A Kitchen-Sink Post

Here's a round-up of odds and sods.

Family
It was my eldest's 18th birthday last Sunday (28th). He went out the night before, blew most of his birthday money and as a result had a quiet day on Sunday which included a mega treat of a KFC take-away lunch... He decided on a birthday dinner of roast chicken at 4pm despite me asking him regularly since the previous day (Me: "Do you want a birthday roast chicken dinner?" Him: "Dunno, I may eat out."). Naturally, not having already obtained a response, the organic chicken was still in the freezer. I got it out, chucked it in the oven on 'defrost' mode, then prised it apart to cut into pieces, chucked them in the microwave to defrost faster, and actually managed to dish up a fully cooked roast chicken (pieces) by 8pm. I was sorry to treat it in such a cavalier way, but 18th birthdays don't happen every day...

Montpellier under water. Photo Midi Libre

Weather
You may have seen on the tele the torrential rain and flooding in Montpellier at the beginning of the week. We got five months of rain in three hours. On Monday lunch time, I took my son to the tram station to go to lectures. Mistake. It was already pissing down and the roads were awash. I had very little petrol (35km worth) and had to get to work so really didn't want to be travelling much. I got to work after a very scary drive only to hear not long after that all lectures were cancelled and he was stranded in town because the buses and trams were no longer running.

Luckily it was the end of our fiscal year at work and manic, so I couldn't go to his rescue even if I'd wanted to, and a good thing too, because the roads became rivers and people were having to leave their cars stranded where they broke down. I would have been caught up in all that, and been stranded too.

In the end, he walked with a friend to the tram station where I'd left him, in the pouring rain, and got a lift back. His new computer was fighting for its life overnight drying out... It hiccuped to life the next day, thank goodness.

Vitamin D
The world wide recommended dose for vitamin D3 is 1400 to 2000 UI per day, with a maximum of 10,000. In France, it's 200 UI. Why the difference? Because of a calculation error by the Conseil (not so-)supérieur d'hygiene publique de France (CSHPF), the people tasked with deciding on the dose. Instead of fixing 10,000 as a maximum dose (like in the rest of the world), they calculated it as 1,000. D'oh. The result is that vitamin D3 is only sold in capsules of 200 UI which means you have to take at least five to get the right dose.

It's important, because three out of four people are deficient in vitamin D, and this is a shame because vitamin D helps prevent and treat some cancers, auto-immune diseases (multiple scleroses, diabetes I), depression, fractures, and infections like the flu.

I've just ordered some vitamin D3 for us all in the form of drops because it's easier to take five drops rather than five capsules.

Food supplements
I'm very excited because they have all been ordered and are due to be delivered from tomorrow. I had to wait until this month to order them due to the financial strain of September. The ones I already had have been excellent in improving the quality of my sleep (rhadiola and magnesium). I've been eating a quarter of pomegranate every day for my breakfast too as their juice is very good for balancing women's hormones. I'd eat more, but they cost a fortune each!

Cooking
My naturopathic doctor gave me a recipe for rice flour bread which I decided to try the other day. It contained rice flour, buckwheat flour, some oat flour, olive oil, an egg, bicarb, and water. She said to put it in the oven at 130°C for half an hour. I was dubious but followed her instructions. Well, of course it wasn't cooked and it tasted quite disgusting. I'm sure there's an error in there somewhere... must email and ask!

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 

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.

Rejoice! My slow cooker is mended!

You read before you a happy bunny. My slow cooker is mended HURRAH!

It had been horribly and mortally wounded by my eldest who, when asked to turn it on Low had turned on the hob, on which it was sitting. I have a small kitchen, and the only available space at that moment was the hob, an electric hob that heats up by number, not word.

Why my son thought that "Put the slow cooker on Low" meant "turn on the hot plate to a lowish number below 4" I'm not sure. It could be because at the time he had multiple mates in the house all strung out on the sofa in front of the tele making much noise, eating me out of house and home and playing on the XBox. His mind was probably not properly on the job.

I was, at the time, feeling very poorly at my DB's having slept all afternoon after being laid low by some sort of killer bug that struck briefly but ferociously. So when I eventually made it home to enjoy a nice warm dinner, imagine my dismay when I got home to find no delicious aromas wafting out of the front door. Only a house full of adolescents and empty packets of just about everything which were being hurriedly tidied up and thrown away.

When I went to check out the slow cooker, I saw that the electric lead was half melted, as was one of the feet. Melted onto the hob, where else... My son told me what he'd done, how it had shorted the house, and how one of his mates who is studying how to be an electrician at the moment knew how to flip the switch to turn everything back on. Hopefully my son knows now too...

