Baby it's cold outside

And yesterday, in the north of Britain, it was absolutely peeing it down and raging a gale. So not the best weather to embark on a 24-hour adventure fell race methinks. So when the news broke yesterday afternoon that hundreds of fell runners were stranded on Honister Pass and elsewhere on the Borrowdale Fells, my reaction wasn't very sympathetic.

Many summers of my childhood were spent at High House in at Seathwaite so I have more than a passing acquaintance with the area. And when it's blowing a gale and veritable curtains of rain are rolling down the valley, even the hardy FellFarers only don their Berghaus jackets and boots if the planned walk ends in the pub. No sane person would want to embark on an endurance race. (There is some debate as to whether endurance race competitors can be classed as sane in any case, of course ;) )

Some reports are making it sound as if the 700 or so still out in the hills are definitively stranded and rescue teams are being scrambled as I type. This may not be the case. Probably most of them will get back down by themselves because we're dealing with experienced adventure race participants here. But a few may well need rescue assistance. And this touches on a subject I have my own particular views on: should practitioners of extreme sports take out insurance to cover the costs of any rescue they may require in the course of their sport?

Already in France, authorities can demand payment towards search & rescue costs. There is no distinction made between pure dumb luck leading to an accident, and reckless or rash behaviour meaning one ends up in a fankle. Everyone is liable.

Disclaimer: I'm not dissing endurance racing or adventure racing. Most people who organise and take part in such events are fully appraised of what races involve and they know what they're doing. Being fully aware myself of my own abilities, I would never have even considered so much as a stroll in yesterday's conditions in Cumbria. Nae chance. But I just feel that if you go out in crap weather, knowing that it will be difficult, tiring and dangerous then you should pay for any rescue you might require if you get cold and wet and stuck. Because you knew the risk and took it anyway.

And let's make another thing clear: anyone who requires medical assistance because they have tripped/slipped/fallen/taken ill should be evacuated as soon as is safely possible. I've fallen in the hills, I still have the scar to remind me. It hurt. I managed down by myself with no damage done, so lucky me. My dear Mum tripped and fell face first onto a rock. She was lucky she also made her own way down off the mountain and only required one stitch to her forehead. Phew.

So what do you think? Search & rescue is costly, and can be very dangerous in mountainous regions where the weather can change fast. Should the "customers" of these services participate in the cost? And under which terms? Anyone rescued, no matter what the circumstances? Or limited to those who are considered to have behaved rashly? If you're struck down by acute appendicitis when up a mountain, should you pay for medical evacuation at the same rate and under the same terms as someone who left their tent at home to keep their kit light, and finds themselves without shelter on a shitty, wet and windy night? Or should rescue remain fully free for everyone, no matter what the circumstances?

The 12 mountain rescue teams in the Lake District National Park cost around £500,000 a year to keep them going. That's just their kit, and doesn't include the additional cost of helicopters (which are actually rarely scrambled). MR teams are charities, manned by volunteers (my Dad was once of their number!) and are funded almost entirely through public donations (not unlike the RNLI).

Is it time to adopt the approach used in France, Switzerland and elsewhere? Should hikers and paragliders and windsurfers and dinghy sailors take out insurance to cover potential rescue costs if they end up in a spot of bother?

Please note that the event taking place this weekend is not to be confused with the Borrowdale Fell Race, a half-marathon that takes place on the first Saturday in August at which a jolly good time is had by all. Especially the checkpoint crews.

I could be wholesome, I could be loathsome

Was pleased to see a post from Sugar007 when I checked Google Reader the other day. Was even pleaseder when I realised I could pilfer her excellent post idea.

So here's the drill: use your blog as a therapeutic platform through which you can fess up to your biggest and ugliest and most wartiest personality traits. I have no idea if airing your dirty linen on the virtual washing line in such a manner goes any way to helping you curb your worst excesses, but I do believe it's probably a good exercise in honesty.

These are the things about me that I like to pretend aren't real:

• I'm terribly selfish. I'm awful at sharing. Not so much material things, but I'm dire at sharing people. Don't know if that makes senses, but I understand me.
• I would love to be tidy. I like my house when I have just finished cleaning and tidying. I wish I was more disciplined and I could make it stay that way.
• I'm a bit of a perfectionist. And a bit of a megalomaniac too. I'm learning to control this. I'm learning to be satisfied with something just being "done", and not necessarily "done brilliantly" or (and here is the rub) "done my way to my standards".
• I am organisationally-challenged. I'm truly useless at organising so much as a birthday card. Lots of birthday cards that I send arrive about two weeks' late. It's pathetic.
• If I suspect I'll make a hash of something, or not be able to do it in an astoundingly perfect manner, I might just duck out of doing it at all.
  
• I'm argumentative.
• I'm the world's most impatient driver. I hate people who don't indicate on roundabouts with a deep and rather ugly passion. If I had a James Bond car, I'd blow them up with my missiles. I mean, I really truly hate these people.
• I can be judgemental and I really hate it. Really, really, really.
• I'm a rather lapsed Christian. I'd like to have more faith in my Faith.
• I sulk.
• I'm crap at managing my money. I have internet banking and everything, but I only have a vague idea of how much of my salary is left in my account at any time. I'm shit at budgeting. I'm sure if I learned to save and manage my cash I could pay my credit card off pretty quickly. And not use it.
  

But on the positive side, when I say I'm sorry I truly mean it.

There! I don't know if I feel better having picked out all the ugly bits of me, but I'm not editing the list or tweeking it. I'm just gonna hit the publish post button.

But I would walk 500 miles

Well, I wouldn't walk 500 miles to walk my dog, but we did take a two hour drive yesterday just to take her to the beach at Fort-Mahon! What can I say, she likes that beach. And incidentally we stopped in to see Stéphan who was there for the weekend.

Enjoyed a bracing walk, watched learner kitesurfers

Went out for dinner just in time to catch the sunset

Had moules frites (mussels and chips) for dinner, then whizzed home and aahed at a lovely waning hunter's moon on the way.

Nice.

Each day is Valentine’s Day

Well, it certainly is when I'm using my cordless screwdriver :) Hubby gave me my lovely power screwdriver for Valentine's Day a couple of years ago. We were "doing" the kitchen at the time. I think it's one of the best Valentine's gifts I've ever received. You, dear reader, may conclude that I've never been given any really wonderful Valentine's gifts. But I'd retort that every girl needs a power screwdriver. It's the mutt's nuts, it really is. I don't like power tools especially. I had to drill some holes today. I didn't really like it. But once I'd drilled the holes, I got to fix screws in them with my cordless screwdriver. That was more fun.

