A Weekend not in Bed

I'm sitting at home typing this between coughing fits, feeling light-headed and generally spaced out.

I've been ill since Friday, struck down by a wicked virus that's doing the rounds, felling all who stand in its path. I've even had no voice, which some may find a positive by-product of me drooping about. At least they can't hear me whimpering about not being able to eat because my throat hurts so much. We've also had no internet connection in the area since Friday morning which is why I haven't described in lengthy detail all my woes to you already.

On Friday evening I was in such a semi-comatosed state that when Ulysse was discovered to have blood pouring from his nose and a jaw which didn't shut, I just had to leave it to Big J to take him to the on-duty vet. Apparently he was hit by a car, and has had to have it wired up so he's still there being fed and nursed, poor darling.

I would have quite happily have spent Saturday in bed too, but had organised to have my youngest's birthday party for 6 little boys in the afternoon. They had a lovely time playing treasure hunts, war, footie, flour tag (with my pop socks) and pass the parcel. NG made the cake which went down very well, but I was thankful we had asked them for 2 hours and not 3. Tempers were starting to fray and it was with joy that we returned from the footie pitch (Mairie carpark - no weddings that day!) to the sound of parents' cars arriving.

By the evening, what little voice I'd had went on a weekend break leaving me pretty silent during our festive birthday dinner at the local Vietnamese restaurant. I couldn't eat much of the meal either but was given the left-overs in a doggy bag.

Yesterday my voice was still sunning itself elsewhere, so I had to sort out the garage in silence. It sounds a mad thing to do, but I'm doing the flea market with NG next Sunday, and yesterday was the only day I had to sort out stuff I wanted to sell. It took the whole day but the garage looks amazingly clear. I won't say there's almost room to swing a cat...

A trip to the doc today has me dosed up on antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, throat stuff, anti-septics, uncle Tom Cobly and all. My throat is still killing me though. Breakfast was banana milkshake and lunch was a scrambled egg. You could say I'm feeling sorry for myself...

Fed up

Fed up with:

• the weather - too windy, too cold, too irritating
• campsites - closed until April at the earliest
• computers - not my own and getting blamed for them not working
• work - boring, and have to go every day
  
• people - too many, too many demands
• cat - nagging early calls
• tasks - list is too long
• having no dosh
• feeling tired
• having no time
  

Comments in the Telegraph this week include ones on how much I find Estuary English vile, cheers for Boris Johnson and his article on Lord Black's imminent come-uppance, no comment on Lila's blog about credit card abuse (as it doesn't apply to me, having no dosh), and so on. Telly blogs seem to have livened up somewhat since the days after ColinR-gate. Good thing too; they were deadly. The Times, blogs, on the other hand, seem to have died a death, except Charles Bremner's, or evoke no interest in me which is maybe the same thing.

I don't like the new look to the Times. The debate section is stagnant, you can't link to your own website when you do comment on an article, and comments take an age to appear - sometimes days. It's much less dynamic than the Telegraph.

Pleasant thing I did today: buy a little outfit for a baby girl, just born to a friend of mine. I went to a cute boutique, looked through all the options, took ages to choose, spent a fortune, loved every minute. I just have to find a moment now to take it to my friend.

I need a holiday.

Grumpy Old Woman

We all have our gripes about modern living, but as we get older and our experience gets wider, we have more to compare with, and thus more to gripe about. Things are never what they used to be, children today are not like we were, society is going downhill ever faster and it's a wonder, with all that rapid decline that the whole planet has not just given up and imploded with the despair of it all.

The Times recently had a most entertaining article on how to recognise if you are a grumpy old woman. While I like the idea of being able to behave outrageously and get away with it, I couldn't actually recognise myself in the list of the GOW sisterhood.

However, when it comes to Advent calendars, I am one of the grumpiest around. In my day (classic GOW introductory phrase...) Advent calendars contained images behind numbered doors. Perhaps there was part of the Christmas story on the inside of the door too, but that's as exotic as it got. These days, most Advent calendars have as much to with Advent as Winterval has with Christmas.

Here in France, a country that has not traditionally had Advent calendars, you can get Playmobil calendars with little stable characters which, once all 24 doors are open, gives you a charming farmyard scene. The question is, what has that to do with Christmas? Is there a baby Jesus in manger? Is there a farming Mary, orJoseph or are there any kings on the horizon? Er, no. What about celestial messengers? I believe I once saw an angel, but the poor thing looked so forlorn in amongst the standard Playmobil farmyard set that I'm sure it was an anomaly that would be examined with curiosity by your average kiddy. Then it would be set aside as they tried to work out what part it could play in the farming version of Bob the Builder.

The Barbie Advent calendar just defied logic. As did the Action Man one...

Then you have the ones with chocolates inside. Kids love them because behind the doors lurk cheap chocs in plastic moulds. The attraction of the calendar is thus the chocolate, not the door-opening, as if they didn't get enough chocolate on a daily basis as it is.

I succumbed, a couple of years ago, to the chocolate Advent calendar because it was the only sort available. I bought one for each boy. On Dec 1, they took them off the wall to give them a good shake to hear the chocs inside, whereupon the whole lot fell down to the bottom inside. As the images behind the plastic moulds were in cheaply printed black and white so barely visible, they were not attractive enough to build excitement with each successive day. It was a total waste of money and time.

Since then, my mother has sent me an Advent calendar because choc-free and pressie-free ones are simply impossible to find. Until this year. I was browsing around Virgin in the centre of Montpellier, and lo and behold, I came across a modest selection of picture-only calendars. I gasped. Then I bought one.

So, this year, we have two. One for the boys with lovely colour pics inside of Christmas-related images, and one for MOI with a Christmas-related picture from around the world, especially Europe, and a little paragraph explaining the custom. So, for the UK, the custom was sending Christmas cards. For Belgium, it was little biscuits in the shape of St Nicolas on the Eve of St Nicolas' Day (today).

Kids don't need chocs or pressies in Advent calendars. They'll get enough of that at Christmas. Why can't they be taught that the beauty of Advent is in the building of anticipation instead of unnecessarily ruining their sense of expectation, or hyping it to the point of hysteria? The 'have-it-now' society can't appreciate the importance of slow time or the fun of 'not having' until the much later moment of 'Christmas Day having'.

However, I do seem to have got through to my boys the pleasure of the picture, which makes me a LOT less grumpy!