Day 7 Covid19 Lunch

I'm going to lose track of the days, I just know it. Unless I do something organised like count them off on a calendar. Or I could even scratch bars in groups of 5 on the wall... May not go down well with the rental agency when they bring round prospective buyers after-this-is-all-over though, whenever that may be. If ever.

Anyway, I told the boys it would be a good idea to share the cooking. My youngest immediately offered to do a barbecue. My eldest muttered something like 'yeh if I must' in one of those 'at your own risk and peril' voices.

We have a barbecue but needed everything else, so my youngest who can now drive armed himself with the Gestapo-approved food-buying attestation, hopped gleefully into my car and drove to Intermarché. He came back with everything he needed plus one or two essentials such as iced tea.

I remember last year he and his friends wanted to do a barbecue by the river, so I took them to Intermarché, stocked him up with sausages etc. and drove them as far as I could. They had a great time and became great barbecue experts.

So it was with total confidence that I abandoned lunch into the competent hands of my son.

Barbecue champ at work

Actually, when I say 'abandoned lunch', if we were to eat anything other than sausages, it was up to me to rustle it up, so I kept it simple and did pasta and salad. Then we actually sat round the garden table and ate. You might think this is no big deal but my boys wage an anti-table campaign, extremely successfully, and meals are usually taken together but on the sofa. I wage other battles...

A rare experience

We had a nice lunch, talked and chatted and I said how lovely it was to eat and chat around the table, and was told that, yes it was nice, but I shouldn't expect it to happen too often because it would cease to be a pleasant, extraordinary event, and would become boring and annoying. So that put me in my place.

I am, however, grateful for small mercies and will treasure this rather extraordinary UK date Mothers' Day (it isn't until June in France) thanks to the little bugger of a coronavirus. Every cloud, as they say...

Is Gower any Good?

The Gower peninsula is the bit that sticks out between Swansea and Llanelli. My mum was born in Mumbles a few miles from Swansea, a picturesque village of Victorian quaintness, steep narrow streets, pier, lifeboat house, lighthouse, lots of pubs and a village castle.

She goes back every year, and I try to go back every year with the boys, or boy as it was this year as my eldest has decided that although he loves going to Wales, it's the height of uncool to go with his family. No one goes on holiday with their parents, I was told. To be separated from one's friends is to descend into a communication/social hell-hole, exacerbated to the heights of frustration and bad temper by a lack of text message capability (because someone didn't sign up to the international option before he left France despite being forewarned...). When I suggested Facebook messaging via wifi, I was met with withering scorn because no one under 'old age' uses Facebook now, but, in the end, it was the only functional solution. The old ways are the best...

So my eldest dashed over to London, and dashed back as soon as he decently could. Sooner, in fact... while the rest of us enjoyed going out, seeing friends and family and having fun.

For our second week's holiday, I drove us all (mother, youngest, me) up to Wales, stopping at the first service station on the M4 having set off early to avoid any M25 trouble to eat our traditional bacon sarnies fried up that morning to be nice and fresh, with a cup of tea from Café Nero. We cheered as we crossed the Severn Bridge and made the obligatory stop at Swansea's Tesco's car park to stock up on essentials from the market such as fresh cockles, local vegetables, and a large wild sewin.

Gower weather is nothing if not unpredictable, so we had clothes for everything except Arctic snow which was a good thing because it was indiscriminately sunny, chilly, wet and windy. Unperturbed, our activities of note this year were:

Perriswood Archery and Falconry Centre
This is a fantastic place, originally just a farm, but was diversified after the Foot and Mouth outbreak nearly ruined the family. It is set above Oxwich Bay so while you sit outside in the sun enjoying a nice cup of tea and slice of home made coffee cake, you can admire the stunning view right down to the sparkling sea.

Outdoor archery for kids? Oxwich Bay in the background

My youngest was delighted to be able to shoot different airsoft guns in an indoor shooting range. He fired with a pistol, sniper rifle, auto rifle and even a Tommy gun! He then went outside and tried his hand at the air rifle range.

Firing the Tommy gun

Meanwhile, my mother and I admired the falcons and owls which were doing a turn for another visitor who was so hooked on landing the birds that she took two sessions.

Falcons resting in the shade, the owls were next door

1940s Swansea Bay museum
Of particular interest to my mother who lived through the War in Swansea. You walk through the museum's 1940s street through a sitting room where you can try on bits of uniform including natty hats. My mother and I noted familiar household items - she because she'd grown up with them, me because I remember seeing them in granny's house. As well as shops, there was a communications room, a dad's army room, warden's room, and a bit of trench complete with rat.

Communications room

The young woman holding the fort (as it were) was very merry, and happy to chat about the museum and exhibits, especially as we were the only ones there towards the end of our visit. We found it fascinating. My youngest most enjoyed seeing the unexploded missile plunged into the ground outside... Our ticket was valid for a month so we could have gone back for free!

Visit of Carmarthen town
My mother had never shown any interest in visiting Carmarthen. She had always believed it to be a bit down at heel and of no particular interest. We decided to go this year because my brother and his family (two ado girls same age as my two) were staying in Llanelli and suggested it as a thing to do on a rainy day.

It turned out to be a fab visit. Although the ruins of the castle are pretty uninspiring (not much there), the rest of the town has been spruced up, and there's a good market where we found the purveyor of Carmarthen ham. Carmarthen ham, so legend has it, is a precursor to Parma ham. The Rees family has been making this cured ham for generations, and they tell the story of how, when the Romans came to settle in Carmarthen, they took the recipe back with them to Italy, to Parma...

My mother and I had read the leaflets on Carmarthen which extolled the virtues of this ham, so naturally we hunted high and low until we found their shop, where we had a very jolly chat with the Rees guys and bought some. I ate it when I got back to France, and can confirm it is very tasty.

We had a surprisingly good lunch in Debenham's, the only place which could cater for the varied tastes and demands of our party of 7. Their delicious roast pork came with crackling, and I got extra for my youngest to enjoy with his pork bap. The staff were very accommodating and cheerful too, so it was a pleasure to eat there. I had the veggie tart of red onion and melted Camembert in a gluten-free pastry, which was very tasty. Afterwards, my brother told me he'd looked for the most "disgusting sounding" thing on the menu and knew that I would choose it. He was right... he saw the tart, and of course, that is what I chose. Clever him!

Coastal walk Caswell Bay to Mumbles
Another of my brother's suggestions, but which did not go down too well with the three adolescents in the party... In fact, it's a walk that my mother has done many times, starting from childhood when she accompanied her father, but had never dared suggest to us because it is about 4 miles in length and didn't think it would be approved by the young'uns. My bro is made of sterner stuff and bribed them with the thought of an ice-cream in Verdi's at the end. This perked them up and a pact was made.

It didn't include a ban on moaning however, which was a shame... We parked in Mumbles and took the bus to Caswell Bay, got off, and after all that effort had to buy a pancake each for the teens to prepare them for the rigours ahead. After admiring the beach with its golden sand surrounded by craggy rocks, we set off along the coastal walk.

