exiled to Paris

Farewell Paris.

2008-07-14T12:53:00.010+02:00

A long time has passed since my last entry. We have left Paris.

I was excited about moving back home and we had lots of places to visit and things to do before we left; some we did, such as seeing a play at the Comédie Française, some we didn't, such as having coffee and macarons at Ladurée but there is always the next time.. and I never did get to the very top of the Eiffel Tower. We tried on various occasions but were put off by the long queues. I do miss it, though. Sometimes it would shock you by suddenly appearing, massive and elegant, as you turned a corner.

I miss the beauty of the buildings, the style of just about everything from paper carrier bags to window displays, the elegance of Parisians, the wonderful restaurants where you can have a 4 course dinner with aperitif, half a bottle of wine and coffee for 32 euros, the world-class exhibitions, the metro, the basement at BHV and also my friends.

This group of friends cheered me up, invited me on outings, took me into their homes and taught me about Paris - and they learned a little English at the same time. We laughed at cultural differences, revealed while translating newspaper articles: the number between commas, after the name of ex-Mme Sarkozy in an account of her departure for America, was taken to be her flight number to the USA as it was unimaginable that a lady's age would be divulged for public consumption.

Welcome back to Anglo-Saxon directness .....or would that be ungraciousness ?

Calm down, calm down.

2007-07-12T12:45:00.000+02:00

It was just a joke.

!%^!!??*?!!***

2007-07-11T13:26:00.001+02:00

Words fail me...

Does he look sheepish or what ?

**!? What the ...??!

2007-07-08T14:34:00.000+02:00

Is this just too much, dahlings?

Don't get me started on this ......

2007-07-06T16:26:00.000+02:00

I've seen dogs in handbags, dogs in supermarket trolleys (in the FOOD compartment!), dogs in bread shops, dogs on buses, dogs in the metro (and just let your mind linger on the consequences of that...), dogs in restaurants attacking passing ankles from their hideout under the table but this was the one that did it.

She was sharing her food with it.

The dog is wearing a pearl necklace.

Would you like to sit on that barstool next?

Where do all the colours go?

2007-07-05T12:41:00.001+02:00

This is the walk from the carpark to the market at Mèze. I can't tell you how different it is from my habitual walk to the market.

We're are just back from a fabulous week's holiday near Pézenas in Languedoc with friends. I was hoping for unseasonably cool weather and , by George, she got it! There was always a breeze but, when it did get hot, I had ways and means to keep out of the sun.
Our accommodation was on a wine-growing estate, now largely grubbed up as no longer a viable economic concern, and we were in one of the three newly renovated farm buildings. It was a treat for the eyes. Colours, flowers, birds, butterflies, Templar castles .... I am used to the greys and beiges of Paris and these wonderful sights were astonishing. No wonder Vincent went barmy after the grim skies of the Belgian coalmines.

We spent an enchanting hour/half hour? at this old cornmill next to a Roman bridge. There was silence, fishing, frequent flypasts by kingfishers and even a graceful passage of a blindingly white egret. Magical.

Back in Paris, and it hasn't stopped raining but that's fine. Sluice those pavements !

A nice bit of wrought iron.

2007-07-02T02:46:00.000+02:00

There's nothing the French like more than a nice bit of wrought iron and I must admit that I'm a bit of a fan too. Roccoco overload is all right by me. This is the best example I have ever seen: fluid, elegant and functional. No way is anyone going to climb round or over this little lot.

If you go to see the film about Molière, you will recognise this.

Unexpected trip back home.

2007-06-22T13:46:00.001+02:00

We hadn't expected to be back in the UK quite so soon but No 1 son was admitted to hospital for some intravenous treatment. He was in for one night and decided that, after the worst night of his life, he was better off outside and returning the next day for more treatment.
We arrived hot off the Eurostar in time to pick him up outside the hospital, take him home, feed him up and watch the colour return to his face. He had been in the Geriatric ward.

He is fine now and planning a trip to Paris.

But the bonus was that I got to see my garden in mid-May. Plants that I had never seen in flower were blooming. My roses had survived periods of drought with only sporadic emergency attention and were flush with pale blooms. Lavenders were just poised to show their colours. Aaaah ! Gorgeous.

And all's well that ends well.

More friends !

2007-06-22T00:58:00.001+02:00

After the Lalique exhibition , which was just gorgeous, our next outing was to Giverny. Coachloads of people turn up but the garden is so arranged with no open vistas, that they disappear after a while.
The water garden used to be separated from the main garden by a railway line but this is now a road and an underpass gives access.
Every season produces eye-watering displays. We arrived just as the lilacs and tulips were waning and the irises and roses were blooming. The nasturtium alley in October stops you in your tracks.

Our next day out was to Auvers-sur-Oise, where van Gogh painted like crazy just before he shot himself.
This is THE wheatfield - minus crows.

We stopped off here for a swift half.
Absinthe was not a good thing.

After being caught in a deluge, we sheltered in here to dry out and decide what to do. Good job Steve checked the opening hours of the van Gogh museum !
This café commemorates Kirk van Douglas, who was giving Vicky the eye all the time we were there.

No, I don't understand it either...

2007-06-22T00:30:00.001+02:00

During Dave and Vicky's visit, a contemporary Art exhibition was being installed in the Jardin du Luxembourg.
What is all this about , then? Cardboard cutouts of a man in a suit, who is masked by sheets of paper, holding a pair of red stilettoes and being held back by a musketeer? What are the references here? The statue is of a 17th century French queen. Any offers?

