We are lucky enough to be living in a period building built in 1901.
Our flat has retained its moulded ceilings and just one of its four fireplaces. The floors are either parquet or marble.
It is light, spacious and airy and I love it.
As a treat, I'll let you have a look at my "pâtisseries" and my window handle.
I am getting sucked into the vortex that is QVC.
I appreciate the professionalism of the presenters: their ability to talk about a diamonique (!) ring for 8 minutes ("absolutely stunning"), their kindness to barmy old phone callers (yes, I have considered it...), Dale the twinkly charmer, who cracked up when he read out a viewer's name, mis-typed as Turdy, then felt he had to apologise in case it was correct and possibly ethnic.
Last night was the "Models Prefer" cosmetic show with Stacey, the larger-than-life, loud, funny, down-to-earth company owner. Someone give her a show, for goodness' sake. She could take on Jonathan Ross, no messing.
And then there's Pippa, Julia, Charlie .........aaaaarggghhhhh!!!!
First of all, a big thank you to my English Conversation group friends for this!! Have you ever seen such a posh, gorgeous umbrella? It seems such a shame to get it wet.
It was Music Night in Paris this week. Amateur musicians played rock, jazz and samba music outside cafés, stages were erected in various parts of the city for well-known singers and groups to perform. The concert at La Défense was televised live.
We headed to Bastille. It was crowded. We managed to ambush a couple leaving their table and we sat and had a beer at a café while the drizzle cleared. We made a half-hearted attempt to push our way through the crowd for a view of the stage but we gave up after 5 minutes of getting nowhere so we decided to make our way home.
On the metro I recognised from behind, the skirt and shoes of my friend M-C, who was with her husband, B. Their two children are both abroad at the moment so Mum and Dad get to go out and do interesting things. We tagged along to the 15th, passing two bands and a dj and listened to some wonderful Django Reinhardt music until the rain started again.
Ah! The music, the wine, the conversation,the café lights reflected in the rain-soaked streets. Ah, Paris!
And I did not take my umbrella.
I'd arranged to meet a friend in her hotel in Paris at 18.00.
I arrived really punctually to find her not quite ready, as her watch had stopped at 17.30 - but not quite stopped. She panicked because she needed to have a reliable watch for her busy schedule over the next 10 days. Instead of buying a new watch battery, we resorted to programming her mobile phone as a clock.
After kirs and a meal we checked timepieces again. Yes, it was 22.00 - only it wasn't ! My watch had obviously stopped for 30 mins before I had routinely wound it up that morning and Diane's time had been right all along. I had been existing in a different time plane and travelling so fast my memory had been erased and I forgot to take her World Access phone numbers with me.
Just wait till I get a go on those wormhole things in the space-time continuum.
35 minutes south of Paris lies Samarkand, no, sorry, that's Chamarande: a small château and park of gentle beauty. A slow-moving river, the Juine, marks its eastern boundary and there's more than enough leafy shade to satisfy an english suburbanite.
It started off quite badly.
I decided to catch a taxi to the Parc de Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne, as public transport would have meant travelling 3 sides of a square and a taxi would cut across in no time.... For the first time in 2 years there was not a queue of taxis waiting at the road junction.
A queue (I use that word loosely, in the French sense) of customers formed and we waited. After 10 minutes a taxi pulled up and the first couple got in. We waited again, commenting on the strangeness of the situation. The lady after me in the queue then slid her foot into a patch of dog muck. She was not too pleased.
Another 10 mins and a taxi reluctantly pulled over and I got in. After a polite "Bonjour", I made a gentle comment on the lack of taxis about today and he went for me like a Rottweiler. "You go and tell that to the Town Hall! I've been stuck in a traffic jam for an hour and a half! You Parisians, you don't do anything about it! I've been up since half past 5!"
Arriving at the park in a state of dumb shock, I met up with the teacher and we discovered that the rose gardens, which we had come to paint, were cordoned off for this one day in the year for competition judging. Another student turned up and said she'd been propositioned twice on her walk to the park.
It was such a relief to sit down amongst the greenery and paint.
The peacocks were displaying and generally showing off - it was lovely.
I have discovered the downside of having a blog.
I have to go out and do things.
This weekend, I took my watch in for a new battery and then went to the optician's to choose two pairs of frames. I was served by Angelina Jolie, who was helpful and constructive and charming, and if I were Brad Pitt, I'd marry her.
I now have to fill in the Expenses Re-imbursement form, send in original itemised bills and receipts, wait for them to get lost, re-send duplicates, wait for the full complement of office staff to re-appear after the Summer break, forget the number I first thought of and wait for a refund.
Meanwhile, no 1 son is off to Barcelona to get pickpocketed and listen to loud music with his mates. Have a great time and stay safe, D.
When is a strike not a strike?
Apparently, when it's an "arrêt de travail" or even, our old favourite, "un mouvement social".
That's what we had today.
The metro service was reduced on most lines and non-existent on line 6, which covers the southern hemisphere of Paris from Charles de Gaulle- Etoile in the west to Nation in the east. I think it was to protest against longer evening work hours aimed at providing a transport service later into the night. This , of course , against the background of the 35 hour week.
As a bonus, we had a demo in the Place des Vosges, where my Art group was drawing. A group of about 70 demonstrators occupied a section of lawn, raised banners and chanted while vanloads of gendarmes rolled up, blocked further access to the Square, and congregated round the other side of the monument from the protesters. I think this was a protest against poor or inadequate housing.
And prior to all this we had been serenaded by a military brass band on horseback, playing what, to my ear, sounded like jolly, oompah tunes.
Life in Paris is never dull.
One of these photos is of my garden and one of them isn't.
The strangled clematis is mine.
If I were nearer, I would yank out some of the opium poppies and let the clematis catch its breath but I have to rely on a remote-controlled non-gardener, who doesn't know the difference between a weed and a cherry tree. I direct him by mobile phone and photographic evidence to roughly the right area and then we home in on the plant by texture and scent.
At least I don't have to clean up the tools afterwards - not like my remote non-gardener ....