Well I gave him a bollocking of course, not that it brought my slow cooker back to life, but it made me feel better. He was suitably contrite. I'd only cooked two meals in the damned thing after bringing it back from the UK! (Long story, nutshell: present from mum).

I lamented the demise of my slow cooker at work, and my boss said that I should take it apart and change the lead. Brilliant idea. I set to work and managed to wreck one of the screws. I could see it being fit only for the bin. Another guy at work told me to bring it in and he would take a look. He's much more of an expert than me (not difficult) having worked in the repair shop at a major electrics store. I got it back this morning with a new lead and a new foot.

You cannot imagine how I rejoiced, how happy I am, and relieved that I don't have to go out and buy slow cooker number 3 (yes, my - as in a present for my DB that ended up living in my house - first one gave up the ghost just after the end of the 2-year guarantee period - an electronics problem, impossible to fix).

The next time I cook something in my slow cooker I'll take a portion in to my new hero and offer it to him gratefully and humbly for his lunch.

He even knocked out the dent that had come about as the result of being transported unprotected in my suitcase on Eurostar. Lovely.

Insouciance Décélérée

There are times when life seems to speed up without you apparently noticing it. Preoccupations take up an inordinate amount of brain space, and when you come for air you realise that days have gone by, days you'll never get back. We are told to make the most of every day because it might be our last, but of course that's just not possible when everyone else's potential last days are clamouring for attention. You get knocked about from mental pillar to post between parental illness and your off-springs' issues.

My eldest is in 3e and is having to make decisions on his future. Next year he should be in lycée on the path of one of the Bac series - S, ES, L, etc. What he studies for his Bac rather determines what he can study post-Bac, so it's important to get on the right track.

Being fourteen and a half, and a boy, he is typically insouciant about the future. As Philippe Aubert de Gaspé put it:
"Quel heureux temps que celui de l'enfance et de l'adolescence! Toujours à la jouissance du moment, oublieuse du passé, insouciante de l'avenir."
At his age I was pretty clueless too but I was less insouciant. I worried more, not that it got me anywhere. I also stayed clueless until my 40s by which time it was mostly too late to do anything about it.

A typical conversation with my ado son:
Me: What Bac would you like to do?
Him: Oh, dunno, maybe ES.
Me: Right...
Him: Yes, I could become an accountant.
Me: Do you know what that is?
Him: Nope, but do they earn lots of money for not too much work?
Cue strangled gurgling and much tearing of hair from the floor.

We all want to earn lots of money for little work, but as my TWDB informed him, most of those jobs involve being a drug dealer, pimp, mercenary, so they also come with a short life span and a violent end, and he should not rely on winning the lottery.

So it was back to the drawing board. I made him do the Briggs-Myers test for him to start to understand his personality type and hopefully give him some ideas about future direction. I did it myself, too, for a laugh, and came out as INFJ. I'm calm, thoughtful, and intuitive, and very attached to my independence. I have a 'tell me what's wrong' sign on my head (which sometimes gets a bit much) and want to put the world right.

My son came out as ENFP so is introspective, values-oriented, inspiring, social and extremely expressive. He was delighted to see that good careers for this type include being an actor, politician, journalist, psychologist, entrepreneur, etc. I get the feeling he thinks the clouds are slowly clearing and he can start to see the way ahead. Hopefully this will inspire him to work, too... and think less about basing his choices around his social life.

I have been scouring the internet for help on orientation, interesting careers and the studies you need to do them. As you can see, I'm taking a lot more interest than the boy concerned, but then that's probably because I understand what's at stake. Adolescents often can't see beyond the end of their nose because it takes maturity to plan ahead and see the big picture, and that comes later. So it's very unfortunate to have to make important choices so early that will affect you for many years ahead! If only he had a passion, like his friend does for birds of prey and wants to become a falconer. As I told him, you are one of millions of boys who likes playing video games, and you can't all do that for a living! Nor can you squat on my sofa indefinitely.

I'm sure he'll get there in the end, and not leave it until it's too late or get stuck on the wrong path (unlike some!). Better not leave it to fingers crossed though...

OMG FOURTEEN

It's my eldest's birthday today. Fourteen. FOURTEEN, my god, how did he reach such a horrendous age? I remember 14 well and never ever want to go back (which is just as well unless I've got it wrong and reincarnation exists after all!).