Now, this reference is plain. We are in Joan of Arc territory. Jeanne d'Arc, whose surname is "Brûlée-par-les-Anglais". I have lost count of the times I have been reminded of this particular crime.

Monet, Monet, Monet!

2007-06-01T11:50:00.001+02:00

Just a little taster of another outing with more visitors.

Click on those photos, mes amis.

Visitors!

2007-05-30T18:31:00.000+02:00

After an aborted first attempt, Russ and Nettie finally made it to Paris for a weekend.
We started off at Madame de Sévigné's house, now a museum, in the Marais and then had a lovely lunch in the dappled shade of the plane trees.

I feel this photo should have a jagged rip down the centre, separating our two friends, with the caption: "Frosty relations in the City of Romance. Is divorce on the menu?".
Nettie was studying the carte and Russ was in touch with a Cabinet Minister.

Then off for a walk around the islands, a boat trip on the Seine and a stroll along the Champs Elysées.
Some people had a snooze before the evening outing .

Next day Russ took us on a walk in the Bois. No, I still don't like it. Roads and paths, traffic islands and a lake that everyone walks around in single file.
But we had mates with us and it was great!

Such a lot to catch up on

2007-05-30T11:26:00.001+02:00

This was a walk we did in Paris in April on a day that turned into a scorching hot afternoon.
We have places to go before we leave Paris and Père La Chaise cemetery was one of them. Perhaps because of the summery weather and fresh green leaves, it was absolutely gorgeous. We found Jim Morrison's ugly slab of a memorial, surrounded by metal crush barriers but these old 19th century gravestones reflect more the dignity and atmosphere of the place.

We walked on to the Canal St Martin, which I had high hopes for.
The Amélie bridge area was pretty but as the canal is still being squatted by the homeless of Paris, the pervading smell of urine was heavy in the air . See ! No Canal No. 5 joke.

We took the metro to more familiar ground and went to this favourite café at Palais Royal. This is THE friendly waiter in Paris. Remember his face. He smiles.
Steve had warm Tarte Tatin and I had Fromage frais with rhubarb compote.
The building on the right is the theatre of the Comédie Française. We really should go.

Just behind the waiter's hand is this metro entrance.
Have you ever seen such a jewel-like structure? Just beautiful.
You really should click on this photo to appreciate it..

Then a walk through the Tuileries, passing through the Louvre arches from where you can look down into the inner courtyards of the museum to catch your breath at the sight of this.

And then further on through the gardens, passing the Maillol sculptures, which I had previously ignored, until a drawing lesson in the Musée Maillol, when I had to concentrate on them for three hours and came to appreciate their heft.

Water leak at our house finally resolved

2007-05-14T18:08:00.000+02:00

Well, well, well ....... who'd've thought it?

Water Company expert no. 3 turned up today as we haemorrhaged water while, at the same time, not using any. The first thing he checked was ........ if our meter was, in fact, connected to the supply pipe for our house. Ha, ha, ha!

No, it was not.

Was our meter registering the consumption of our ecologically aware neighbours. Or the neighbours with a swimming pool .... WITH A LEAK ?!

Yes, we have paid our water bill in advance for the next 62 years but we intend to get it back.

Caught in the act.

2007-04-25T14:29:00.000+02:00

On my 5 minute walk from my painting class opposite the Pompidou centre to the metro at Hôtel de Ville , I pass this shop window. It is full of beautiful blue glass syphons and papery white ceramic vegetables. They are irresistible. I took lots of photos, flash and non-flash from different angles .

They required very close inspection to appreciate fully the delicacy of the execution of leaf and root so I got closer and closer to the window , still snapping away ....

...until the net curtain behind the glass shelves was gently pulled aside by the gentleman I had been blinding as he ate his lunch. He was gracious enough to smile at the woman, who had been peering into his face and food at a distance of 30 cms.

.. and a tin of sardines, please, Athos.

2007-04-22T00:18:00.000+02:00

What is the difference between a French grocer and a musketeer?

Obviously nothing.

Spring

2007-04-19T13:30:00.000+02:00

Deep breaths ....

2007-04-18T16:24:00.000+02:00

An English Oak.

I prefer torpor to stress.

2007-04-17T22:37:00.000+02:00

For some unfathomable reason I pressed the "Update" button on my blog and hoped that the improvements would function without any effort on my part. I have delayed further blogging because I'm not sure I'm in control of it any more - just like lots of other things.

We left England on Sunday, knowing that we were paying water rates at four times the cost of our neighbours, who use more water than we do. The Water Company checked our meter, which was 6 inches under water at the time, after 2 weeks without rain and in a position on top of a hill. That seemed perfectly normal to them and they decided we had no leak.
"Oh , yes we do!"
"Oh, no you don't!"

Today Team 2 appeared , poked about with a rod in our meter chamber and a jet of water spewed up into the air.
"Yes , you do have a leak."
A neighbour said that as the day wore on and the water continued to gush, flooding friends' garages and electricity junction boxes, people at the bottom of the hill were able to use canoes to cross the road. Are we paying for that water ? Yes, I imagine we are.
We await the return of Team 2 tomorrow. Is the leak roadside or homeside of the meter? Is this the only leak or is there another one under our drive? Whose idea was it not to take out leaky pipe insurance?