At the start of the walk, Caswell Bay behind me

Coastal walk

The walk is lovely, with fab views of the rugged coast, sandy beaches and crashing waves. About half a mile in, a squall rushed over from Devon and hit us with a cold shower. Cue much moaning. I had fortuitously taken my cagoule, as an old hand of Gower weather, but the kids had next to no protection and thus got wet. We forced them on despite howls to go back (where to?), and after a bit, out came the sun and dried up all the rain.

Dramatic coastline

We ate our picnic lunch at Little Langland outside the café with drinks for all. My youngest distinguished himself by opening a water bottle of lemonade which burst forth after being shaken about in his backpack, and landed unceremoniously in my niece's glass of hot chocolate. She was not impressed but it was quite a feat. If he'd wanted to do that, he would never have been able to pull it off!

Overlooking Little Langland, with Langland in the background

Our walk was taken at a leisurely pace and it wasn't until mid-afternoon before we got back to Mumbles, and bought ice-creams at Verdi's a short walk from the pier. Later in the week we at the Mumbles Pier Café in the photo below, and it's the place to go for excellent battered fish. The chips are nothing to write home about, but the fish is gorgeous with lovely light crunchy batter.

Mumbles pier and Mumbles Pier Café

And as we were staying in Scurlage, near Rhossili, no blog post about our holiday would be complete without pics of Rhossili Bay and the Worm's Head!

Rhossili

Worm's Head

A Great Place for Boys - Pont d'Issensac

Summer is well and truly here. The temperature during the day hits 35°C and we're keeping the shutters 'entre ouverte' which describes how they are almost shut but not quite so letting in some all-important light - enough not to have to turn the lights on which would just add to the heat and be extremely depressing!

I went and sweated several litres at zumba on Saturday morning; it is really unpleasant exercising in such heat. In fact, I swear I'm less fit in the summer than at other times of the year because it's just too hot to move.

Of course, if I took advantage of swimming in the river when I take my youngest and his friends there, it might help... We went twice this weekend to the Pont St Etienne d'Issensac. The boys love this spot and they are not alone.

Pont St Etienne d'Issensac

None of the lads who were jumping off the river bank cliffs or indeed the bridge itself were much concerned by its fourteenth century history or by the fact that it enabled a link between the Cevennes at St-André-de-Buèges and the low country at Valflaunès. Nor that it has been much restored so there is little of the original medieval stone left, but it was always sympathetically done, to the point that it was declared a historic monument in 1948.

No, what interests them is the fact that they can jump into the water from cliffs of varying heights and be sure that the river Hérault is deep enough to break their fall rather than their neck.

On Saturday I took four boys aged 14/15. We arrived around 4pm, and found a shady spot for the car nearby. I had to cross the very narrow bridge (2m wide) in order to do this as there was no space on the Montpellier side, and saw signs to an 'obligatory' car park on the other side although I didn't park there in the end, but on a side road.

The boys went off to do their thing while I sat down to read my Kindle, dabble my feet in the cool river, and watch the entertainment. A 'mindful appreciation' of my surroundings had me listening to the buzz of happy conversation, the splashes from bodies landing in the river from the banks and the bridge (which is forbidden), and the realisation that young men made up 80% of the people there - students mostly. They were accompanied by a few lovely lasses in teeny bikinis and well-advanced tans who were there to cheer on their hero(s) and look suitably impressed. None of them were jumping into the river, maybe so as not to mess up their hair... There was a really good atmosphere too - what the French call 'bon enfant' or everyone having a nice time without being a nuisance.

Jumping off the bridge

On Sunday, I took my youngest back with two friends, and found that the demographic of the merrymakers was completely different. We arrived at roughly the same time, parked in the official car park which in is a huge, shady space on the river bank, and made our way back to the bridge. I found a space to sit near where I'd been the previous day with a good view of the goings-on. The students were absent, replaced by families, gypsies and young maghrebin men. They were all having a good time too, but someone had brought a ghetto-blaster which pumped out Arabic music, over which the lads had to yell to make themselves heard on the other side of the river and by their mates on the bridge... There was a much higher nuisance factor that day.

Lads on the highest point of the cliff

There were girls jumping in the river on Sunday too, including one with long hair that she swept from side to side as she tried to pluck up courage to jump from the highest cliff. She monopolised that spot for about twenty minutes as a crowd of lads built up behind her. My three ended up by jumping half a metre or so away from her and then from another spot until she finally made it in. I gave her a round of applause and noticed that she didn't try it again... to the relief of everyone else no doubt.

They're queuing up to jump

If you want to go there, I recommend going on a Saturday... park in the official car park (unless you have a camper van or caravan - there is a very tight u-bend) and take everything you need - there are no snack vans, toilets or other facilities.

A Dedicated Mothers' Day

It was Mothers' Day in France last Sunday, a fête which was officially added to the calendar by maréchal Pétain in 1941. It became a national tradition in 1918 in tribute to all the women who had lost a son and/or husband in the trenches. Ten years later, in 1929, it was used to encourage women to have babies as part of la politique familiale to repopulate the country.

I enjoyed it, for once. My eldest is now old enough to take charge. Mothers' Day is tough for single mums because there's no dad to chivvy the kids into drawing a picture, buying a flower or two or supervising the making of tea.

As I'd just asked for a little word on a piece of paper, I was agreeably surprised when I was presented with a red rose and card at lunch time (nems from the best nems-man in Montpellier plus a glass of rosé, Carrouf Magnum for puds. Simple, delicious). Gobsmacked, you might say in fact. Made my day. We had a delightful lunch outside, sitting at the table with table cloth and no tiger mozzies.

Feeling on top of the world, then, I decided I'd go into town and see what was happening at the book fair - the 30e Comédie du Livre.

It wasn't exactly on the Place de la Comédie but on the Esplanade, thankfully under a series of marquees so we, including the books, didn't all roast and curl under the sun
.

The rest of the Place da la Comédie was empty

There was a whole range of books on show, and authors. If you like books, it was the place to be. There were sections on travel books, poetry, religious books, novels, culture, and a foreign section where Le Bookshop had a books-in-English stand.

If you were looking for children's books, there was even a whole marquee for them many of which looked super. I lamented again how I have boys who dislike reading. They don't even read comic books, or BD (bande déssinée) which are wildly popular in France, and were on show en masse at the fair.

On one of the stands, I saw a BD about Montpellier, called Balade à Montpellier by 'Gaston'. It's a humorous tour of the city that manages to distil the essence of Montpellier by pointing out its clichés (gay capital of France, red car on Rock Store wall, etc.), and guides us rapidly through its history. I had a look through and loved it.

It's obviously been written by someone who loves the city and knows it well. The author, 'Gaston' or Alain Rémy is an accomplished cartoonist who's worked with Disney and Spielberg, and is a script writer for Ubisoft (on 'Rabbids Go Home').

I noticed that he was dedicating the books purchased on site with a little cartoon! I had to have one too! I'm a sucker for a dedication.