Maybe the fumes from the tile paint and the tile cement really have gone to my head. Why else would I be writing a eulogy to my power screwdriver?! As you may have already guessed, the bathroom still isn't finished, but we're on the home straight. We hardly did anything through the week, but we need to get it all finished for next weekend because Sunday is the local braderie and we'll have a house full. So I need an operational bathroom. And for the dining room not to be a building site annexe. Photos soon, I promise!

That screwdriver really is excellent you know.

I remember when I lost my mind

I haven't really lost my mind it just feels that way. I think it's the paint fumes. Anyway just thought I'd pop in and say hello to anyone who's out there.

Am enjoying everyone's blogs but I'm too lazy to comment. Well, that's not entirely true. Last week Dad was here and so we were in full-on bathroom mode. I'm hoping that by next weekend my normal routine of slothing around will be restored.

Coming, colours in the air

That's it we've got the bathroom paint. We're having sort of dirty white and sort of dirty. No actually the colour scheme is called "Exotic Spice" and we ended up choosing the colour mixing option because it definitely matched better to the bathroom cupboard doors.

So I'm pretty pleased about that and looking forward to painting that on. Also have special durable tile paint for the shower enclosure. Yay.

It might as well rain until September

Well it pretty much did rain all the way through August until September. But what can you do?

Here at the house of horrors we've been busy with the bathroom project. Of course as fate would have it on what was easily the loveliest weekend weather-wise all month, we spent our time trudging from one DIY store to the other, looking at tiles and tile glue and particle board and thermostatic radiator valves. Then finished stripping off that awful vinyl wallpaper, sanded the wallpaper glue off the tiles (with the scary sander - I'm semi-mesmerised by it and keep thinking how easily I could just veer it off the wall and onto sanding my forearms instead. Power tools are scary) and cleaned them with acetone. Hubby wisely invested in some rather expensive dust/vapour masks and they work a treat. Worth every penny.

So once the tiles were stripped bare and I'd sanded all the grouting down to what could be considered a reasonable level (seriously, whoever tiled our bathroom must have used three times more grout than necessary - see left), I was looking forward to painting on the primer. Painting is my favourite part of DIY. I don't really like all the "big" stuff involving power tools and what have you. I like tiling and painting. So I eagerly dug out the tin of primer and my brand new paintbrush (specific glycero-based type paintbrush). And was struck by a sudden moment of wisdom so I read the label before popping off the lid. It's a good thing I did but I wished I hadn't! It says to apply the finish coat at least 24 hours but no more than 72 hours later to guarantee adherence. Bugger! I couldn't paint because I haven't got my emulsion yet have I? I was a bit gutted.

Still, on Monday Hubby got busy with the jigsaw and fitted the wall panels (because, ah yes, when we ripped out all the old panelling we were delighted to find the walls are only tiled half way down!), which I got to tile after work. I like tiling. That pretty much made up for the primer disappointment. I haven't done it all but I'm waiting for me Dad to get here with his tile saw because some cutting is required.

Yesterday not much happened in the bathroom. Hubby went to the Comet-type store (called Boulanger - as in a baker's - but they sell home electricals! I know ...) and set up a 3-month's interest-free credit thing for the TV we bought on Saturday. Because our telly converted itself to a radio (as in sound but no picture) on Saturday. Thank heavens for 3-month's interest-free credit is all I can say because that's how everything gets bought!

Today the bathroom bits were delivered! As I type, Hubby is busily fitting the shower. The shower tray is in place, he's fitting the glass door things now. I'm staying well away unless he asks for help because he likes a security cordon of about 100m around him when he's DIYing.

[long pause while Lis is called away to hold things and get drilled into]

Right I think it's bedtime. Will finish this post with photos tomorrow. Nighty-night all xx

The latch on the bathroom door is broke

My idle mind might not quite be the devil's workshop but it's definitely a never-ending source of "how about we do this?" ideas. And would you believe it I actually managed to gain approval when I submitted the latest one to the committee of the Hubby? Well I did. And what is my latest hair-brained scheme? A new bathroom. Ta-dah!

We bought this house 6½ years ago. The year following purchase we got someone in to do a quote for a new bathroom. They quoted us over €3,000 for a new everything. You might think "ah, not bad", but our bathroom measures 2.5 sq m and we weren't having the floor re-tiled (just the walls). The plan to re-do the bathroom quietly died.

So anyway, I got this idea in my head that if I bought some tile paint & primer, I could paint the wall tiles and update the room a bit. And then when I went of my way while I was on the way to the DIY store to buy salt for our water softening thing, I stopped at the bathrooms & kitchens store and picked up a catalogue. And when I got home I took out my tape measure and got a pencil and bit of paper. And you know where this is heading.

Being that we have a microscopic bathroom, I flicked past the pages with walk-in showers big enough to host a cocktail party in and the fetching double-basin consoles to seek out the "compact" lines. So whaddya think? Except we like the mocha laquer finish and a gloss white countertop. Also I'm wondering about the wisdom of a glass basin. Won't I be wiping it down all the time? So we'd like one of those, a matching wall cupboard, and a new shower. A proper shower with a ceramic shower tray and glass shower doors. And a nice cream & coffee colour scheme going on with the walls.

We went at lunchtime to have it all priced properly (because of course, they sell you a tap for €155, but the flexi pipes to link it to your hot & cold water cost extra!!). And we asked them to quote for fitting while we were at it. It would seem Hubby and I have made a major career-choice error. We should be bathroom fitters. Going on their quote, it's a nice little earner so it is. Which means probably I'll just plead (shouldn't take much) with me Dad to come and help us.

Now I'm really excited about having a new bathroom. Hubby will probably announce we won't be getting a new bathroom until January by which time I won't want one anymore. Hope not. Can't wait!

And it will all cost less than one euro grand.

Fat bottomed girls you make the rockin world go round

I'll tell you the only decent thing about having a couple of extra kilos being fat: bosoms.

Genetics did not bless me with an especially generous chest, but I have made up for that by becoming tubby. Now when I cast my gaze downwards I can actually look down my top and not just at my toes! My 36B cups are full to the brim. Maybe I could even splash out on some C cups, but I still like to delude myself into thinking I can trick the 7 extra kg into melting away. Also I like the effect of the brimming B cup. Still a novelty, sort of.

Of course Hubby also enjoys this side effect of too much champagne and not enough exercise. But as a wise man once said, "more than a handful is a waste".

Champers alright for you, Pats?

Fabulous darling. Because I wasn't organised yesterday, I got the champagne in the fridge too late, and we couldn't celebrate thank Crunchie it's Friday. So we're celebrating Saturday instead. Cheers!

What a way to make a livin'

At work I regularly receive graphics files for translation. These are product communication materials (POS, catalogues etc). It's great being able to work directly on the native format (rather than send the translation to the execution agency in a Word document), because it saves a huge amount of time on two fronts: I no longer have to convert PDF files to text, the graphic execution agency no longer has to copy that text into the native file. We reckon it saves about two days. And it practically eradicates errors.