This same evening Son no 2 phoned to say he had had an accident. A bus had pushed up against his car on a narrow one-way system, denting and scraping his door and back panel. He is fine but shaky and worried because the bus drove on and he has no witnesses.

I hate not being in control. Long-distance problems cause more stress. And I haven't got a photo for this post.

Please take a chair.

2007-03-27T00:07:00.000+02:00

It looks like the Sixties to me: the era of orange plastic and chairs you either slid off or stuck to. This was a display at the wonderful Museum of Decorative Arts, housed in a wing of the Louvre. The building is newly renovated and the recommended tour of the exhibits is marginally more complicated than the route out of the Labyrinth.

Just what the doctor ordered.

2007-01-20T17:44:00.000+01:00

My bad cholesterol level is too high so the doctor told me, amongst other advice, to avoid alcohol - apart from 2 glasses of wine a night! Honest, that is what he said!
Now, that's the kind of doctor you like.

Yes, very beautiful.

2007-01-15T13:58:00.000+01:00

- We are very beautiful, non?

Animal or vegetable?

2007-01-14T23:31:00.000+01:00

Have you ever seen a French poodle in its horticultural form? Well, here it is: pruned, trimmed and tortured to within an inch of its life.

This tightly shaped shrub has no merit. It is as charmless as a Victorian corseted waist or a bound Chinese female foot.
I feel no pleasure in looking at it, only dismay that successive gardeners have spent years forcing it into this ugly, humiliating shape. It reveals no love of the natural world, simply a desire to dominate, tame and bend to the human will.

Feast your eyes on the Best of Breed parade on permanent display at Versailles.

Feeling a little woozy.

2007-01-12T00:16:00.000+01:00

I have been having dizzy spells lately due to nano particles in my inner ear swishing about in the wrong canal. So imagine how I felt when we came across this sight on avenue Georges V last weekend. I could barely keep upright.
There is no crazy mirror trickery going on here. This is how Parisians deal with the sight of "not beautiful" scaffolding. In the stylish and expensive 8th arrondissement, ugliness is not tolerated in either human or architectural form so with panache and wit they construct an outer skin to hide all the dirty, messy, untidy process. When the Gucci shop was undergoing a similar process, the whole building was enclosed in one massive Gucci suitcase complete with metal locks and leather trim (or so it appeared).

The windows are recessed and glassy. The corbels are three-dimensional. It is a very disorienting experience - take it from me, as I lie flat on my back on the pavement.

Back in the Land of Plenty.

2007-01-04T23:02:00.000+01:00

I don't see much of the Winter sky in Paris. Light pollution and tall buildings obscure most of it. Consequently I can't judge what the weather is going to do apart from sticking my head out of the window to see what the locals are wearing for the day.
This lovely wintry sky will keep me going.

Remind me again where I live. Darfur? Zimbabwe?
Oh yes, Paris: gourmet capital of the world.
Then why do we insist on bringing back with us Red Cross food parcels of groceries?!!? You cannot see the kilos of porridge oats, boxes and boxes of Shreddies, jars of curry pastes and marmalade.

And this! Will I be able to make any sense of this? After today's attempt, obviously not. These are remote headphones, which should enable me to listen to podcasts of Radio 4 plays while I do my ironing. The reason I cannot listen directly from the computer speakers and iron in the same room is too long and involves melted plugs and metal prongs welded into a socket.

Christmas 2006: indoors and out

2006-12-30T00:31:00.000+01:00

For three whole days we couldn't see the bottom of the garden. The air was still and damp and chilly. What could we do other than stay in and start on the Thornton's?

We bought and decorated the tree, having performed the usual triage on the four sets of lights, which we keep in the repository. The tree is now, already, at the dump in preparation for our rapid getaway in a few days' time.

We have seen family and friends and enjoyed some good food. But there are too many chocolates left over, not to mention the Turkish Delight and calissons, which we haven't even opened yet.

Thank you for a lovely Christmas . Keep well . And may 2007 bring you happiness.

'Bye for now....

2006-12-13T16:43:00.000+01:00

Goodbye, Paris, for now.
I'll keep your gorgeous window displays in my mind as I shop in England and wonder where style went, why we don't have hundreds of individually designed and stocked artisan shops, why assistants don't look up and say "hello" to you as you enter, why fruit has shrunk in size, why ugly plastic bags are used in preference to smart paper bags that can be used as a replacement handbag.

I will look up and see a modern office block instead of a carved limestone lintel and a wrought iron balcony. I will not open my windows to the scent of buttery croissants still baking.

But I'll be back ...

Sumptuosity

2006-12-08T11:28:00.000+01:00

The Hôtel de Soubise is in the Marais district of Paris and its construction in 1704 was supposedly financed by Louis XIV in gratitude towards the Princess of Soubise, who yielded to his advances - but you'd better ask Mme de Sévigny for further details.

The National Archives of France are housed here and these include such treasures as the personal letters and diaries of the Kings and Queens of France, the Last Wills and Testaments of Louis XIV and Napoleon and the Déclaration des droits de l'homme et du citoyen.
These fascinating documents are sometimes on display here and this week we saw letters and dinner-seating plans, secret notes in invisible ink (now revealed) and diaries , all relating to Marie-Antoinette. We saw her gazette (scroll down to page 3), which was a large book containing small patches of patterned silk fabrics of which her gowns were made. As the Queen changed her dress three times a day (don't we all), each morning she would mark her choice of gowns by inserting a pin in the page alongside the fabrics she would wear that day. The silks were of the finest thread count and most delicate shades. Her profligate spending resulted in her being nicknamed Mme Déficit.