Gaston dedicating his book for me

It was my turn, so I sat down and he started asking me about myself (how cool is that?) in order to find inspiration. I told him about coming to France to be with my future ex-h, and after we divorced I wanted to be with someone who spoke excellent English. There was a bit more chit chat, and he started drawing in the book I'd bought. This is what he came up with:

My dedication from Gaston. That's me on the right in my stripy tee-shirt. :)

"V.O." is a French expression for films and tele programmes that are shown not dubbed, in their original version ('version original'). Isn't it great? He has a talent for grasping the essential spirit of something/someone and whipping up a cartoon about it/them. He does it on the tele too.

Not only did I get the book dedicated, but the sponsoring bookshop (Librarie des 5 continents) was offering a dedicated card too, so this is mine:

*Chuffed*

I positively floated home.

The Longest Birthday Party

Birthday parties have got longer. It was my youngest's 14th birthday last week and he decided to invite three friends to his 'party' involving cinema, KFC and a sleepover.

Despite the fact it was Easter weekend, his friends were free to arrive just after lunch on Saturday. They spent the afternoon mucking about, coming in only for the birthday tea. Regular readers of this blog may remember my birthday cakes are never a success. For some reason, something either goes wrong, or they are not liked by picky French taste buds.

This year was no exception. My son wanted a banana and chocolate tart with homemade pastry. Easy peasy. I got out the food processor, made up the pastry, let it rest, rolled it out and baked it blind. So far so good. Disaster struck when I was trying to remove the split peas that I'd used to weigh down the pastry. Some of the little buggers had slipped between the dish and pastry when I was taking them out, so I thought I could remove them by tipping up the dish...

Naturally, the pastry fell out of the dish and onto the work surface, where it continued its bid for freedom by making rapidly for the floor. In bits. I yelled, dear reader. I shrieked, and many an expletive passed my lips. I even threw my oven glove across the kitchen (all of one metre). Then I picked up all the bits and wondered what to do.

Luckily the cleaner had been the day before so the 15 or so second rule was not a problem. I didn't want to throw away a tart's worth of pastry, and after some reflection, decided to arrange all the bits back in the dish, like a big jigsaw. At worst, it would end up as a choccie/banana crunch. I put the pastry dish back in the oven to finish off, and later made the chocolate filling (Nestlé dessert black chocolate + brick of organic cream). I sliced a couple of bananas, put them over the cooled base, poured over the filling and put it in the fridge. And hey presto:

Rescued birthday chocolate/banana tart

You'd never guess that it had been on the floor a few hours earlier and the cause of a total hissy fit, would you? It was delicious too. De.Li.Cious!

We sang Happy Birthday, and it all went, to sounds of approval (a miracle!). Then I dropped them off to see Fast and Furious 7 (I was not included in the invitation...) and picked them up later to enjoy their takeaway KFC. I was delighted to find out that cinema tickets are only €4 for under 14s, so that kept the price down, as did buying popcorn from Carrouf instead of paying an outrageous amount inside the cinema.

The next day I found out they were all staying for lunch and beyond (no one was having a big Easter family lunch obviously), and my youngest suggested a picnic at the Lac Cécélés near St Mathieu de Treviers. I made up jambon beurre sarnies for all except one who had cheese, baked some cookies, and we all set off to the lake. My DB joined me after lunch and we went for a walk up the lake and over to the dinky village of St Croix de Quintillargues.

Lac de Cécélés

The boys had a lovely time mucking about with a free-floating pontoon 'boat' but managed not to get wet. They couldn't get far because the wind kept blowing them back to shore, but they used up a nice lot of energy trying.

Four boys on a 'boat'

We left when they'd had enough, went home for more food, and the last one left at 5.30pm. My youngest was shattered but happy. At last I could give the boys their Lindt choccie bunnies, and cook Easter dinner which was a rolled leg of lamb that I'd brought back from England after Christmas. It was excellent, and much appreciated after such a busy day!

My son spent Easter Monday very quietly.

A Special Un-Welcome Back

I'm just back from two lovely weeks in the UK: one week chez mum, and one week in Rhossili with my big bro and his family in a fantastic house for nine, including four teenagers...

Yesterday, it was back to France on the train. My suitcase had finally given up the ghost on the journey over, and been taken to the dump, so I was going back with a massive one my mum didn't need any more that used to be used by my dad on his visits over when it had been filled with goodies. It was heavy... and unreliable. Sitting in a train on the Circle line, my eldest, who'd been given the task of hauling it around, realised the trolley handle was stuck and wouldn't retract. Ah.. We decided to worry about how to get it into Eurostar's luggage space later.

I popped into M&S in St Pancras to pick up a couple of their tasty salads for the journey, and found myself also paying for four bottles of ale that my son added to the basket. He discovered ales such as Gower Gold, and 1555 this summer and took to them like a bee to honey.

Almost first on the train, my suitcase found a home in the roomy empty luggage space but had to be jiggled about later to make room for others as the train was heaving. Crossing Paris was as ghastly as usual. I'm so glad I don't live there and have to travel on the RER every day! We had enough time before our train to Montpellier to venture outside Gare de Lyon to buy the boys some kebabs and chips at their favourite Turkish place next to a sex shop...

The TGV was half an hour or so late much to my eldest's disgust as he was planning to go out and see his buddies when we arrived home - I don't know where he finds the energy! Eventually we were let on, and I managed to get the recalcitrant suitcase snugly stowed on the luggage rack as I was one of the first in that carriage too. Thank heaven!

Back home, my cat welcomed me with neurosis and revenge poo on the bed. Not the first time either, the little sod even though next door pop in and keep his dishes full and give him attention. Shame catteries are so expensive because he'd be in there like a flash!

Next up was the fridge. My eldest had joined us (just) in London, travelling by himself from Montpellier to London. He nearly missed the train however, as he partied the night before he left and didn't hear the alarm, or me calling his phone. As a result, he didn't do all the things on the list I left, such as to put all uneaten chicken breasts in the freezer, and ten days later, they were not a pretty sight, or smell. You can imagine how happy I was throwing out six raw chicken breasts!

He also left the dishwasher full and unwashed despite me telling him not to use it. It was a repulsive sight in there, I can tell you, and the smell was foul. One wash was not enough either, and one of my wooden spoons has been consigned to the bin covered as it is in mould even after everything the dishwasher could throw at it.

Finally, this morning, my car wouldn't start so I had to call out the Assistance, then watch as the car was taken away to deal with the battery, and wait for a taxi to take me to the car rental office. A morning's worth. As I was in the taxi heading for the centre of town, I saw the truck with my car on the back that I'd seen off an hour before going in the opposite direction to where Toyota is located in Montpellier. Bizarre. I presume it's all okay... and will get to where it's going eventually!

The rental car is a snazzy DS3 which is black with a white roof, runs on turbo-charged diesel and goes like a bat out of hell. All paid for by the Assistance. Could be worse...

University Registration à la Française

The French administration system is world renowned, its reputation having spread far and wide thanks to foreigners moaning to those at home about their dealings with it.