But it's not all roses. This week I received 80 product signs. They happened to be for bikes. The file format is indd (InDesign). Now we work with a translation memory package (essential tool for any translator). It supports InDesign files, but not the standard .indd format. I have to export the text content in a sort of xml file (.inx format). Then I can translate the text, save the translation as an indd file, and the only DTP required is to update image links and check the fonts. Great isn't it?

Only exporting the .inx file can't (to my knowledge) be done as a batch, it has to be done file by file. So I took my bikes signs, double-clicked each file to open them, clicked OK on the message in InDesign that tells me I don't have the latest modules, clicked again on OK at the message that tells me I don't have all the fonts in the file installed on my system, and clicked Don't repair at the message that asks me if I want to update links to missing graphics files. Then I hit Ctrl E to open the Export dialog. The default file type is pdf, so I opened the drop-down list and chose InDesign Interchange. Then I clicked Save. And I did this 80 times. I don't know how many clicks that adds up to. But it's a LOT.

Once I'd finished exporting it was time to create the translation projects. The translation memory software operates with projects. You create a project, import your source files (basically, extract the text), translate in a specific interface, then export the files (a process which recreates the original file with all attendant formatting etc.). So I created my projects. For 80 files. And sometimes, if the source file size is quite big, it doesn't import properly on the first go. So I reimported quite a few times.

So. Now I have my translation projects and I can get cracking. Except that I can't just yet. Translation memories work on the basis of "segments". The translations they save are not single words, but segment entries. A segment is usually a sentence, but most memories will also segment when they detect a line break in a text. Makes sense. Except that in my graphics files some text boxes are on quite narrow columns which means one sentence can have four line breaks in it. The translation memory duly segments the sentence into 4 lines. Only, in the memory database, the translation is saved as one line, not four! Fortunately, I can join together segments before translation, to stick together the sentence and thus obtain a match from the memory. So before running a pretranslate on my files, I joined up the segmented catchlines on 80 product signs.

Can you possibly imagine a collection of tasks with any less added-value than that?

Finally, after probably the best part of an hour mindlessly clicking, I was ready to pretranslate. And that made it all worth while. Because out of just short of 25,000 words, only 3,200 or so remained to translate. So an hour of brain-dulling, wrist-numbing and finger-fatiguing click-clicking is a good trade-off really. Because if I had to translate all that without the memory, it would easily take four days. Now it will only take four or five hours.

That's why the translation memory is such an excellent thing, especially for product communication. Because, with bikes for example, we don't bring out a whole new range every season. So POS and other materials don't radically change every 6 months. There might be a new size added, or a limited edition colour. But the bike still has an SRAM X7 drivetrain and a RockShox fork with remote lockout. And the marvellous translation memory has it all stored in its database.

Sorry for this lengthy and boring insight into my daily routine! Just thought I'd share the highs and lows as it were. But I did exaggerate somewhat about the number of bikes files. There were only 79 really.

Sing from a book you were reading in bed

Thank goodness for my fellow bloggers is all I can say. I have yet again been saved from finding inspiration by pilfering a great post idea from sugar007. So here goes.

The reasoning goes that your average adult has only read 6 out of the top 100 books published.. by one publisher, by any publisher... it is unclear but in any case here's the deal.

1) Read through the list and mark the book's you've read in bold
2) Italicise any you started but didn't finish
3) Underline the ones you loved.
4) Publish the list on your blog. Then we can gang together and track down the people who've read 6 or fewer and force classic reads on them.


1. The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
2. The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
3. The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood
4. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
5. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
6. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
7. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
8. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
9. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
10. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
11. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
12. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
13. His Dark Materials (trilogy) - Philip Pullman
14. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
15. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
16. The Hobbit - J.R.R. Tolkien
17. Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger
18. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
19. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
20. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
21. Chronicles of Narnia - C.S. Lewis
22. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe – C.S. Lewis
23. Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne
24. Animal Farm - George Orwell
25. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
26. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
27. On The Road - Jack Kerouac
28. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
29. Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White
30. Hamlet - William Shakespeare
31. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
32. Complete Works of Shakespeare
33. Ulysses - James Joyce
34. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
35. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
36. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
37. The Bible
38. The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
39. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
40. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
41. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
42. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
45. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
46. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
47. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
48. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
49. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
50. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
51. Little Women - Louisa M. Alcott
52. Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
53. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
54. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
55. Middlemarch - George Eliot
56. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
57. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
58. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
59. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
60. Emma - Jane Austen
61. Persuasion - Jane Austen
62. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
63. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
64. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
65. A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
66. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
67. Anne of Green Gables – L.M. Montgomery
68. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
69. Atonement - Ian McEwan
70. Dune - Frank Herbert
71. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
72. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
73. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
74. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
75. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
76. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
77. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
78. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
79. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
80. Bridget Jones’ Diary - Helen Fielding
81. Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie
82. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
83. Dracula - Bram Stoker
84. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
85. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
86. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
87. Germinal - Emile Zola
88. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
89. Possession - A.S. Byatt
90. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
91. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
92. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
93. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
94. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
95. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
96. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
97. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
98. Watership Down – Richard Adams
99. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
100. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

So there you have it. I for one have some way to go if I want to complete this particular top 100 list. I marked in green books I have but haven't started yet. Reading the list again, I cringe at a couple of them (well, at #64 actually). That's a few hours of my life I won't get back. And as for #54, that's a few hours of my life I saved from oblivion by not carrying on with it!

Of course, that's what I think. What do you think? Which ones have you read or abandoned part-way through?

I can't get no sleep....

Oh, if I could only get some sleep. Actually it's not *that* bad but I really could do with a decent 8-hour stretch.

On the up side, not sleeping means I have plenty of time to read my book. Currently on the go is Michael Lewis's Liar's Poker. It is a Wall Street trader's memoir about the early to mid-80s, and in particular about the creation and massive expansion of the mortgage bond market. Even though it covers events from more than twenty years ago, it is eerily resonant in today's unpredictable times, in particular with the latest news from the US property markets. There is quite a lot (the technical bits) that I don't understand, but I'm getting enough to know that people on the money markets make money out of literally nothing. I see it as a bit like a dog chasing its tail. I can't really explain it, but so much of the finance industry is built around entirely intangible commodities. It has inspired to find out a bit more about how the whole crazy world of the markets works.

In other news:
Doggy has a flea. Or maybe even two. Damn and blast. She will have to be subjected to the flea-annihilating spray. Lucky doggy.
Yesterday was Marianne's birthday. Happy Birthday!
Last Wednesday was Bro's birthday. Happy Birthday!
Hubby bought a new suit.

Er, that's about all I have to say about that.

