Tuesday, June 26, 2018

And the beat goes on...

This year's Fête de la Musique saw me huddled desperately over the piano, practising hymns for Sunday, Les Dawson style.

Meanwhile, my daughter was doing her thing in Chambéry.

Hmmmm. Maybe she doesn't take after me at all...

Friday, January 05, 2018

My little Star

My youngest daughter is finally doing what she always wanted to do : living it up on the Côte d’Azur (ok, not living it up exactly, but certainly living) and writing and performing songs.

And in return for my support, long-suffering and food parcels, I hope soon to reap the benefits in the form of a small but charming villa in Provence.

Because I, too, like to dream…

Well done, sweetheart xxx

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Ahmed, the Good Samaritan

I seem to have become a bit of a wuss since The Menopause.

I used to be confident about doing all sorts of things: DIY, rewiring plugs, getting rid of computer viruses, going to the loo in unfamiliar cafés without wandering into the broom cupboard by mistake (ok, that’s not true – I’ve always had problems there) and changing the car battery.

Not any longer. I have become a jittery lily-livered wimp of a woman, too scared to do anything in case I inadvertently die.

My car battery did die, on the other hand, about a month ago. It didn’t help that I’d left the warning lights on for three days but it was getting a tad menopausal itself, so I needed a new one.

And suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by the task. I watched videos, studied websites, wrote down a list of appropriate tools and procrastinated admirably until finally, today, I set off to the second-nearest supermarket to buy a new battery.

Oh boy, was it heavy! I had to put it down every ten steps and change arms before they were wrenched from their sockets. It was going to take me forever to get home…

 “Oh Lord,” I said, “Please send someone to help!”

And He did. Immediately.

A car stopped and a total stranger leaned out of the window and asked if I wanted a lift. Now, I no longer get into cars with total strangers (that’s all in my past) but my arms didn’t seem to be working properly anymore so I had little choice.

Not only did this kind man go out of his way to take me home, he also offered to change the battery for me, improvising with the inappropriate (as it turned out) tools I’d just bought. It was a long job.

His name is Ahmed. I told him he was the answer to my prayer; he told me it was Destiny as he doesn’t usually take the route he took today but did so on a whim. We had a brief theological discussion beneath the bonnet and parted ways.

So although you won’t read this, thank you lovely Ahmed.

And yes, girls. The Taxi Service is back in action…

Wednesday, August 03, 2016

Pictures at an Exhibition

The summer holidays are a bit difficult for me as, without the routine of a working week, I am just a Blob on the Sofa.

So I have to make a huge effort to ‘do’ things. I’m too poor to go on exotic holidays – or even unexotic ones – and too lazy at the moment to go walking.

So today, I ambled along to the Musée de l’Ancien Evêché to a most wonderful exhibition featuring the work of the little-known amateur photographer, Joseph Apprin.

Joseph Apprin was born in Saint-Geoires-en-Valdaine, in Isère, in 1859. He worked as a clerk in Grenoble and like many of his middle-class contemporaries, took up a fashionable new-fangled hobby: photography.

But, unlike his fellow photographers, he did not content himself with taking pretty, soft-focus pictures of bucolic scenes (this was the era of Impressionism, of course); rather, he preferred to photograph everyday scenes and ordinary people.

The result is fascinating. Apprin took pictures of men playing boules, women washing clothes (apparently, they only washed bed linen once or twice a year, which makes me, with my dodgy housekeeping skills, feel a lot better) and children swimming in the river. He photographed labourers – a strange and novel subject for the time – and took pictures of his own children playing. He even made a few delightful ‘selfies’, grinning and making faces.

He died aged 49, in 1908, and would probably only have been remembered for his administration skills had his glass-plate negatives not been discovered almost by accident a century later.

So, if you’re broke and too lazy to go walking, why not pop along here and see this exhibition? It’s called Le spectacle des rues et des chemins and it’s free!


Friday, January 01, 2016

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Oh Happy Day!

There are so many things to celebrate today that I’ve copped out and decided to spend this sunny afternoon lolling on the sofa. There’s only so much merry-making I can stomach before I get a panic attack.

First off is La Fête des Pères. We’ve spent the past week at school making Father’s Day cards from cunningly-folded sheets of paper. I was designated to instruct the children on the proper way to do this. The last time I was designated to do crafts with the children, I pyrographed my own arm so I wasn’t hopeful.

Every single child managed to produce a delightful shirt-shape, with a collar and sleeves and everything. I produced a wrinkly sea monster with one leg and an atrophied head. Well, I didn’t put origami on my CV so what do they expect?

Here’s my own lovely dad whom I miss every day. I bet he couldn’t do origami either…

Of course, it's also La Fête de la Musique. I’ve already participated in this: our church gave a Gospel concert on Friday evening in front of the Centre Loisirs et Culture during a mini-hurricane. I was OK with that as I could blame my eerie howling on the wind.

Anyway, I’ve consulted the programme for Grenoble today and nothing takes my fancy so I’m posting a few musical family clips instead.

Here’s Abi rehearsing with her new group:

Here’s Hannah singing at the Celebration of Life for her uncle Ian:

And here’s my dear brother himself, playing one of his own compositions. We all miss you very much, you know…

Finally, it’s Le Solstice d'été - Midsummer’s Day. How does one celebrate that? Well, if pagans are to be believed, I should bathe skyclad beneath the sun, pick a few herbs, drink mead and bathe skyclad (again) beneath the honey moon. If I tried doing that on my balcony, they’d set fire to my car (although I could dance pagan-like around it, I suppose).

Nah. I’ll just enjoy the longest day of the year from my sofa, nightie-clad and drinking tea.

Have a Happy Happy Day!

Friday, March 20, 2015


Well, the sun was certainly eclipsed today here in Grenoble.

Even if I had managed to drag myself away from my fascinating lesson on the Present Perfect Continuous and nipped outside, I would have seen nothing but mist (oh, ok, smog) obscuring the light.

Far more interesting were the reactions at the Primary school where I also work. The headmistress was inundated with calls from worried parents who wanted reassurance that their children would be kept inside the classrooms with the blinds down during the fateful event. One mother phoned to say her child was so traumatized, she wouldn’t be coming to school at all.

What on earth would they have made of the total eclipse of 1999?

I’ll never forget that warm August day when we all went up to Beachy Head on the South Downs, clutching our silly glasses and a picnic hamper. Half the population of Eastbourne had had the same idea, it seemed.

We found a spot to sit on the grass, donned our glasses and gazed at the sky, waiting.

I remember how the air suddenly chilled as the sun turned black and twilight fell; the eerie silence as the birds stopped singing. The awe...

And that, I think you'll agree, was an eclipse to put today's feeble effort firmly in the shade...