I've had my fair share of run-ins with it, but not as many as those who dare to start a business. I toyed with the idea back in 1990, and ran away, aghast at the true horror and expense, of starting something I just wanted to do to make a bit of pocket money. This was pre-AutoEntrepreneur days and you needed a capital of 50,000FF which I didn't have and didn't need to try and flog a few Provençal print shopping bags that I made from waxed cotton material bought locally. The paperwork had to be seen to be believed, and the hovering rapacious jaws of URSSAF (Unions de recouvrement des cotisations de sécurité sociale et d'allocations familiales) terrified the living daylights out of me. Richard Branson I am not.

Yesterday, my eldest and I were embroiled in the continuing saga of his university application. I had been nagging him to get onto the Admission Post-Bac website to see what had to be done and note the deadline. He saw that university inscription started on July 7, but didn't really take note of when it finished. Over the weekend, he had a funny feeling, logged back in on Sunday evening and saw that the deadline was Wednesday July 23.

He didn't tell me until he saw me again yesterday lunch time (Monday... tick, tick, tick). We got down to it when I got in from work. Naturally, there was a long list of papers to provide, including some which needed Googling to understand what they were. When I was typing the search, the automatic feature brought up the one I needed instantly, showing that we were not the only ones flummoxed by certain requirements! We were particularly intrigued by what could possibly be

• Fiche d’inscription pédagogique dûment complétée (Déclaration d’examen 2014/2015)
• Récapitulatif demande inscription Primo web 
• Notification APB (original + photocopie) 

Here's the full list for the Law Faculty:

Pour tous les étudiants (all students):

• Titre de paiement (chèque, carte bleue, mandat cash) (Cost for the year €189.10!)
•  Carte Identité (original+copie) (or passport)
•  Attestation d’affiliation sécurité datée de moins de trois mois (Secu membership)
•  Immatriculation sécurité sociale N° personnel ou carte vitale (original+copie) (carte vitale)
•  Photo d’identité 
•  Attestation responsabilité civile datée de moins de trois mois (personal liability insurance)
•  Fiche d’inscription pédagogique dûment complétée (Déclaration d’examen 2014/2015) ?? (discovered to be another certificate)

 Pour les néo bacheliers (freshers) :

• Relevé des notes du baccalauréat avec le n° INE (original + photocopie) (Bac marks)
• Récapitulatif demande inscription Primo web ??
• Notification APB (original + photocopie) ??
• Attestation Journée Défense Citoyenneté (à défaut attestation recensement) (National Service Day certificate)

Pour les étudiants mineurs : autorisation d’inscription du ou des titulaires de l’autorité parentale (as a minor, he needs my permission to register at university)
Pour les étudiants qui auront moins de 20 ans le 30 septembre 2015 : 
Attestation datée de moins de deux mois de la couverture sociale des parents (my Secu membership as he's under 20) 

Not a bad list really. If he'd been a high level sportsman, a 'pupille de la nation' (whatever that is - orphan?) handicapped, grant receiver, employed, foreign or transferring from one university to another, there would have been even more paperwork to provide.

Luckily my printer had ink for all the copying and printing, and it took us about an hour and a half to get it all done, including filling in some crazy form on the internet to register (again) online. My eldest found out he could take an appointment to register in person (how many registrations do they need?) and he's going tomorrow lunch time. I'm not sure if I should go along and hang about outside (with my Kindle) in case of emergencies. We're bound to have got something wrong! Hopefully not though because:
ATTENTION : TOUT DOSSIER INCOMPLET SERA REFUSÉ 

School's Out

School's out. Well, not really, but the marks are all in, the books given back, and the fête du collège no more than a memory (if you attended it, which my youngest did not, saying it was going to be way too boring...). The actual end of school is July 4, but think of it as an administrative date because my youngest and all his friends have been off school for days. It serves no purpose actually going to school because the teachers are all occupied with the Brevet for kids in 3e, so kids in lower years are just babysat and do nothing useful: no revision, no catch-up, no preparation for next year - nothing except drawing and watching the odd film (again).

Doubtful that my son has acquired all there is to learn during the year (from his marks), I bought an exercise book of the whole syllabus and he is instructed to do a page of maths and SVT (sort of biology) per day. His SVT teacher was a disaster this year; the whole class have had consistently bad marks, and my son has hated the lessons. I mark it at the end of the day and go through it with him, and although it's not really the best way to chill after a hard day's graft at the coal face (no comparison with an icy glass of rosé and a packet of S&V crisps, for example), it is serving a useful purpose that even my youngest can't deny. He is revising, catching up and learning that which he had zapped during the year - especially important in maths!

My eldest has finished his Bac. I'm hoping and praying he's done better than scrape through by the skin of his teeth, although it's what he deserves considering the amount of work he's done. He's been accepted at the Law Fac in Montpellier so he just needs to pass. Skin of Teeth or Mention Très Bien, it makes no difference. How's that for a motivating force? Personally I think it's a disastrous system and I know I'm not the only one. Many in and out of l'Education National (but mostly out) believe the system needs a huge overhaul. When 90% of kids who take the Bac pass it and then mostly fail in their first year at the Fac after wasted a pointless year in a place where they have no business being, it's time to do something sensible and reform the system. Not much sensible in l'Education National though so I expect the status quo to be with us for many a year yet.

My son's plan next year is to share a flat with some mates (a coloc) and have a riotous time. He also intends to do some work. School, he said, was boring and pointless (except Philosophy) and he was fed up with it. Life will start at the Fac and he says he's going to take it seriously. I'm hoping he doesn't forget after a week or two...

In the meantime, with both boys slobbing about at home, the place resembles Beirut all the time. The kitchen is a one-way zone: walk in, make mess, walk out. There is no return journey to clean up, or indeed to remove the plates, bowls and glasses that accumulate from the one-way system. I can't even walk in and rant because the chances are, they won't be there. They'll be out and about and I'm supposed to be grateful they haven't taken root in front of the XBox or some stupid reality show like Angels. By the time they come sauntering home (not always the case with my eldest...), I've cleaned up in order to make dinner and lost the will to vent.

In other news, I was behind an old woman with a thick peasant accent in La Poste the other week who had a perfect moustache. It was salt and pepper coloured, and she kept it nicely trimmed over her top lip. There was even a tuft under her bottom lip. I wonder if she sings...

Grand Days Out

My mum lives on the Essex/London border which means that as I can no longer afford the exorbitant rentals in Mumbles (Wales), we stay home and visit what's on offer locally. What I love about the UK is the number of things to do and see, and you just have to check out your county's web page, or Trip Advisor, to discover brilliant days out.

From Essex we have easy access to London, and one of the things we did on our trip was to visit the Bank of England Museum. First of all it's free, and I mean really free - there's no one trying to get you to cough up a 'contribution' as you walk through the door. You have a thorough security search however (no, not THAT thorough), after which you can make your way inside to learn all about inflation, the history of currency, and try and lift a gold bar. This is very handy if you ever thought of robbing a bank to steal its gold. Let me tell you, gold bars are VERY heavy, so you'll need strong bags, trolleys and vans. Remember the ending of 'The Italian Job'...