All my pictures of you

As if I don't already spend enough time faffing about online. I've started a sort of a photoblog. Sort of. Ish. So I'm on the lookout for other people doing photoblogs so I can link to them. So that if people land on my photoblog and think it's boring, at least they can out-click to something more exciting.

Tonight I did have myself a real good time

Series 11 of Top Gear got off to a fantastically funny start. Hope this is a good omen for the rest of the season. [GRIN].

There's something happening somewhere

Finally we may have a breakthrough in Hubby's quest for a new (and interesting and challenging) job. He has been offered a 3-month secondment in London to work on the roll-out of WiMax projects. More details will be forthcoming. Suffice to say we are all mightily pleased and hope that it will be a fulfilling experience for him, whatever it may lead to.

No more working for a week or two

Actually that's not strictly true, as it's back to the slave-caves tomorrow as it happens. Still rewind a fortnight and it fits just nicely.

So here I am back from two blissful weeks in the Ardèche. Sunshine, kayaking, hiking, local markets, swimming and general lounging around for two weeks sounds like a decent holiday in my book. And that's what we got.

I don't know where to start or what to tell. We hired a car, hoping for a Scenic as we've had in the past, but instead Avis fobbed us off with a cheap and nasty Citroën Picasso. Disclaimer: no offence intended to Citroën owners. Now, Citroën make cheap and nasty cars made by and for people who's brains are in the wrong way round. Still, ripping the piss out of the car did pass the time in Paris traffic jams.

We stopped overnight at Hubby's Dad's. C made an absolutely lovely meal all of local produce (asparagus grown on the neighbouring farm, boar shot by JP this winter, local cheese and salad from the garden, and strawberries again from the neighbouring farm). It doesn't get much better than that! C's cooking is always a delight, even her 'just everyday' meals. Even though we were still quite full from a big lunch, we all took second helpings. I guess holidays are no time for watching your weight anyway!!

The next morning we had a walk round the farm with JP, and he showed us a foxes' den. It must not have been in use as Doggy didn't seem to pick up a scent. As JP said, if any animals had been there recently, even our "townie" dog would have noticed. It was lovely to walk round the farm and chat with JP. We were even lucky enough to spot a couple of red deer near a copse of woods.

Temperature was cold and sky was grey on arrival, but it soon got better and we enjoyed visits to local markets, mini-hikes, kayaking, swimming and lazing around in the sun. We did have one day of rain, but we managed to make that go by fairly painlessly by simply faffing around so expertly it took us all morning to leave the gîte and all afternoon to have lunch. How about that.

I love going to the Ardèche. I love the ace weather, the walks (we went on walks for wimps, as it was too hot for us to attempt the interesting-looking mountains in the distance - maybe one year we'll conquer them in October when it's cool!!), the markets, the fresh local food, the scenery... It's all jolly fab. So if you're looking for a fairly active holiday in France, go to the Ardèche. I have even added the gîtes to my links list so you already have somewhere to stay!!

Anyway I wanted to tell you all about it in great detail but I can't recall it all/be bothered to structure it all. Pics on Flickr.

And so they're back

No prizes for guessing where I'll be at 20:00 GMT+1 tonight. Slap bang in front of the telly, goggle-eyed in front of the new series of Top Gear! Perfect timing to keep away any end-of-holiday blues.

Relax, take it easy

Following Mika's orders to the letter down here in sunny Ardeche. Hubby and I are so definitively addicted to thei nterweb, we have sought out a McDonald's and have scoffed a muffin and pulled out the laptops. Read laptops, Hubby's using mine and I have swiped Mum's. QWERTY keyboard is requiring some acclimatisation after so many years in France!

Anyway, Hubby at least has an excuse. He has a phone interview Friday am, and needs to get the job spec off his email. I just can't stay away from the interweb!! Thought I'd grab the chance to say a big blog hello. Holidays are very much fun though no kayaking has been done thus far. Will tell all on my return.

Slobbery cyber kisses to you all. xx

Making excuses for idiocy

Oooooh I'm so mad! Today a horrible accident happened in the Alps. A coach full of school kids was struck on a level crossing by a train travelling at about 60 mph. Six (?) children were killed. It's awful.

Witnesses say the coach drove on to the level crossing after the lights started flashing and one of the barriers was already down. So the driver will hopefully be charged with manslaughter (I doubt it though). Because only a fool/suicidal maniac/psychopathic murderer drives onto a level crossing when the lights are flashing and the barrier is coming down.

But apparently the "journalists" on the payroll at France 2 think that the real cause of the accident is because of the adverse camber of the tracks, making it difficult for buses and HGVs to clear the crossing. And the fact that the crossing is there at all. The regional highways department should build a bridge, they say.

So, a tragic afternoon for six families and a harrowing time for many other parents until they knew their children were OK. And not because some complete fucking twat of a coach driver thought he could just nip through before the train arrived. But because there is a camber on the tracks. Great.

Why can't they take the opportunity to do a public service and remind the un-clever masses that when the lights are flashing and the barriers are coming down, the level crossing is the last place you want to be. Don't make excuses for the utterly negligent behaviour of that driver!!
Or are they afraid of being sued if they hint that maybe he might have made an error of judgement.

Ach! This post is just a jumble of incoherent indignation. I guess I'm annoyed that the first fifteen minutes of tonight's main news bulletin was spent sensationalising the apparent danger of level crossings, instead of focussing on the facts: man drove bus onto crossing, ignoring flashing lights and barrier, resulting in six deaths.

It's not helping with my level crossing phobia, either!

And I'm all angry at life because today I heard of the death of a colleague's 12-year old son, following a long battle with brain cancer. I know that he is better now, and he isn't suffering any longer. But it's still shit.

Inspired history

SG and Brennig, I'm loving you guys!

Inspiration (and, if I'm honest, time and inclination) being thin on the ground on these parts, I was delighted when I checked my TB feed this morning and found a highly acceptable idea for a post that I could pilfer from SG and Brennig.

Here goes, in no particular order:

4 things going on in my world 10 years ago (1998)
1. Finished my year abroad, left Bloke (later to become Hubby) and returned to Salford for 3rd year of degree
2. Lived in a student house with 11 other girls, then shared a flat in Bramall Court with Dickie and Tony
3. Had 3 different parties to celebrate my 21st birthday in November
4. Chose to write my final year dissertation on French voting behaviour and the far-right as a protest vote

4 things going on in my world 5 years ago (2003)
1. Had an awful job teaching English. I stuck it out for nearly six months, amazingly
2. Got my current job (back to translating, what I do best)
3. Went to Maui for Jeni & Andreas' wedding. Wow
4. Adopted Doggy!