As well as hosting exhibitions of documents, the Hôtel with its sumptuous décor is also used as a venue for musical and literary recitals.

Busy day.

2006-12-01T13:04:00.000+01:00

I started my day at the Louvre with some sketching in the cour Puget.
Next week it'll be my last lesson until after the New Year and we will go to the Natural History Museum in the Jardin des Plantes. I suspect we will be drawing the exhibits in the Grande Galerie de l'Evolution.
I love this class. We go to museums and sit for 3 hours in front of a variety of exhibits and draw. It has taught me to observe, to measure, to take time over hands and feet and to be blissfully unaware of passers-by.
This is Julius Caesar.

After a nice, chatty lunch with my friends from our English group, we went to a cookery lesson in the 15th to learn about festive sweets and desserts. How much sugar, chocolate and butter can you bear...? Quite a lot..? Kilos of it..?

For the first 90 minutes I was in a daze of confusion. We (and I really mean the chef) was mixing, melting, browning, chopping, stirring, beating, spreading and separating ingredients simply to make the components for the dishes. How many types of meringue are there? Too many.

This was the Bûche de Noël being carefully rolled up. It is not made of sponge as I had thought but of an almond biscuit mixture that has to be soaked in a sweet coffee liquid to make it pliable. I think this was the dessert that required a kilo of butter ( for the crème au beurre filling and topping).
It was at this stage that I was hearing "camembert" for "crème au beurre" and it didn't seem odd at all. I had heard correctly "cul de poule" and so cheese had to be an acceptable ingredient. I even thought that I heard a giraffe mentioned at one point but I must have been high on cholesterol.
We (the chef) made ten component parts to make four complete dishes. We learned basic techniques and good tips and I got told off for putting my crème anglaise ON TOP of my bûche and not around it but , hey, I'm english and I know where custard goes.

This nougat glacé is not a hard chocolate left in the box after everyone else has had their pick. It is mostly whipped cream added to Italian meringue with added raisins, cherries and crushed nougatine. It was served on top of wafers of nougatine with tangy fresh fruit and raspberry coulis. It looked and tasted gorgeous but we had lost our appetites and could only pick at the dishes - except for the chocolate truffles...
Now, they were just out of this world and for some reason I haven't got a photo of them to show you.

Ile Saint-Louis

2006-11-18T12:27:00.000+01:00

The Ile Saint-Louis is the island without Notre-Dame on it, yet it has the most beautiful views of the cathedral. It is now the expensive residential area of choice of film stars and politicians - Daniel Auteuil and former president Georges Pompidou amongst them.

This highly desirable length of downpipe is attached to the Hôtel Lauzun, which formerly housed the Hashish Club frequented by Victor Hugo, Eugène Delacroix, Baudelaire (though , apparently, he never inhaled) and run by Théophile Gautier. It has recently opened as a museum and it's on my list.

Our walk took us past Berthillon, the ice-cream and tea shop.

As we will not be in Paris for ever, it is our duty to sample every delicacy this city has to offer while we can. So I had a chocolate and vanilla coupe with meringues and Chantilly cream, while Steve had a Poire Belle Hélène. It was delicious.
The ice creams are all made with fresh produce, following seasonal availability, so now you can try the sweet chestnut flavour - and I may have to.

Right, get out of that !

2006-11-12T21:58:00.000+01:00

And they did !

View from a kitchen

2006-10-31T11:16:00.000+01:00

This is the view from my kitchen window in Paris - when I open the window fully, that is - which I only do in cases of noxious fume build-up. Normally the view is veiled by a net curtain so that stray gazes from across the way don't ignite an international incident of the " she saw me in my nightdress " variety.

The bars are there to deter burglars, not so much from climbing up the drainpipes but more from abseiling down from the roof. The floors most likely to be burgled in a building here are the ground floor and the top floor.

The next photo is the view from my house at home in England.

Spot the difference.

Twists and turns.

2006-10-29T11:32:00.000+01:00

This sculpture is one of several on display at the Palais Royal gardens. It starts as a flat plane of 4 segments then very slowly, silently and gracefully it expands, twists and turns, catching sunlight on its haphazardly polished surfaces, until it stretches out so far that you feel it must judder to a stop but it doesn't ...

It is mesmerising.

Another Sunday in Autumn.

2006-10-16T11:22:00.000+02:00

A walk in the park? Then it must be Sunday. But this time it is the Tuileries.
We had just been to the Place Vendôme to see a display of old, second-hand English cars - I think they called them "vintage" - and then we headed for some greenery.

After a coffee and a chocolate-smothered crêpe sprinkled with slivered almonds, we queued for half an hour to get into the Orangerie, which has recently reopened after huge renovations, which have reinstated the natural light required for optimum appreciation of you-know-what.

The canvases (eight of them, four in each oval room) are massive. It's like being suspended in an aquarium. This was my favourite and these two Parisian ladies give an idea of the scale as well as being a study in elegance.

And after all this nourishment of the senses, I got home in time for a double dose of Mr. Rochester...

mmm....... nice...

