correct. But if I say that to my manager, I'll be told I need to get new suppliers!

I'm really very lucky because I have a job I really quite like. But sometimes it expects too much of me.

Pleased but hacked off

I'm pleased because it would appear my laptop won't have to go to laptop hospital after all. A couple of weeks ago, the screen started behaving oddly. It looked like somebody had drawn on it with a fluorescent felt pen. I was getting odd vertical blocks of bright pink on the title bars of windows instead of the gentle blue-fading-to-lighter blue we Windows slaves know so well. The clouds on my desktop wallpaper picture had lost their fluffy whiteness and were becoming a garish red around the edges.

Hubby (on my nagging instructions) called Dell and the bloke made him go through the usual IT quick-fix of updating every possible thing there is to update. It seemed to work. But then the fluorescent felt pen came back and it was worse than before. I was deeply distressed. My laptop would have to go to laptop hospital. I was to be deprived of blogging, the interweb... And how long would it take? I mean, I can use Hubby's computer for a couple of days in an emergency but it's not nice like my laptop. What was I going to do??!!!

Hubby sent another email to the man at Dell saying we had a relapse and things were looking critical. Dell-man wrote back with a last resort repair plan to try to keep my laptop out of after-sales service hell. Plug in an external screen and see if the same problem occurs (why didn't we think of that d'oh!). Everything looked fine on the external screen. Well, it wasn't the graphics card, but it was the screen. Oh no, repair gloom loomed... But wait, one last thing to try. The other IT stalwart of "unplug it and plug it back in again". This involves open-keyboard surgery on the laptop, to get to the bit you have to unplug and plug back in again. And it was there we discovered the source of the problem. A dog hair.

"Suction, nurse," commanded Hubby as he prodded at the innards of my laptop with a screwdriver. And no, it wasn't some odd new sex-game we have going on. My laptop was infested with little white dog hairs. Now this is something you can't use a Dyson for. Too much suction. It would have sucked up all my keys. Lucky we still have the ancient cleaner with adjustable sucking speed. Cleared up the dog hairs and put the laptop back together and the felt pen has gone! Hurray!

So why am I hacked off? Well, my new toy is broke. Proper broke. I've only had it for a month. Don't buy a Sony digital camera is my advice! So it has been shipped off to after-sales service hell and won't return for at least 3 WEEKS! How long??!! And what really made me fizz was that if it had gone broke two weeks ago, they would just have replaced it pure and simple. That'll be the fantastic statutory consumer protection in France then. Grr.

Bruised and battered

Monday comes around ever so quickly, don't you find? You hardly have time to get to weekend cruising speed and suddenly it's Monday again. Oh well, it's out of the way for this week now at any rate.

Been a busy weekend here at Franco-British HQ. Mum and Dad (or, The Grown Ups, as Hubby calls them - not sure they would agree with this moniker) were here for a layover between the end of their hols in the south of France and the journey back up Britain. They came laden with many goodies, mostly of the food variety and some of the fermented grape juice variety. All very pleasant. As usual, the time went by too quickly and they were packing up the car to leave this morning. I cried like a big baby (because I am), and Mum stoically didn't cry until she was in the car (because she has to put on a brave face for her little girl). And off they went.

Because the mundane aspects of life (like work) have a habit of taking over, I had no time to dwell on my sad heart, which is maybe not such a bad thing. So off to work it was, and to a team meeting. With my office-mates we had the usual ritual of "have you prepared your presentation?" "no, why, have you?!", but it was surprisingly useful (meetings often are in my job, it's always nice) and informative. At lunchtime we went and did some archery (corporate "rules": team meetings must include time for sport). I am now the proud owner of a nasty bow string bruise. Whenever I do archery, there are never any arm guards provided. Only once did I manage to avoid the dreaded bow string bruise. Should I report it as an occupational accident? Is quite sore actually.

Anyway, enough of feeling sorry for myself, I have a blog-addiction to feed...

Are you sure it's June?

The weather recently has been more reminiscent of October than June. The only way you can tell the difference is the late hour at which the sun goes to bed (well, you have to guess at this judging by the relative light of the sky, given that the sun is hidden behind the thick layer of cloud). It's quite depressing.

So I'm feeling a bit cheesed off. Have an unending mountain of work at work. I suppose that'll be why it's called "work". Would rather stay at home with my doggy. Am feeling like a fat little telly tubby. And I can't try to be sporty and go to work on my bike because of this useless weather. Well, I suppose I could but I don't really want to arrive at work completely drenched.

Oh dear, quite a grumpy post this evening. And now it's thundering. I can't quite figure out how that's happening - doesn't there have to be hot air for thunderstorms to form??

Hurumph.

Drip drip drop

And just to make me feel even cheerier, it rained really really jolly hard last night and we are the proud owners of a leaky roof in the second bedroom. Whoopee.

Sunday blue

I've got that Sunday afternoon feeling. You know the one, the weekend has already flown by and it's back to work tomorrow. Plus, the sky is looking dark and stormy, so not even the chance of a walk in the offing.

Actually, we already did the walk thing. Managed to get nearly all the way round the park before the rain came. Doggy very much enjoyed herself and got nicely muddy. All over her face as usual!

Last night we were at Jo & Delphine's for dinner. Was very pleasant. We had confit de canard (slow cooked duck thighs). Yum. I had fortunately recovered from my tummy bug and got my appetite back in time for that.

Friday I was poorly with my tummy bug. Poor Hubby and to come and get me from Bailleul (where we were doing year launch, about twenty five miles away)! I'll spare you the details, suffice to say by about 2pm I was empty and didn't dare swallow anything until about 8pm, when I had half a banana.

Thursday we did year launch at work. It was in this converted barn (very rustic) and the wind was howling outside. The electricity kept cutting out. We had fun though. Shame I was ill on Friday :(

The week was busy at work, preparing for year launch and cramming five days of work into three. Thank heavens for our translation memory!!

Round here we seemed to have escaped relatively unscathed from the storms. However, Hubby said when he came home from work on Thursday our street was blocked off. Not where our house is but about eight metres further down! He saw on Friday that a tree was half blown over, which explains it. The main village street was shut off too. There is a small block of flats next to the market place and part of the roof had lifted off apparently. Closer to home, no tiles missing from us - phew.

Top Gear back next week :)

Dear Santa...

I have been mostly good all year and for Christmas I would like a new job for Hubby in Edinburgh so we can go and live in Scotland. That may seem an odd thing to want, given that I live in a country full of fine wine and cheese and with a slightly more clement climate than Scotland's. But that is what I want more than anything in fact.