4 things I did yesterday
1. Went to Ikea on a Saturday afternoon (am I mad?). Surprisingly few people. That's because the French are all feeling very skint
2. Walked the dog
3. Went to Stéph and Anthony's for dinner (celebrating Anthony's 30th)
4. Had a right laugh playing bowling with Anthony's birthday present (a Wii). Girls beat the boys

4 TV programmes I love/like to watch
1. Top Gear
2. The Apprentice
Actually, the above are the only two programmes I really adore
3. EastEnders (yes, I know)
4. There's a thing on at the mo' called Wild China and it's no bad

4 things I love to do
1. Play/cuddle/walk with the dog
2. Laugh with Hubby
3. Be with family and/or friends
4. Read

5 things in my bag
See here

5 favourite things in my room
1. Bed
2. Books
3. Hubby
4. My cropped jeans
5. My Maui hard rock café t-shirt

5 things I've always wanted to do
1. Get my pilot's licence
2. Have time to read all the books in my "to read" pile
3. See the Eiger (not climb it, of course!)
4. Visit the Eurasian steppe in Mongolia/Kazakhstan/etc and ride with the native horsemen
5. Learn more than 6 words of Spanish

5 things I'm currently in to
1. My vegetable plot (can you qualify two rows of carrots and some celery as a vegetable plot?)
2. Photography
3. Reading (I'm always into this)
4. Looking for a job for Hubby
5. Trying to be green

So if you too have been short on inspiration lately, please share your 4/5 lists.

Toady of Toad Hall

Spotted this chap in the garden today. He was happily nestling in the weeds (of which there are many ) when I nearly ripped him up with the hoe. Instead I popped him in the birdbath, where he had a swim around, then moved him to under the hedge well away from garden implements. I wonder what he was doing in our garden. I mean, it's not like we have a pond or anything. What do toads eat anyway?

Books of mountains

Been re-reading some books. The Beckoning Silence by Joe Simpson is one of my favourite books. Mountaineer Simpson, after twenty years on the mountains dodging death, decides it's time to pack it all in before fate catches up with him. The book is a memorial to friends lost to the mountains, to last climbs, and to The Eiger and the stunning achievements of those who struggled to put up a route on the formidable North Face in the "Golden Years" of Alpine mountaineering, in the 1930s. Simpson and Ray Delaney made their own attempt at the famous 1938 route up the face but retreated after the weather turned and a party climbing above them fell to their deaths.

This book fascinates me. Is it Simpson's fascination with the Eiger that infects me also? Maybe so. I mean, I've read Harrer's The White Spider, supposedly the last word in mountaineering and Eiger literature. But while it is a gripping tale of epic feats, I never read and re-read its passages in my mind for days after like I do with Simpson's book.

Joe Simpson is possibly best known by the general reading public for Touching the Void, the story of how he survived several days in the high Peruvian Andes, with a shattered knee and left for dead by his climbing companion, struggling out of a crevasse and across a glacier to make it back to their camp and to safety. It's a fabulous book and a truly gripping story. You really do wonder if he's going to make it out alive, somehow forgetting that of course he did otherwise you wouldn't be reading his account. But I like The Beckoning Silence more.

Go on, have a read.

Tourist

Yesterday we had a grand day out in London. I managed to get up jolly early and off we sailed (with Cocotte, Doggy and Hubby) for the white cliffs of Dover, zoomed up the M25 and parked for free at Lakeside. Yes, it's not especially central I know, but I ain't paying 30 quid for parking. Plus we got dirt cheap day returns with unlimited zone 1-6 travel so it was a double bargain. Yay.

We went to Tower Bridge:

We saw the huge queues for tickets to the Tower of London:

Lucky we hadn't thought "hmm, let's visit the Tower of London", eh?

We spent rather a lot of time on the Tube:

We stopped off at some little-known monuments:

And I spent ... not very much money at all. I went in Selfridges (Pink shirt) and Next (linen trousers and a top). Who'd have thought. And I didn't even set foot in Waterstone's (always a good way to avoid book-buying, because if I go in, I buy). But I bought two books on the boat. I couldn't help it. I was sort of overcome.

Doggy was absolutely the most best-behaved (and, naturally, beautiful) ever seen on the Tube. She was even allowed to come shopping in Selfridges where all the assistants swooned over her (she has that effect on everyone). She really was such a good dog.

We didn't get home until half past midnight (having risen at 5.30am Sat morning) so we were all pretty knackered but we had a fab day out. I don't know why we don't do it more often. Oh yes I do: requires 1 tank of petrol; requires dog-sitter or trip to vet (to be charged to give her the same worming tablet we give her at home); high-risk of retail spending; requires getting up stupidly early. Still, it was indeed a grand day out!

PS - we didn't go on Eurostar because Cocotte is quite claustrophobic and that much time in a tunnel, under the sea would just have been too much. Plus they don't allow dogs. And we hadn't arranged for a dog-sitter.

Creativity-free zone

The lovely Princesse, like me, is a Flickr-er recently started a 365 project. I thought the concept sounded fun. For one year, you take one self-portrait a day, and post it to a Flickr group to share with many thousands of people doing the same thing. The full "rules" are here. I can do that, I thought. So I somewhat ambitiously signed up for this self-portrait malarkey. Thus far I have posted pics of my hands, my feet, my hands, my feet ... my ear (?). Dear readers, surely you must be more creative than I. Any fun ideas for self-portraits??

Textin'

Have shamelessly pilfered the idea from this post from Stratford Girl, who I do believe was inspired by a chap by the name of Brennig. Anyway, thought I'd give it a go in a slightly modified version using received texts, because my phone is set up to only store the last 20 sent messages (has to be, otherwise the memory would explode I think!). So I fired up Nokia PC Suite and copy-pasted like a champ.

From: Mum; Date: 22/04/08; Time: 12:23:16
Sorry dont have no any more. Thought i did but not on phone or palm
[I was looking for a phone number I can't lay my hands on]

From: Willie; Date: 17/04/08; Time: 02:19:00
Postcard time - whats your address?
[Self-explanatory]

From: Hubby; Date: 11/04/08; Time: 11:43:28
Thanks nat, phil & you!
[He had caught my cold. That I caught off Dad. That he caught off supernephew]

From: Mum; Date: 07/04/08; Time: 11:27:12
Arrived Dover sunny and cold
[Mum and Dad heading home after a weekend visiting]

From: Dad; Date: 03/04/08; Time: 17:53:41
On board due to sail in 10 mins
[Mum and Dad on the way to visit]

From: Hubby; Date: 01/04/08; Time: 16:51:15
Pick up?
[Somebody had had enough of work for the day!]