2006-10-14T20:31:00.000+02:00

I don't know whether to go Louis XV with ormolu trims or edgy avant-garde with smooth lines.
This table was in a shop in Boulevard Raspail. I don't know if the wheels are fixed or if they swivel. As I see it, avant-garde and practicality don't fit in the same sentence so this table probably wanders across the room at will but it does look cool, doesn't it?

Perfect symmetry.

2006-10-12T00:55:00.000+02:00

How long did I have to wait to achieve this symmetrical shot? Precisely no time at all.
I believe the figures are on runners and they appear at their windows on the hour to perform a couple of mechanical gestures before retreating into their living space.

Sunday afternoon in the Park.

2006-10-10T14:09:00.000+02:00

A sunny Autumn afternoon in the Jardin du Luxembourg is a treat.

For 2 euros you can send toy yachts speeding across the boating lake for half an hour.

Or you can wander around, watching and admiring, as Parisians soak up the last of the Summer's warmth.
Then you can walk across to Odéon and order a dessert with coffee.

Who's a clever boy, then?

2006-09-19T18:02:00.000+02:00

Enough said.

I love old oak trees.

2006-09-12T01:12:00.000+02:00

I am just emerging from the depression that hits me each time we come back to Paris after a long break in the UK.

The main cause of our discontent is a lack of English (and Welsh!) friends here. I have made several English-speaking friends during our stay but all, without exception, have left Paris to move to the country, to the UK or to another job location. The latest friend to do a runner is going to Kazakhstan for a year. How desperate is that!?

I appreciate that we live in a stunning flat, in a pretty quartier with all possible amenties close by, in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, with food, wine and restaurants to make you all envious but, hey, what is life if you can't have a good laugh with mates?

So, have a look at this parking. Yes, they are parked - not in a queue of traffic waiting for the road ahead to clear. Now, tell me that doesn't make you laugh out loud.

And the oak tree ...... that's just there to cheer me up.

Long distance empathy

2006-08-24T21:34:00.000+02:00

No 1 son is not happy.
He has a long commute to work and is travelling up to 4 hours every day. Yesterday it all got too much and he msn'd me about it. He is a very resilient soul and he'll cope either by biting the bullet and continuing as he is or by getting another job.

I still feel that I should be able to solve all his problems and I've worried about him today but this evening I found out that he's at our home with his brother, playing football in the back garden and I feel relieved. Tomorrow he'll have a short ride to work with the Remote Gardener and the prospect of a long weekend ahead.
That's better!

Just outside the city boundary.

2006-08-23T13:17:00.000+02:00

At Boulogne-Billancourt, a quick 6 minute metro ride away, you are no longer in Paris proper. You are in Japan.
Or rather, in the Japanese garden at Jardins Albert Kahn.
The park comprises an English, a French, an Orchard and a Prairie garden as well as an eerie blue conifer forest, which didn't photograph well as the eau-de-nil needles came out as dull grey.

Like all Paris parks, it is not very big and you can meander around it easily in well under an hour but it is green and a welcome break from the tarmac.

And no-one noticed .....

2006-08-21T12:53:00.000+02:00

This was the end product of 6 hours spent fiddling about. I didn't see the impact but I heard it from our flat and stuck my head out of the window to catch sight of a puff of artificial smoke rising from the crash site.
Local traffic here is down to 10% its normal volume due to the holiday exodus so few cars were passing by and those that did, hardly gave a second glance to this "accident".

Bumps, scrapes and bashes are acceptable collateral damage in Paris, to such an extent that the frequent accidents around the fairground racetrack of the Arc de Triomphe are considered so humdrum and inarbitratable (This word should sooo exist - just like "explorativity". I bet there's even a book about that.) that Insurance companies have decided to split liability 50-50, whoever caused the accident.

p.s. The film is called "Fragile(s)". Ahhh, the wonderful subleties of grammar.

Action !!! Or a rough approximation.

2006-08-17T11:55:00.000+02:00

We've been back to England for a three week respite holiday: from the noise and the bustle of Paris. Yes, we had a lovely time , thank you.
We saw family and REALLY OLD friends and in the final week, once normal cloudy weather conditions returned, we did lots of gardening. The earth was as hard as concrete and we had no rain to speak of during our stay but copious amounts of water from a watering can (we have a hosepipe ban) eventually softened the ground. Plants revived during our stay, unfurled new leaves and reached out delicate tendrils but The Remote Gardener is now in charge again and I fear for their wellbeing.

Back in Paris and straight away, it's all go ! In a very cool sort of way, that is.

They are making a film at the top of our street today, starring one of the blokes from Les Choristes, François Berléand. I hung around for half an hour and as you can see, tension was running high. It involved a car, lots of traffic cones and fiddling about but very little excitement. I might pop out this afternoon to see how things develop.

A bit of a faux pas ......

2006-07-17T10:47:00.000+02:00

We stood in Reception and watched the owner stride purposefully towards us, wearing a baggy check shirt and baggy canvas trousers. I wasn't quite sure whether it was a man or a woman. Her hair was dyed blonde and pulled back in a curly ponytail and on closer inspection I could see that the eyebrows were plucked and her face was lightly made up although her jawline was pronounced and angular.