There are lots of hands-on activities for flippant teenagers who don't have the attention span sufficient to read the information panels, and despite breezing through without seemingly touching the ground, the ones I went with had a great time. Their favourite moments were competing to put together magnetic jigsaws of oversized bank notes, and doing the computer quiz without having discovered the answers en route. Meanwhile, I went around and read lots of stuff and found it very interesting.

Another day we went to the Royal Gunpowder Mills at Waltham Abbey on 'Secret Island'. This was a brilliant day out. We (my mum and us) met up with my brother and his family (kids same age), and they had a lot of fun. We started off learning how to make gunpowder, and I read the panels on the history of gunpowder manufacture, then it was on to the armoury where we could handle a number of guns, and try on military outfits including a bearskin. My boys were in heaven.

Our tickets gave us tokens for an airsoft range and kiddy archery target practice, plus the opportunity for the kids to make their own rocket and fire it on the firing range using compressed air. They had a wonderful time firing their rockets and chasing after them. There was also a water/compressed air rocket to fire up, and fun science sessions with Professor Nitrate who showed us experiments with fire and rockets. Brilliant. We also went on a ride on a military truck into the more secret parts of the 'island' and saw some deer, and visited the exhibition on life in the 40s with mock shop/Post Office, Anderson shelter, and home life. I recognised a number of the items both in the shop and in the homes!

We had lunch in the caff which took a long time coming but the bacon sarnies were tasty and not expensive. My eldest said the burger was tasteless however. I bought lunch for the 4 of us for less than £20.

Our other day out was to use up our tickets for the Historic Dockyard at Chatham. Last year I bought a year's ticket for us all as we didn't have time to visit the whole place, so we went back last week to see everything else. We took sarnies which I had to carry although they have a caff there, but I didn't see what the prices were beforehand so preferred to take our own lunch and have a picnic.

We got round all that we hadn't seen - the lifeboats, the ropery, the exhibitions, the smithery and the military vehicles. There was filming on HMS Gannet, the sailing ship, about the painter Turner, with lots of faffing about from the look of things. We didn't actually see any cameras so maybe they were just preparing the ground. Anyway, it meant the ship was out of action for visits but that didn't matter as we'd visited it last year.

My youngest made some rope in the ropery, and was interested in the exhibition on model ships some of which were made by Napoleonic prisoners using bones from their meals and sold to earn money. There was also a brilliant exhibition on Arctic explorers where you could try on the kit and sit inside a tent. The staff were all helpful and interesting, especially the guys in the ropery and model ship exhibition. It is so worth the money because there's enough for a whole day out and more. There's a nifty shop too.

My mother had left a pamphlet from Sussex in my bedroom giving information about days out there, and similarly, there were loads of things to see and do.

Well done all the places we went to for appealing to the difficult teen age group. We had a marvellous time.

We will eat more veg, dammit!

The other evening, freshly back from a merry holiday in the UK, my DB and I watched a documentary on trendy Arte about the production of meat and the effect of said production on both the animals concerned and the planet.

I know that eating too much meat is not good either for our health or the planet, and I have tried to cut down our intake before, an effort which was met with some dismay by my carnivorous sons. But after watching the documentary, I thought I'd have another go, and make an effort to buy more humanely-produced meat when I do buy it (where from however is another matter!).

Then I thought about the practicalities and what my boys will eat, refuse to touch with a bargepole, and are merely highly unenthusiastic about eating. The first list is quite short, the second pretty long, and the third limited to a short list of carrots, spinach, squash, and leek.

On the first list are: tomatoes, cucumber, lettuce, onion, potato, broccoli, peas, beans, corn, asparagus, parsnip (my youngest), beetroot (I think, but I don't like it), bean-sprouts.

On the second list are:  mushrooms, courgettes, aubergines, peppers of all colours, celery, cabbage, swede, turnip, avocado, cauliflower, celeriac, fennel, parsnip (my eldest), sweet potato, chicory, okra.

They won't eat cheese either. You can see my problem. Recipes on local cuisine are full of aubergine, peppers and courgettes. I like Mediterranean food but I eat it alone which is not really the point. Luckily they will eat pulses of all sorts so all is not lost, but it would be a boring diet if we stuck to a boy-friendly list of veg.

I also eat French-produced veg in season as much as possible which adds to the fun of limiting the selection. Bugger it, just pass me a chop...

Books 'n' Sods

I got a letter today that set off nearly 45 mins of frustrating phone calls. Yes, okay, I know I got off lightly because sometimes it can take a whole day on the phone to sort something out and believe me, I've been there, but by the end of 45 mins I was ready to bash my head on the desk.

It was a letter from the Région written on July 3, received today, the 9th, telling me that my son had not given back his books from this academic year. It didn't tell me which books, just that some books had not been delivered back from whence they came unto the Résponsable de la Région who holds the keys to All Books.

So I called my son who is at this moment having the time of his life with some buddies in Corsica, and working in some respect to pay his way for the father of one of them. He gave me his version of the Book Saga:

Back in the mists of Time that were Seconde, he lost two books. (I don't know which ones because I never received a letter about this. I didn't know what to do, so did nothing, and nothing was forthcoming.) As a result, my son did not get his books for Premier because the policy of the Région is that if you lose books that are given to you freely and generously by the Région and do not in some way pay the penance (and I have yet to find out what it is) you do not get any books the following year.

At which point I wondered how he had managed without books. All year. And the answer was not encouraging - because no exercises from the books had ever been set as homework, and because he sat next to someone who had a book in class. Thus he managed perfectly well all year.

Which brings me back to The Problem. According to the Région's computer, my son was given his books last September. It was marked so in the computer. The computer obviously does not know about The Penance, and that my son could not possibly have received his books because he lost two the previous year.

But, according to the Région's computer which is perhaps never wrong but in this case is mistaken, my son got his books and the Région wants them back. This is why I was on the phone for 45 mins trying to sort out this illogical issue. How can you give back something you never received in the first place? The Région told me it's not up to them to prove he got the books, but up to my son to prove he didn't have his books all year - a teacher, a Person of Rank, not his mother, someone from an empty lycée - so I rang the lycée and eventually got two temporary lads who are working for the Région over the summer but who knew nothing about anything.

I asked if my son had signed something. I suggested that if there was no signature it was difficult to prove he'd taken the books, but they don't ask for signatures, they just have a box ticked on a computer. I suggested that this might be open to error because lines can be mixed up and names confused. Offended noises came back at me from down the phone, but I was not to be beaten. As far as I'm concerned, if he hasn't signed for books, he got no books and they don't have a bookend to stand on quite apart from the issue of The Penance. And to think that the French pride themselves on their logic. Pffft!

In the end, having spoken to 4 different people plus my son, I was told he'd have to sort it out at the Rentrée because obviously it was all a grand bordel... comme d'hab.

Stand up and get thee counted!

I learned something yesterday about living in France. I make these discoveries as my son grows up. It's an adventure really. What new and exciting bit of administration can the French throw at me today, I wonder from time to time.