From: Dad; Date: 20/03/08; Time: 19:11:10
Carlisle services is [hubby] at home
[This looks like I only ever get texts from my parents but it's the luck of the draw!! Dad enquiring as to Hubby's progress after his wisdom tooth op. They were heading off for a weekend in the Lake District]

From: Stef B; Date: 14/03/08; Time: 10:43:00
Tatie garcon paul
[Colleague from work just became an auntie. Little boy]

From: Cocotte; Date: 11/03/08; Time: 19:49:16
Cocotte! T'es barricadée chez toi avec Toutoune? Y refait plein de vent! Comment ça va? Bisous ma poule!
[Cocotte checking Doggy and I were safely tucked away indoors on a windy night]

From: Cocotte; Date: 08/03/08; Time: 18:08:25
Youhouh! Génial! Bravo!
[Scotland having just won the Calcutta Cup...]

From: Mum; Date: 06/03/08; Time: 11:27:13
Are you on way home yet? How feeling? X
[Mum enquiring if I had been discharged after my tooth op]

From: Mum; Date: 24/02/08; Time: 21:26:25
Parcel arrived am keeping til next sunday to open but ta for nice message am sure will love it lots of love x x x
[Mother's day gift arrived a few days early]

From: Mum; Date: 10/01/08; Time: 10:42:5
Happy birthday to Cléo! How about that, I remembered!
[Dear Mum remembering Doggy's birthday :)]

From: Jane; Date: 01/01/08; Time: 12:31:25
Hey toots! Happy new year! How are you, and your car? Jx
[Blasted car. Lovely Jane]

From: Matt; Date: 25/12/07; Time: 17:25:03
Bon noel! All our love m & m
[Christmas greetings. Obvious really]

From: Andrew; Date: 24/02/08; Time: 21:26:25
Merry christmas. May all your stockings be suspended and all [hubby]'s dreams come true. Andy
[No comment]

How many texts?! I only got this phone at the end of last year, and I've certainly deleted half as many again.

Be afraid, be very afraid

There is a secondary school in our street, which was refurbished and renovated the year after we bought the house (so, six years ago then). But I only noticed the boastful sign not that long ago.

It says "The local education board is readying the future of the département here". When I contemplate the rabble that attends the school (something I try to do as little as possible), my spirits sink into my shoes ...

Farewell, neon felt tip pen!

The laptop has undergone a transplant operation. Following the reappearance of the fluorescent felt tip pen screen, Hubby finally got fed up of being accused of breaking it (symptoms always appeared after he'd been using it, what can I say) and took action. He bought a new ribbon cable for the screen and poked around in the insides of my silver lap-warmer. And now the screen is fixed forever (I hope). Hurrah!

Marks out of ten?

I'm having a day off (cashing in my overtime, as it were). Because the weather is not, I feel, conducive to outdoor activities (ie it is Baltic out there), I have been piddling away my time on the interweb. Found one of those school teacher rating sites and looked up my illustrious (ahem) former place of learning. Was quite pleased to see a fair few names I recognised in the teacher list, which means I can't possibly be even a little bit old doesn't it?

I have to say I was incredibly lucky at both primary and secondary school. The luck of the draw dealt me mostly decent teachers who had enough enthusiasm for their subjects to catch my interest. If only everyone could be so lucky.

Some advertising

Three weeks ago we spent a weekend in the Champagne region with Hubby's family. It was most pleasant. We visited the museum of wine and vines which was most interesting, we went to a champagne capsule collectors' fair (more about that in another post), and Hubby and I supported the local economy by purchasing some of the produce of the land ;)

Anyway, the point is not that, the point is my stepmother-in-law runs gîtes (cottages, basically) at the farm. They have converted old farm workers' dwellings and stable buildings into some very charming little cottages for holiday lets. And C was telling us about the course she's been on to improve her website and how to reference it. And I said that I would add a link from the blog. Which I have duly done. And I'm sticking another one in this post for good measure.

So if you are ever looking for a quiet place to stay just south of the Loire valley, where you can enjoy walks and bicycle rides in the country, try your hand at some fishing or pick up the tourist trail to the châteaux, try the Gîtes de Courmain!

A soldier of the great war

Walter Pixton joined the Royal Fusiliers on 3 February 1916, aged 19. In due course he was posted to the Somme, and during the course of the battle was severely wounded on his left leg.

Struggling to make his way towards the medical facility, he was given assistance by a soldier from a Scots regiment. This man supported him until they almost reached their goal when a barrage started up.
The Scots soldier was seriously wounded by the flak, so the two men helped each other to reach medical help.
Eventually they were put into adjacent beds. The Scots soldier was aware that he had been fatally wounded and he gave Walter his kilt because he had no family to send it back to.
Walter was returned to his family in Ulverston, Lancashire (now Cumbria) to recover in a local convalescence home. He was discharged from active service in December 1917 due to being no longer fit for War Service.
He gave the kilt to his mother Elizabeth Pixton, who carefully unpicked it and made it into a carriage rug. It was also used as a table covering in the family parlour for many years.
Eventually it came into the possession of Walter's daughter and youngest son. We would like to give it to the Somme 1916 museum, as we consider it to be part of the history of the battle, shabby though it may be.
We never knew the name of the Scots soldier.

The above is a letter written by my dad's cousin Maureen and her brother, accompanying the donation of the Scotsman's kilt to the museum of the Somme, in Albert (Picardy). Walter Pixton was my dad's uncle on his mother's side. It was only a year ago we found out he had served in the Great War.

Mum and Dad were here last weekend. We went to the town of Albert and visited the museum. Dad was pleased to see the kilt on display, and took several photos. He's planning to visit the Scottish National War Memorial in Edinburgh Castle in the hope that staff there may be able to help him identify the unknown soldier's regiment.

Not fallen off the planet

Just fallen out of circulation. Been a funny old few weeks with lots of ups and downs but I'm hoping tomorrow will include blogging time. Interweb greetings and hugs to you all!

Blondes vs Brunettes

Forgive me the levity of the post title, because I actually have rather a serious subject for you today (for a change). Anyone living in the UK or who follows UK events will know that Yorkshire schoolgirl Shannon Matthews was found alive by police yesterday lunchtime. Good good. She had been reported missing 3½ weeks ago, after failing to come home from a school swimming lesson. And now she's been found, she's alive and apparently in good health. So far, so happy ending.

But the thing here is not the happy denouement to the whole affair, it's the comparison I wish to draw between media coverage of Shannon Matthews' disappearance, and that of toddler Madeleine McCann, who went missing in Portugal in May last year. You can't not know about young Miss McCann, you can't not have seen the acres of newsprint, hours of airtime, and kilometres of blog posts surrounding her mysterious disappearance. The McCann story was the lead story for days and days after she was reported missing. And Shannon Matthews? Well, I think they lead with her story on two occasions: the day or day after she was reported missing, and the day she was found. Maybe that's not quite true, but the last 3 weeks have certainly not been non-stop Shannon.