We all smiled, said hello but I didn't commit myself to a gender title. Her facial mannerisms were feminine and her voice was alto, so after a few moments I just had to commit myself to a "Merci, madame" for the sake of politeness. Phew! Right choice! She smiled shyly.

In the room, S and I talked about her appearance - the signals had been so confusing.

Later on, I went down to ask her if she would book us into a local restaurant. Again, on surer ground this time, I asked, "S'il vous plaît, madame..?" and again she smiled, and replied "That's twice you've called me madame and I'm a monsieur. What time shall I book the table for?"
The screaming in my head lasted for twenty minutes but I apparently said,"Oh, sorry. Half past seven, please."

From here ... to insanity.

2006-07-17T00:31:00.000+02:00

This is where we had breakfast this morning.It was at a beautifully renovated, remote farmhouse in a secluded, wooded valley, where wild boar roamed and buzzards soared. We were three kilometres from the nearest house.

Three hours' travel time and we are back to shunt-and-park, where a vehicle of any size can insert itself into a parking space two feet shorter than the car's actual length by means of shunting back and forth, pushing adjacent cars into neighbouring cars. In another country this would be called "an accident" and would involve insurance companies .

Dry, overgrown and uncared for.

2006-07-12T13:25:00.001+02:00

Is that me?

Nooo! It's my garden back home.
It has been neglected for 12 weeks and so Steve had the task of using his slash and burn technique to subdue the weeds, deadhead son no. 2 for failure to water and remove all brown, withered growth to the dump. He assures me that it looks much better now.
But I miss my lychnis, my lavender, my honeysuckle and clematis. Here on the windowsill -no way can you call it a balcony- I cram some form of greenery and Steve adds a vine because he loves them. When we go home to England the plants either survive according to the vagaries of the weather, come home with us in the car like pets, or die. This time the travelling plants are a bay, a fantastically scented rose called Brocéliande and a third vine.
But first we have to go to Burgundy, taste some/lots of wine, eat at a Michelin restaurant and discover Beaune.

A headbutt ! Good job nobody's watching.

2006-07-10T13:51:00.000+02:00

If it were cooler and I knew what time the event was to take place, I would go to the Champs Elysées to see the French football team return to Paris.
They deserved to win on the night but Zidane's rib-crunching headbutt is all I can visualise of the game. What on earth possessed him to do that? What was said to him to provoke such a violent, uncontrollable response?

It's a sad farewell for a great player.

Think Chirac and some coloured chalks ... but the snails will have to do for Frenchness.

2006-07-08T13:50:00.000+02:00

I wish I had my camera.

Steve has taken it to England so he can give me a visual update on the state of the garden. (The verbal reports have not been good.)
But I really needed it this morning to capture a rare sight. Some of my market stallholders have painted French tricolores on their cheeks and foreheads in support of their football team. Some look a bit sheepish, others can't stop smiling - it's a big improvement.

Auvers the rainbow

2006-07-06T12:47:00.000+02:00

Our Sunday jaunt was to Auvers-sur-Oise, a 45 minute motorway mix-up away.
The atmosphere is as far removed from Paris as a village in the Midi and it was here that Vincent van Gogh spent the last 2 months of his life, dying from self-inflicted bullet wounds after 2 days of agony, in the arms of his kind, loving brother Theo, who died six months later from a broken heart.
They are buried side by side in the village graveyard, overlooking Vincent's beloved cornfields; their simple headstones linked by a single covering of ivy.

Vincent arrived in Auvers on May 20th 1890 after spending a year voluntarily in hospital in Saint Rémy. He stopped off to see Theo in Paris , couldn't stand the noise and dog muck (I made that bit up but who knows..?) and took the train to Auvers to stay in an attic room above Ravoux's café-restaurant. By the next day he had painted his first canvas of cottages in Auvers, which now hangs in the Hermitage Museum.

He continued to paint in a frenzy, finishing at least 26 works, hoping that one day he would have his own exhibition in a café.

Sweaty metro weather.

2006-07-05T14:23:00.000+02:00

It's been swelteringly hot here for the last few days. Steve emerges from the metro in the evening looking drained but still continentally stylish in his pale linen suit and blue shirt. Last night a fellow passenger in a sweat-soaked shirt leaned back towards Steve and the moisture rubbed off onto his hand. YUK!

I, on the other hand, don't have to go near public transport for my daily needs. The market round the corner is packing up as I write but I'll wait till 15.30 when there's a lull at Monoprix and when the butcher has just opened.

Where have I seen that before?

2006-07-02T23:09:00.000+02:00

Another weekend and another wonderful discovery.
Obviously, nobody else knows about this little town just 40 mins north of Paris.
And yet...

The tortured-looking church, which would look so familiar with an inky blue sky, and the cornfield, which just needs a little added movement from a passing flock of crows.

uh-uh

2006-07-02T00:29:00.000+02:00

It's mayhem over here.

I think I'll stay in all day tomorrow.....

Fixtures and fittings.

2006-06-29T18:16:00.000+02:00

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.

THE Shopping Channel

2006-06-26T16:33:00.000+02:00

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!!!!

Lots going on.

2006-06-23T12:15:00.000+02:00

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.

Time is so relative...

2006-06-19T22:32:00.000+02:00

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.

I'll have this one, please.

2006-06-19T00:24:00.000+02:00

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.

Who's a pretty boy then?

2006-06-15T17:25:00.000+02:00

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.

Busy doing nothing.