So yesterday I discovered that when your child reaches the age of 16 s/he has a month in which to go to the mairie for a recensement. Very biblical if you ask me. Oh youth of France, come forth and be counted when ye hit the age of la majorité minus 2 years. How you're expected to know if you're not French I'm not sure. I've never seen one of these posters.

We went to the mairie with the required bits of paper (id, proof of my address, livret de famille which I have yet to send to wherever it is to rectify my marital status. I'm probably in dead trouble about that... expect thee a fine!) and waited while the lady sat in front of the computer filling it all in.

"You're a bit late" she said (my son's birthday was last September).
"Did we receive a letter about this requirement?" I asked.
"Oh no, she said, you're just supposed to know."
"Well I'm English and I had no idea" I said.
"Never mind" she said, "that's a good excuse."

So the bit about going within a month of your sixteenth birthday is flexible it seems. She was actually impressed that my son's passport was valid. Often kids go with out-of-date identification. This is a bugger because they'd first have to apply for valid id before they can get the recensement attestation. As they need this attestation to sit their Bac it could get a bit hairy. My son is sitting part one of his Bac next week. He was given the list of papers necessary to validate his application on Monday (he says).

He was also give some information about some civil duty day they all have to attend which is supposed to have something to do with national security. I asked if it meant they would learn how to fire, clean and use a gun. Apparently not, it involves sitting on a chair for several hours and being told some stuff. I wonder if they also have to read 'Papa porte une robe' too just for good measure while they're at it. Or maybe by 16 they are too old and cynical to have gender theory rammed down their throats. That's being reserved for the little mites in CP aged 6.

Back to military service, I was sitting in the hairdressers this afternoon and asked Jordan who was doing my hair if he had had to do it. It was abolished several years ago but I wasn't sure if he had caught the last wave or was too young.
"Heavens no" he laughed (in French), "can you imagine me asking if I could take along my nail varnish?!"

He's a right merry one is Jordan (and yes he is). He had to sit through being told stuff though, with or without nail varnish...

My son has yet to have the pleasure of this precious moment as I only found out about it today when we got the attestation. My son apparently knew about it because he has friends who have done it, but of course didn't think to tell me...

Anyway, a heads up then, for all foreigners who don't know that 16 is an important age in France and that all kiddies have to get down to the mairie, to stand up and be counted.

I Survived the Christmas Market

It may be my imagination but I get the impression that the Montpellier Marché de Noël has shrunk since last year. Despite the fact that it says on the Montpellier.fr website that more than 100 little wooden chalets are on the Place de la Comédie, the whole marché has been stuffed up the Esplanade leaving the Place free for hip hop street artists, accordionists and other entertainers around whom vast crowds gather making it tricky to circulate. Almost as tricky as having four rows of wooden chalets made it last year.

To enter the marché, stand at the entrance and take a deep breath. Then plunge. It's the only solution to successfully circulating I can advise. You will undoubtedly be mown down by a chunky pushchair bearing a sticky-fingered toddler holding a Christmas lollipop and a demented parent who is either a) regretting not buying the smallest, most manoeuvrable pushchair possible; or b) so wrapped up in Christmas panic that not one thought was spared to considering the wisdom of taking Baby Tank into a Very Crowded Area and is furious to find so many people muttering angrily at his/her attempts to kneecap them as s/he forces a passage through the throng.

You will also trip up over the lead of a dog whose owner thought it a marvellous idea to go for walkies in an area full of boots that kick walk. You will certainly walk smack into a group of people who suddenly stop to a) talk on their mobile; b) spot some friends and go through the ritual kissy kissy; c) examine something fascinating from the middle of the passageway; d) bend down to tie the shoelaces of a previously invisible child; e) decide they are going the wrong way so make an abrupt about-turn.

If you are with a partner who is muttering darkly about crowds, Christmas, the cold, and wishing he hadn't come, one's whole 'joy to the world' attitude gets a bit ragged after about five minutes (at most). Yesterday afternoon I got the one thing I went for, and will not be going back to the market. Wild horses couldn't drag me. Not with those crowds.

I did not get the two other things I went for, cue much grinding of teeth. I'll have to go back for those, but they are sold in shops not the sodding Christmas Market.

Fortuitously, I had made some mince pies that morning and put the artificial (I'm so green...) 4' tree up (on the table) with the help of my youngest, so a festive atmosphere greeted me when I stomped back into the house. I went straight to the kettle, and helped myself to a pie or two.

When I say 'festive' it goes without saying that that background music was not a CD of Michael Bublé singing his favourite Christmas hits (on his 2011 album as a gift for his 'naughty and nice fans'...! and which I don't have) but an XBox battle of soldiers or zombies killing each other with weapons that made a loud noise. Anyone who lives or has lived with boys will take that as read. They will only go so far to humour you (and Michael Bublé is definitely beyond those bounds).

I have a list of phrases I say on a (thrice) daily basis:
"Turn it down"
"Homework?"
"Turnit down"
"Clear away your plates"
"Dishwasher!"
"Yoghurt pots, bin, now"
"Turnitdown!"

Just before I headed up to the peace and tranquillity of my bedroom with my Kindle, cuppa and mince pie, I managed to yell my way down the list in quick succession over the racket. My parenting for the day was thus sorted.

How to find out if you're gay

My mother said to me recently that she learned more about infant school after I came home from my first day than a whole year's attendance by my big brother. Some kids are chatty and are happy to talk about school, etc. Others are closed-mouthed.

My eldest, I'm happy to say, is chatty and gossipy. He doesn't tell me everything of course, but knows that he gets less stick if he gives me enough to keep me happy. This doesn't always apply to parents' meetings however...

The other day he came home with some gossip that I thought I'd share with you. A friend of his was at a party when a slightly older boy came over to him and started chatting him up. The conversation went something like this:
Boy 2: Are you gay?
Boy 1: No.
Boy 2: How do you know?
Boy 1: I like girls.
Boy 2: But how do you know you don't like boys?
Boy 1: I just do.
Boy 2: Okay, well why don't you try something to find out for sure?
Boy 1: Like what?
Boy 2: Go onto a gay porn site and try wanking.
Boy 1: Eh?!
Boy 2: Go to [insert name] site, watch [insert name] video and see if you can wank. You'll never know for sure until you try it...

So, I said to my son, did he? Yes, he said, he did, he tried it out and it didn't work, ergo he isn't gay!

I tell you, I never had conversations like these with my mother at that age (or indeed since)!

But I learn a hell of a lot about yoof today.

Fantastic Combined Military Services Museum, Maldon

There's been quite a lot in the papers this summer about how awful it is having the kids at home and having to take them on holiday and entertaining them and what a drag blah blah blah. I don't know how old these terrible kids are to be such a drag, but I have greatly enjoyed having mine around.

Mine are nearly 16 and 11 and are very easy to keep happy. Just take them to castles, military stuff, hands-on museums with vehicles, trains, and London (especially the Science Museum). We are back from two weeks in Essex and we've had a great time. I did my homework before we left and found a number of places I thought would interest them. Essex is brilliant for military museums.