Let's do a quick and highly unscientific Google test, shall we. Shannon Matthews typed into Google.co.uk brings back 536,000 results. This less than 24 hours after she was found alive and apparently well a few miles from her home. Right, what of the McCann girl. Madeleine McCann brings back only a few thousand more: 542,000. But Maddie McCann returns a further 300,000: 746,000.

I have my own, somewhat cynical theory to explain the disparity. Madeleine McCann is a photogenic blonde, blue-eyed little girl, daughter of a not unattractive couple - mother a GP, dad a heart surgeon. They live in a Leicestershire village, in a big house and they go on nice family holidays to Portugal (where they then think leaving the kids alone in the holiday apartment is a good childcare plan, but that's not the point here). Shannon Matthews is a smiling brunette schoolgirl with a cute spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. But her parents are, for want of a less pejorative term, schemies. Her mother has 7 kids from five different fathers, and (don't hate me for being blunt), is less easy on the eye than slim, well-dressed Kate McCann.

And, let's face it. A housing estate in north Yorkshire in February is a zillion times less glamorous than a sun-kissed Portuguese beach resort in May. Ach, I dunno. The disappearance of any child is a tragedy for that child and its family. There can't always be good news as in the case of Shannon Matthews. But I suppose I just wanted to point out how picky and choosy the media is when it comes to covering some events, and how fickle and shallow editorial choices seem to be, based on the knowledge that a pretty toddler from a well-to-do middle-England family will always sell more cheap papers than a cheeky-looking brunette with a single-parent mum on some northern council estate.

Post-op report

This picture is not of my teeth. Dr Oral Surgeon said they didn't keep mine. I suspect this is because they had to obliterate them into tiny pieces to get them out. Anyway, see the top right-hand one with the wiggly root? Imagine it with four wiggly and long roots, each wiggling in a different direction. That was my teeth. I feel quite proud of my singularly wiggly wisdom teeth roots. Indeed, Dr Oral Surgeon said they had never seen such wiggly ones.

So now I am wisdom toothless, dentally regressed back to adolescence. Thank heavens that's only a sort of figurative state, as it were. Imagine having to be a teenager again??!! Ugh. Everyone was extremely kind, even the anaesthetic nurse who stabbed me repeatedly with the needley things, and had the temerity to say she couldn't get the cannula in because of *my* wiggly veins (I dunno, wiggly teeth, wiggly veins ... should I rename the blog "attentionallwiggles"?).

Hubby goes on 20 March for the same torture. I really hope he doesn't feel as bad as I did post-op. I cried in recovery. All I could say was "mal" (sore). They said "how sore, on a scale of 1 to 10" and I held both hands up. I'm a baby. If I could have articulated more than one word, I would probably have asked for me Mum. So, they pumped me full of some nice drugs that made me feel sleepy and dribble, which was very pleasant in a strange sort of way.

And can I just say, based purely on our experience of French healthcare (and I hope none of you ever find yourselves in a situation where you need to choose), better to be in a private clinic than a public hospital because it's cleaner. Everything was clean. When Hubby was in a public hospital last year with his ankle, it was pretty grotty actually. The staff were very kind and competent, but it was dirty. And they were chronically short-staffed. The poor nurses were desperately over-stretched. Not in the private clinic. But that's one person's experience and cannot be generalised, I hasten to add.

And as for the tube in my nose, I have no recollection of that at all! I think I wasn't really all that conscious when I first came round. And that will make sense to anyone whose brain works like what mine does.

Thank you everyone for your kind comments. I much appreciate your indulgence of my scaredy cat-ness!! And I hope your wisdom teeth aren't wiggly xx

Sleepy

Had my pre-op appointment with the anaesthetist this morning. He was a very pleasant chap. He has scared the living daylights out of me. I've already started having odd wisdom-tooth-extraction-related dreams. Like the one where I got lost in the clinic and they had to send out a search party for me. With sniffer dogs and a helicopter (yes, really). And I had earplugs in. And if I removed them, my mouth bled. And other strange happenings I'll keep to myself.

I'm sure that all the detailed explanations of what will happen and when are supposed to reassure me. Probably some tiny, logical part of my mind is reassured. But right now the vastly bigger and hugely less logical part of me is terrified.

Is it too late to change my mind and have them out under local, 2 at a time? But that'll hurt too. And I'll be able to hear it. No, all 4 at once is better. Apart from the anaesthetic bit. And the bleeding bit. And the tube in my nose bit. Why do I need I tube in my nose?

I know, I am the most pathetic example of a thirty year old ever to walk the earth.

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.

Lazy blog reader

I finally got myself organised and configured Thunderbird to read the RSS feeds from all you lots' blogs. This means one-stop shop blog-reading, which is ideal for time-challenged and generally lazy bods such as myself.

Now I just have to find some software that will read my thoughts and post comments for me automatically... ;)

Perfect.

Will it hurt?

So I finally gathered up all my courage into a tiny bundle and made an appointment with the "jaw and facial surgeon". This is a profession which seems only to exist in France. In the UK I think the moniker would be dental surgeon...

So anyway. He looked at my x-ray and said "oh yes, they need to come out!". (That pic could actually be my x-ray, except all four of them are like that sideways one, and they are a thousand times bigger.) He looked on his schedule and said "March 5 at 2pm?" and then he charged me 40 euros (I think I made a career-choice error) and left me to sort out the paperwork with his secretary.

All of which means I'm having all four of my squinty and wrong-way-round wisdom teeth removed in a marathon (ah-hem) 30-minute operation on March 5 (which also happens to be Super nephew's birthday, he'll be 2). I have a ten-thousand page medical questionnaire to fill out before seeing the anaesthetist. It has questions like "Do you drink alcohol frequently?" (well, define frequently) and "Do you do any sport?" (yerrrsssss. Sort of). I'm a little bit scaredy to tell the truth.

Still, a diet of yoghurt and er, yoghurt for a few days after the op won't do my hips any harm!

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

Arthritic athlete

We played calcetto at lunchtime today. This is a truly fantastic way to spend 45 minutes getting a bit hot and sweaty, let me tell you. Calcetto is like 5-a-side football, played outdoors on an enclosed pitch that's roughly the size of a tennis court. There are no touchlines so the ball is always in play, and there are five metre high fences all round the pitch, so you never have to trek halfway across the playing fields to go and fetch the ball when someone misses a pass. Most excellent fun. And we won. ;)

So why an arthritic athlete? Well I did spend the afternoon hobbling about the office wincing when I moved my right leg. I think my body is rebelling against my fatness because whenever I've done any running lately my right hip appears to seize up. It is a subtle message from my skeleton to say "lose some weight you big heifer!". As soon as work calms down a bit I'm off to the gym, I promise!

Ah yes, work. It's like a battlefield in my Inbox. There are many casualties. It's not pretty. I work for a sports company and I don't have time to do sport. It's a disgrace. I added up all the things I have to do, and the time I spend doing them. The total comes to 156 hours a month. I'm supposed to work 140 hours a month. Hey ho.