2006-06-13T13:11:00.000+02:00

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.

.. it's too darned hot..

2006-06-12T12:41:00.000+02:00

No, but really, it is just too hot.

Another day, another demo ...

2006-06-08T16:35:00.000+02:00

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.

Gardening by remote control.

2006-06-02T11:48:00.000+02:00

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 ....

Meet the inhabitants.

2006-05-31T13:46:00.000+02:00

Here are some internal views of the previous houses. They may or may not be in the same order. Photos appear randomly as far as I can make out. No photos were allowed in the third building so I've posted a garden view.

The top photo here is a view of the Long Gallery at the château de Chenonceau as it extends over the River Cher. The alcoves now contain conifer trees as Louis XIV whipped the original statues off to Versailles. It was in this château that Mary Queen of Scots married the Dauphin, who was later crowned François II of France.

The Italianate garden is at Le Clos-Lucé, Amboise. Leonardo da Vinci walked around this garden, inventing mechanical solutions to military and civil engineering problems. He had brought his favourite paintings with him from Italy by mule, including the Mona Lisa and the Holy Grail ... no , I made that last bit up. Don't start me on Dan Brown.

The green and red nightmare décor was familiar to Balzac, who wrote Le Père Goriot at this house in Saché. No wonder he was a coffee addict with that colour scheme.

....so who lived in a house like this?

2006-05-30T09:43:00.000+02:00

Here are three very grand houses we visited last week: one was lived in by a beautiful red-haired queen, one was the last home of a genius and the third was host to a coffee-swilling author (because his mother was having an affair with the owner!). Any ideas ?

Let's go through the keyhole and find out who lived in a house like this.

So nice to come home to ..

2006-05-29T10:53:00.000+02:00

After 4 days away being force-fed cream sauces and desserts, it is a welcoming meal of beans on toast that we enjoy on our return home to Paris. We have been to the Loire Valley, where restaurants serve you 3 extra courses on top of the 2 courses you actually order. This plateload arrived as we'd finished our dessert and yes, there is a crème brûlée and a warm moelleux au chocolat amongst other delights.

Style AND cakes ....

2006-05-20T10:13:00.000+02:00

Food shops in Paris are generally little gems. There are few utilitarian-looking businesses, as appearance is everything. Window displays are works of art, colour co-ordination and imagination. This is a reflection of the French philosophy that, if you don't make an effort to present yourself to your best advantage, then you are just plain stupid. And look what happens as a result..... shops that are so beautiful you have to go in and buy a cake.

You couldn't make this stuff up........

2006-05-14T21:38:00.001+02:00

Off to the Races!

Race day at Longchamp started seamlessly as we walked 300 metres to the free and frequent shuttle bus service to the racecourse. Everyone was given a free-entry voucher as we got off the bus. The grounds were immaculate. All was lush greenery and tasteful flowerbeds.

As it was our first visit to a French race course and my first ever visit to any race course, we spent half an hour reading the programme, studying how to put on a bet, memorising the vocab. Then it was off to the parade ring to study the horses.
Ah yes, this was more like it. Frisky, shiny thoroughbreds and mini men.

My criteria for best bets were the usual.... Best name, best colours (nothing too garish), best mane and best number. It had to be "Strive", no 4, in pink and green. Right, off to the bookies' counter to place the bet ... but they were not open.... How does this work, then? Perhaps in another part of the building..?

Then the shouting broke out. For some reason the horses and riders weren't making it through to the track. What was all the noise and milling about in aid of? Ah yes, of course! The bookies and counter clerks were on strike! They were not working on Sunday as a protest, on my behalf apparently, against deteriorating race course conditions and automatic betting machines, which I discovered I was also not in favour of. On hearing that it was impossible to place a bet, 100 hard-core punters - the rolled-up newspaper brigade- had staged a "mouvement social" and blockaded the passageway from paddock to track to stop any racing at all. How French was this!?

Everyone joined in: jockeys (you will all recognise Thierry Gillet), TV crews, course managers, spectators. How long was this going to go on for? Should we make our way home? The French are amazingly accepting of strikes and demonstrations. They shrug their shoulders and carry on as normal. They know that, as sure as eggs is eggs, they themselves will be on strike within the next 10 months and they hope for the same discreet approval in their turn.
At Longchamp, parents queued up patiently with their children for the Shetland pony rides or sat around eating picnics. It was a real family day out - one of the very few places in Paris that children can run about with grass under their feet.

TWO HOURS later.... the racing began....and what do you think....?

Strive won in a photo finish. 30 euros to me !!

Another morning spent painting ...

2006-05-11T21:24:00.000+02:00

I'm falling in love with Paris..... I think getting up early has something to do with it.

Our Art class was held in the Jardin du Luxembourg, on my direct metro line more or less. The park is just lovely, early on in the day. Right now the greens are fresh and clean. The horse chestnuts are in bloom and the recent rains have rinsed the air and the paths.

Due to huge public demand, I have attached two of my oeuvres for the day and you will all recognise the statue of George Sand and a naked lady putting her hand in the Mouth of Truth and looking very smug about it.

Bank Holiday weekend

2006-05-08T19:02:00.000+02:00

We don't go away for long Bank Holiday weekends as the traffic is horrendous in both directions. Instead we nip out for a day here and there and this time we chose extremely well. We went to Milly-La-Forêt and Courances just 40 minutes south of Paris.