Their favourite was the Combined Military Services Museum in Maldon and I can strongly recommend it for anyone interested in military artefacts from British history. It houses several collections including army uniforms from as far back as the Civil War, RAF full flight gear from WWI, early shipwreck artefacts from the navy plus an amazing array of munitions, special forces weapons and equipment including survival, escape and evasion devices. You can also see a collection of Home Front uniforms and equipment that were used and worn by various essential personnel such as nurses, Land Army, ARP wardens and so on. My mother recognised a lot of what she saw there.

There are even items collected by the Essex Yeomanry which was formed originally to counter the French Revolution and is now part of the TA. It shows uniforms and and books from the regiment including mess and cash books, a huge enrolment scroll, and a scrapbook of regimental service from WWI.

My favourite though was the Secret Services collection, with items donated by Captain Peter Mason and his wife Prue codename Zoé. If you have always been fascinated by James Bond you'd love the Peter Mason collection. Ian Fleming knew Peter Mason too so it's likely he helped inspire the character of the fictional spy. The collection on view has an amazing array of covert operations weapons and clothing many of which were used by Peter and his wife. They operated essentially during the Cold War so there were lots of opportunities to use their kit. You can see Peter's dapper suit, pictures of him with his beloved fast cars as well as exploding cigarettes, camera pens, tiny pistols and poisoned umbrellas.

I spent ages going through it all, admiring Prue's nifty suit and coat that could be turned inside out for a completely different look and had holsters for her pistols. She was a crack shot and took part in a circus in Russia where she could pass on secrets obtained whilst in disguise.

It was absolutely fascinating and my mother and I had a lovely time pretending how we would use the various lethal instruments on the baddies.

The boys were running around in heaven looking at the collection of swords and knives, various arms and missiles, and trying on some chain mail and armour helmet.

Outside were a couple of Chinese made Iraqi tanks and an Argentinian field kitchen plus a cannon from HMS Lutine that was lost off the Dutch coast in 1799 carrying over a million pounds of gold bullion!

As you can see, it is in a poor state after spending many years outside Lloyds of London and the museum is looking to restore it. They have launched an appeal to raise £2500 so if you know of any individuals or companies that might be interested in participating do let them know. There's a person to call and a number at the bottom of the appeal notice.

The museum is a fantastic resource so if you get the chance to go along and visit it, do. A family ticket costs £15.50 and it's well worth it. The staff are enthusiastic and informative and happy to talk about the collections, and it's not busy so you can enjoy browsing in peace.

Living in the Sticks

It was swelteringly hot yesterday. Our original plan had been to go on a motorbike ride up towards Mont Aigoual in search of a cool breeze, but the thought of donning a leather jacket, trousers and gloves was not a pleasant one.

After much dithering we decided to take the car. I mooched down into the village to buy some picnic goodies, essentially cheese and tomatoes. The tomatoes looked lovely, and so they should have. Four cost me over €4! Admittedly they were quite big (only 'quite', not 'very'), but at that price they would not go on the picnic with us. They required suitably appropriate preparation which I don't count as being slung into a plastic box and shaken about.

The cheese man was on form having found a wallet and was offering 'tasters' (like he does for cheese) - anyone for a bit of carte bleu? He didn't know whose it was as he hadn't dared to open it. He was waiting for the municipal police officer to take control when he would be able to say with complete honesty that he didn't know what was inside and therefore could not be accused of nicking the cash. I gave a passing thought to the type of person who loses his wallet, retrieves it thanks to an honest stall-holder and then promptly accuses him of theft even though no money has actually been stolen.

The most interesting cheese the fromager had on offer was dark green which sounds a bit dodgy. I tried it. It was made of cow's milk with pesto and basil, and was delicious so I bought a chunk along with some Saint Nectaire fermier. I turned them into sandwiches with some nice fresh Festive baguette and sweet onion.

We put the air con on and drove north towards Ganges. Then we carried on to Sumène and on a bit more up to the col beyond St Martial which is a cute village of stone houses crammed together on the hillside. My reaction to villages like this is usually 1) how do the residents live? 2) what do they do for a living? 3) how do their kids go to school (especially collège/lycée)?

Spot the tiny hamlets

This subject is foremost in my mind at the moment because we are looking to buy a house. It's a frustrating process because in relation to my work, for the same price, I can either have small and crappy but close, or bigger and nicer but far.

My DB tells me that lots of people have to travel a long distance to work, and their kids too to go to school, especially lycées which tend to be concentrated in large towns. Still, when you have been used to travelling 7mins to get to work and have schools on your doorstep, the thought of giving all that up to spend €170 on petrol per month driving 35mins each way just to get to and from work, plus having the boys change schools and sending one on an hour's trip to Nimes, just to have more space for a reasonable price is difficult to swallow.

I rent (expensively), but I have organised my life to be as practical and pleasant as possible. The penalty of wanting to invest and secure my future is living in a minable crappy little house as so many are in Languedoc (built badly in the 80s with no taste or coherent design), or completely disrupting my cosy lifestyle and that of the boys by moving away. As I'm greatly affected by my surroundings, a crappy house will depress me so there's no point, in my opinion, buying something for the sake of it.

So maybe I should take this opportunity to shake up my life, and that of the boys, but moving teenage boys away from a city is likely to go down badly. Conundrums, frustration and irritation - life has got very annoying just when I thought I had it taped.

After our picnic, we went for a short walk towards another col through a lovely shady wood made up of chestnut trees and pines, with bracken and pink heather.

Having exerted ourselves nicely, we drove back via Ganges, St Hippolyte du Fort, Sauve and Quissac. There are some lovely villages and small towns along the D999 which skirts the foot of the Cevennes hills. At Quissac we turned towards Montpellier, and a good half an hour later arrived at Prades le Lez. An extra 5 mins and that would be my daily drive to work if I lived there. Hmmm.

Food and a Wild Goose Chase

Question: What can you do with some scabby old freezer burnt pork?
Answer: smother it in hoisin sauce, chuck it in the slow cooker or in the oven at 100°C for hours and hours (at least 5). Boil down the juice and Bob's yer uncle.

Tasty shredded in wraps, used in lasagne or simply with the sauce and some fried potatoes. Three French boys including two visitors have just declared it 'delicious' so it must be good!

Still on food, I've had to resort to making fresh fruit salad every day. My boys are too lazy to get up, take a kiwi, peel it or cut it in half and eat it. They are too lazy to take a nectarine, wash it and eat it. They are not too lazy to tuck into a bowl of prepared for them nectarine, apricot, melon and kiwi... with that essential squirty cream.

My youngest and his friends are also not too lazy to light a bonfire in the barbecue having hunted for sticks in the pinede opposite (I'm too lazy to buy charcoal), ask for sausages (having already eaten a hearty dinner) and cook them whilst they toast marshmallows. I'm not interfering except to give them fondue forks so I don't have to make a trip to the emergency department later because someone burnt his fingers, and forbid a towering inferno.

I've had a fascinating day going on a wild goose chase to Nimes in search of the skatepark. It did not auger well as there were two addresses given online, in two different places. They were quite near each other so I supposed one should be good. We stopped off first at TamTam, an all things skate/BMX/VTT/roller shop where my youngest got his scooter seen to by a lovely young man who was toasted by the sun to a gorgeous golden colour.