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

Car clinic

Looks like we're starting the year with a big spend. Much as I would have liked for that to be on lovely shirts in the Pink sale, fate it would seem has decided otherwise. We'll be getting a new one of these. It's a timing belt. Renault, in their infinite wisdom, say that when one replaces the crankshaft pulley one must also replace the timing belt. Ah well.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Happy New Year everyone! May 2008 bring only good things to you and those you love.


It's snowing! What is it about snow that makes one shiver with excitement (providing one is not embarking on a road journey of any length)? It's the memory of days off school and sledging and snowball fights. Ah, the magic of snow. It can make even scabby old Midlothian look nice ;)

Prouder auntie

You are all of course familiar with Super nephew in all his loveliness:


Well, now this particular proud auntie has a Super niece too!


Isn't she the best? Of course, I am most grateful to Bro and Sis-in-law for producing a girl (lol lol), as this solved my possible dilemma on how to distinguish between two nephews. I couldn't have used super nephew 1 and 2 as this implies ranking. It was causing much consternation, but then Super niece arrived and problem solved. First girl to be born into my Mum's side of the family since me, in fact, so she is even extra special.

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.

Secrets of the handbag

Lovely Princesse tagged me to reveal the contents of my handbag. What an absolutely ace idea for a meme. I love handbags. I love shoes too. Don't know whether I love handbags or shoes more. The problem is my expensive tastes. I suppose it means that we don't yet have to buy a bigger house to accommodate my shoes and bags - I can't afford to indulge so often!

Having said that, I have still managed to accrue a reasonable handbag collection. There is the classy, minuscule "posh occasion" bag (big enough for camera, car keys and a credit card), there is the "cram in loads of stuff I don't need" bag (I have two of these, the exact same model from Mandarina Duck - one is blue and the other is pink, how fab is that??), there is the holiday mini backpack... Now, I only just changed handbags (I have a rotation system so none of them feel left out and unloved), to my grown up red leather Lancaster one:

It's actually a bit darker red than the photo, but anyway. I got it a couple of years ago and paid ... more than €100 I think. It has a lovely silky lining with LANCASTER sewn into it and I love the dangly heart thing.

Because I changed bags on Friday, I dumped a whole load of crap I didn't need (mostly receipts), and haven't yet accumulated any new crap. So the "bare minimum" stuff inside:

Hubby calls my bag a portable black hole. I beg to differ. Everything that's in there is essential at all times. And I can locate any item in less than ... well, I can find things.


So let's start with the gadgets. I'm quite a gadget girl really. Here we have my Palm (magic electronic memory - beeps at you when you have to do something), my camera (obviously not used to take these pics), my pink iPod mini (which is unfortunately dying, its battery won't hold a charge anymore - overused I think - so I might have to replace it soon), my USB memory stick, and my rather battered but much-loved Nokia phone (my ringtone is The A-team it's so naff!). I need all these electronic gadgets all the time. They are like life support devices. Especially my phone. How did we cope before mobile phones?!

These are the "practical" bits and bobs. Kleenex. I always have at least two packets of Kleenex. You can never have too many of them paper tissues. Lip balm (no explanation required). STYLE chewing gum "tabs" which have 3 kcal per tab, actually. That has sort of put me off them. Pens, always useful. Clarins Baume beauté éclair for emergency moisturising. And an empty packet of 1mg paracetamol tablets. I know, empty isn't much sodding use when you've got a stinking headache. I don't even know why I didn't dispose of the packet when I took the last tablet. I'm strange.

Specs for to see with. I wear them for the computer at work, occasionally at home too. And to watch the rugby on telly. And sometimes to drive with. I also have sunglasses for driving.

More practical stuff. My passport to be able to get back into Britain in an emergency (!) - well, you never know. Also serves as ID, which one must always carry in France. The grey wallet thing underneath everything else has my car insurance and owner's certificate, and my driving licence. One should have these documents on hand when driving at all times in France. My work badge, and my house keys. The car keys are somewhere else. Probably.


And finally the cash and cards! This is my lovely wallet that I bought in John Lewis last year. It's lovely soft black leather on the outside, and the lining is pink and violet and it's fab. I think I have at last found the wallet I need: zillions of pockets for credit cards, loyalty cards, health insurance cards and every other card I have, a decent pocket for coins, and plenty of space to shove credit card receipts. So as you can see, I have filled all the card slots rather well. The meagre supply of coins is quite usual, I never have any cash (and it is usually a mix of euros and pennies, too). That 20 euro note won't last long. And there are also about a thousand credit card receipts, which accumulate in my wallet until it is fat and full, and then I throw them out.

So there are the secrets of my handbag! Thank you so much Princesse for tagging me with this, and to Zhu for starting it. I've really enjoyed having a nosey look in your bags, hope you enjoyed mine!

Now I am going to go on technorati and catch up a bit. I am so very behind and very rubbish. Still, nevermind eh? Also hope very much to blog a bit more in the next few days, I might even manage it as our schedules are looking much less hectic. Bisous to you all!

Homeward bound ... I was

This year being a special birthday year for me (I am now truly in my late twenties), I had decreed that I would spend the day with Mummy and Daddy. In fact, the last time I had spent the anniversary of my birth with my parents I wasn't even at university! So it was time.

And so we piled into the super Lismobile and took to the road. I think we set a new record this time, completing Folkestone to Midlothian in 8 hours including stops. When we got home a little birdie mistook Mum and Dad's house for a suitable roosting site. Aaah. We had to evict it though.


Dad says it was a green finch. He knows these things.

Alas I have nothing entertaining to relate regarding our journey, save for the thorough and far-reaching anti-terrorist controls at the French "border" checkpoint before embarking on Eurotunnel. The procedure is as follows:

1. Have four or five vehicles stop all at once.
2. Take one of those explosive trace swab things.
3. Go from one car to the next, and wipe the swab all around the steering wheel and the driver's electric window controls. Do not change swabs between cars and do not wipe any other parts of the cars.
4. Go back to little hut thing and analyse the swab.

While I am sure that the people who work for the French interior office surely are more clued up on counter-terrorism methods than myself, I have identified a couple of weaknesses in their technique. What do they do if the swab registers positive? Get everyone in all four cars to get out and unpack? And, more to the point, if you want to smuggle explosives into the Channel Tunnel, just ensure you don't touch the steering wheel or the electric window buttons. Best to get one of the passengers to pack the semtex.

Return of the Lis

Hello folks, it's me! I'm back to the blog after much absence. I think, rather than doing one rather long and probably tedious post, I'll try to break down my latest adventures into bitesize chunks for you to savour (or skip over). And I'll try to do all that this weekend. And I'll try to catch up with everyone else's blogs too.