Milly is famous as the home of Jean Cocteau and he is buried in a little chapel (originally a lepers' chapel) just outside the town but this was closed for lunch when we visited...... This is the house he lived in for the last 17 years of his life.

We had lunch in Milly in a restaurant typically French in its treatment of foolish non-smokers. Never accept a table in a no-smoking area. It is invariably in the darkest , dankest recesses of the building next to the toilets.
Prefer to sit by the window and gamble on eating more quickly (a dead cert) than your French neighbours so you can pay up and leave before they light up after their first course. Where do you think non-smokers were placed in our little restaurant?

Tulips and légionnaires

2006-05-04T16:24:00.000+02:00

The Parc de Vincennes outing was a great success. The weather was perfect - bright but high thin cloud and a freshness in the air. In fact, we didn't see the sun all morning. At 10.00 a.m. the park was empty apart from lots of infant school groups.

There were areas of glades, formal borders, grassy banks, shady paths and the tulips. Unfortunately the tulips were in officially segregated boxed ranks but they are one of my favourite flowers so I had a go at painting them. Not successfully, of course, but it whetted my appetite to paint some more.

To get to the park, I walked past the barracks of .... The Foreign Legion! A phalanx of légionnaires (no.... no képis with a handkerchief hanging out the back) jogged towards me and they all looked disappointingly scrawny and unimpressive. It must have been new recruits. I hope they'll cope.

Allez Monoprix!

2006-05-03T16:35:00.000+02:00

After a wet, cool holiday weekend the weather is building up to a heatwave tomorrow, just when I am due to start my open air painting course. We go to the Parc de Vincennes way over to the east of Paris. I have never been there but I hope it's more interesting than the Bois de Boulogne which is just a series of grassy traffic islands separated by a car-racing track. Vincennes appears to have lots of pavillions and we are painting in the Peony Pavillion.
I needed to buy a folding stool and popped into my local Aladdin's cave of a Monoprix just in case.... and blow me, if they didn't have the perfect, lightweight, folding stool for 4 euros! I just love that shop.

Truman Capote

2006-05-01T22:11:00.000+02:00

We went to see the film"Truman Capote" (as it is called in France) this wet May Day weekend.
Philip Seymour Hoffman gave a great performance. His Capote was sensitive and manipulative at the same time and his voice, a kind of nasal high-pitched drone, never faltered.
There was no conflict in the film. All the characters respected each other's viewpoint and integrity. No voice was raised, no fights broke out. The criminals smiled at the journalist and shook hands with the sheriff. The journalist had quiet telephone conversations with his boss. The tone was so subdued that I can't remember clearly if the film was in colour or just shades of sepia. And these are my excuses for dozing off for 10 minutes two thirds of the way through.

To Honfleur

2006-05-01T00:03:00.000+02:00

This weekend is a Bank Holiday weekend in France as well as England. We left early to beat the Parisian exodus traffic and spent the day in Honfleur, a picturesque harbour town in Normandy.

Coquilles St Jacques

Grilled sea bass
Tarte Tatin with a dishful of double cream
A bottle of Chablis

Horrible.

how clean is my palais ...

2006-04-28T17:17:00.000+02:00

I have long net curtains on most windows. Today I discovered that they were not, in fact, grey after all. I washed a pair. They are my air filtration system to combat the pollution and dirt which waft through the gaps in the window frames. In spite of this decorative membrane, a layer of brake dust covers everything before very long. This is the only place I have lived where I need soap and water to wash down the TV...

At the back of the flat we overlook a "garden". Ha! Rustling and scratching noises have been heard at the bedroom window and the cause can now be revealed. The horse chestnut tree, five floors up , has had enough and wants to move in.

english conversation

2006-04-26T16:05:00.000+02:00

I take an English conversation group once a week. We are all members of an umbrella group consisting of relative newcomers to Paris, who take part in various activities e.g. walks, museum trips, cultural visits etc. and I take the English language group.
We meet in a different member's flat each time and usually I print off an english newspaper article which has a French interest, for us to translate and chat about. These articles are all, without exception, negative towards France - its job market, its politicians, its strikes. I had to apologise for this today and think I'll have to change tack.
My french friends, as they all are now, enjoy the texts and although they find some things hard to hear, they say it's good to experience a different perspective now and again.

But massive cultural differences appear sometimes as we read.......

One article was describing the extra marital affair of Nicolas Sarkozy with a journalist. Not only did the article name the journalist - shocking news to my friends - but "the flight of Mme Sarkozy, 48, to New York on March 3rd" was universally misunderstood as "Mme Sarkozy took flight 48 to New York" !! They could not believe a) that a newspaper would be so ungallant as to print a woman's age and b) that she was so old, anyway. Satisfied sighs all round.

technophobe in a china shop

2006-04-25T12:32:00.000+02:00

I've just got back to Paris after spending three weeks in the UK weeding,planting hellebores, painting the shed and .... oh yes, seeing my children. The latter are thriving.
I've returned with renewed determination to "do something" so, since yesterday , I've enrolled in an Art group, had my eyes tested, had a blood sample taken and stowed away the 25 kgs of porridge oats we brought back with us. Yes, Paris is such a romantic city.
I also found out about my friend's new blog and she has inspired me to have a go with one of my own. I have no technical knowledge of computers, software or anything with a plug on the end of it but here goes...