He gave us vague directions to the skatepark and off we set. We never found it and in the end, as we saw no pedestrians to ask, I said we'd give up and go home. For a large place I don't know where they hid it, but hide it they did, very successfully. There wasn't a single signpost to help out either.

On the up side, when we were on the motorway coming home, at the Montpellier péage we avoided all the queues by following the far right lane which took us to 4 extra booths, all empty. We sailed through in no time at all.

In other food news, Mondial Market, my nearest purveyor of foreign foods, has started stocking Aunt Bessie's Yorkshire Puddings (microwavable), frozen back bacon, sausages, vegetarian sausages and other delights. I bought a packet of the Yorkshires, not because I like them - I think they taste of cardboard - but my boys love them. My eldest was ecstatic when I got them home and showed him. I also bought a packet of back bacon as well as Yorkshire Tea.

And finally, I've noticed that Carrouf Discount does a milk chocolate fruit and nut. As the only other brand to make this here is Nestlé, and I don't buy Nestlé products (and it's rubbish anyway the time I succumbed to desperation and gave it a try), I was curious to know what it tasted like. Normally I wouldn't touch discount chocolate, but it's actually very nice, especially fresh from the fridge. It's not Cadbury's but it's pleasantly similar. Oh happy day!

Making an Assault Shield for Airsoft

Most weekends will see me umbilically attached to my Kindle, sat in various spots for comfy reading. If it's not too hot I'll sit outside on sun lounger; if the sun is that bit too much, I'll head inside and take up residence on the sofa. After a week at work, I love nothing better than total relaxation with a good book.

Of course, this not good for waistlines or thighs but I'm in a low-energy phase at the moment and don't give a toss.

However, this last weekend was very different from usual. I spent Saturday purchasing materials to make an assault shield at Castorama, not for me I hasten to add (if you hadn't guessed already), but for my youngest son. He has discovered a new passion - airsoft - and wanted us to help him make the assault shield according to instructions I'd found on an airsoft forum. I must remember not to get so involved in my sons' interests because it can mean waiting in a queue to cut a wooden panel for half an hour and cost money I hadn't reckoned on spending...

Anyway, once we had the materials, we of course had to get down to it. My dearly beloved helped out with the jigsaw to cut the wood down a bit, cut out the rectangle in the middle and trim the plexiglass. My son did the painting and I held down the panel during sawing, made helpful suggestions, and printed out a template of the word SWAT to be sprayed on later in white. It'll look something like this when finished:

Assault shield

Don't I have fun?! My son's new airsoft gun arrived today. It's a replica UZI (cybergun mini) with a force of 0.08 joules that shoots plastic BB pellets. The regulations for such guns are draconian in France. Minors cannot obtain replicas that fire over 0.08 joules so my son spent a long time looking for one that was suitable. He's trying to set up an airsoft team with his brother and friends, and find some land they can play on as my garden is approximately 100m² and absolutely useless for skirmishing.

He tried it out at lunch time and was ecstatic to find it had recoil. I know nothing about guns so cannot tell you why this is important but I think it proves that it's not a crappy toy but powerful enough to jerk just like a real gun.

Unfortunately there is no ready-made team in the area for them to join. The one that did exist no longer does, probably because the boys in it became young men and joined the adults. I'll be interested to see how many local parents agree to let their kids join my sons' team, and buy a gun so they can participate. One has already said no. The boys might also have to spread the word wider than among immediate friends in order to get a good number of members. Assuming too that they have somewhere to play... (cue letter to maire to request permission to play on public land - that'll be fun!).

Anyway, it's better than sitting in front of the XBox and I'm all for encouraging (respectable) passions. Plus my son worked well in school this year, and I believe that boys who do well should be rewarded.

My eldest is supposed to be doing the donkey work of setting up and managing the airsoft team in which case he can add it to his cv if he applies to a British university. It'll look a bit better than 'Going to parties' and 'Playing XBox games'.

As for my involvement, I'm hoping to get back to my Kindle very soon.

Choral Concert in a French School

Why is it that many French songs, especially pop songs, have very little melody but compensate for this lack of tune by trying to cram as many words into a phrase as possible?

I was made glaringly aware of this last Friday when I attended a concert given jointly by my youngest's year at his primary school and the choir of the collège. I didn't even know there was a choir at the collège, or maybe I had heard about it but my eldest son never went further than laughing incredulously at the idea of joining it.

I'm not a great fan of French school end of year entertainments. I have spent many a bum-numbing evening lasting several interminable hours watching politically correct sketches of unbelievable tedium or listening to a school's worth of classes perform their version of whatever the theme was for that year in 'dance'.

Unfortunately, this concert did not represent the end of year spectacle - there is another to come. I can hardly wait... Luckily though, it didn't last long but did of course start late.The kids seemed to enjoy themselves for the most part, except my son who had a pained expression on his face throughout which had nothing to do with his foot being in plaster. He doesn't like performing at all, but did insist that I come and watch.

I arrived early as I had to drop him off in good time, which meant I got a parking space but also meant I had to hang around. My Kindle was in my bag so, having said a number of cheery hellos, I was soon engrossed in my boxed set of 'Fifth Avenue' thrillers. 

Once we were allowed into the sports hall, I bagged some seats near the back as I was expecting some friends - parents of another child in the class - to turn up. Good thing I did as the place soon became packed and I had to fight off parents who wanted to nick my spare seats. My friends arrived and the green-eyed hoards fell back.

There was a theme to the evening. Unfortunately it wasn't 'songs with nice tunes you can really get your teeth into' but 'Diversity, One World and We are all the same', all nice and totally pc (yawn).Stuff a nice melody, let's just make sure we ram how wonderfully tolerant and difference-embracing we are with a bunch of gabbled pop songs. They didn't sing 'We are the world' or anything jolly like that, no, all the songs were in a minor key and were totally incomprehensible. As there were no tunes either it was rather a tiring job sitting through the evening worrying about how difficult the songs were for these kids. There was hardly any singing 'à coeur joie' - just the first song by Louis Armstrong (which was pitched too low) and the last one which they enjoyed because they could practically shout it.

When I was at school, I remember we sang songs (such as traditional English) that had tunes and few words which meant we could enjoy the singing, not get bogged down by gabbling. We did jolly musicals such as 'Jonah' by Andrew Lloyd Webber. We didn't sing pop songs which are notoriously difficult and don't always adapt to choral singing anyway. I think our teachers had a better idea of what was suitable and enjoyable, but maybe they had more material to work with.

The most impressive part of the evening was the fact that the kids had learnt all the songs off by heart. That was a lot of learning! Two girls did sign-language in one song - it's an option at the collège that they can do because they have a number of deaf kids. There was also a duo by a couple of girls from troisième, and a musical interlude from a pianist, plus accompanists on the electric guitar, flute and drums.

The evening ended with my friends and I gathered on my terrace with rosé and crisps to help us recover from the melancholic ambiance of the songs in minor keys. We managed it successfully and a merry time was had by all.