Something happened to my face in adolescence. The bits started moving around and growing unevenly, came out in disgusting spots and I ended up resembling the back end of a bus. Of course, it all came out in the wash and eventually an acceptable face was restored, but I think it highly unfair that some kids have to go through the bus stage and others sail through harmoniously balanced throughout.

My son bears no resemblance to a bus, I'm happy to say, and towers over me. He's going through a zombie phase at the moment, like a huge number of ados, and asked for a zombie-centric set of pressies apart from a subscription to Le Monde des Ados (or something). I was terribly keen on subscribing him to a magazine he'll have to READ, less so on buying zombie XBox games and a cartoon book Zombies, la Divine Comédie (is it some sick joke?).

He doesn't know it yet, but my mother is sending him a Slanket. I suggested this because he LOVES sprawling on the sofa under a blanket for at least 6 months of the year, XBox manette in hand. It drives me nuts because the blankets are pretty chunky and not easy to wash, and take up a lot of room when not in use. He'll probably think it a really uncool pressie, then try it out and I won't be able to get it off him to wash.

I can see him wafting around in his Slanket, falling over it as he goes downstairs, and wrapping himself in it to eat. It hasn't arrived yet, so he wasn't able to wrap himself up in it when I went to pick him up from the infirmary at school this afternoon. Apparently he's gone down with something like a headache, temperature, feeling sick etc. I was a tad suspicious at first because he's been known to pull a fast one and enjoyed time off school when Perfectly Fit, and there are two brand new games sitting seductively at home...

So I put it to him as we went out that he might be hamming it up, and he said "Are you taking the piss?" which I suppose was reasonable seeing as he looked like death warmed up (rather like a zombie) and went straight to bed (for show?). Strangely, he's now feeling better and I'm sure he'll be on the Xbox within two shakes of cat's whisker.

The big treat today is supper at MacDo. I'm not unhappy at such unsophisticated tastes and neither is my credit card. We'll have to see though if he's well enough to go out. Funny how these sicknesses come and go with blinding speed.

I'm letting him off typing practice today too, as a treat. My mother's new blog has two shiny posts lovingly typed by my son (ahem) but it's a slow process involving much moaning.

His birthday treat with pals was to go to the cinema but he now wants to go karting and 'hang out as usual'. Not so keen on trekking over to the karting, paying vast sums for 15 mins of fun then trekking all the way back so he can hang out as usual but if that's what he wants... I'll have to check on that next-but-one weekend together with the status of the birthday cake (does he/doesn't he want one, which type? etc) as his mind seems to change at nanosecond intervals and one is expected to keep up!

Happy birthday son. Proud of you :)

Educating Ritalin

Last night I attended the parent's evening at my eldest's private school. I clutched my list of rendez-vous - 2 out of 9 - yes, my eldest had been a bit slow off the mark sorting that out (no surprise there), and went to hear the worst. (NB the title is a just a pun. No child I know is on Ritalin!)

In fact, I managed to see six teachers who all told me the same thing: intelligent boy but too chatty, lacks concentration, and could do better. When I relayed this to my mother later, as a former secondary school teacher she said, "well that's typical of many boys of 12". My eldest has now been instructed to shut the f**k up, ignore anyone who talks to him and not to give a toss if they sulk about it, and to give warning to one particular girl that this is the new regime, as instructed from his mother, or else.

One good thing about the meeting was that I wasn't immediately asked whether I wanted to know which subjects my son needed tutoring in, which was the case at his previous state school. Obviously the teachers here feel that they are the ones doing the teaching, not leaving it to others to do their job for them. Which is how it should be, in my opinion.

Tutoring is very common, as it is in the UK. The Times had an article about it today citing a report saying it isn't fair that some kids succeed better because their parents pay for extra tuition.

Was life ever fair? Ask a woman sitting in a Congan refugee camp having been raped and lost her husband in a brutal killing if life is fair.

Some children are born into families where the parents are motivated for them to succeed, others are not. The amount of money you have doesn't really matter. There are poor parents who push their children to do well as there are rich parents who don't give a toss about their kids. Some children just get on with it themselves even if their parents are not pushy. A lot depends on character, and whether you have a character determined to succeed has nothing to do with fairness.

Schools are the opportunity for children to learn and develop skills to help them through life. Many parents feel that the level of teaching in some schools though is so bad that they are obliged to make up for the gaps in their children's education by private tuition. Other parents cannot afford to do this, and this is where the fairness thing comes in.

Essentially though, it's up to parents to do their best for their kids. Mine are my responsibility, and what other parents do or don't do is not my problem. If mine need tuition, they'll get it by whatever means I can afford. If the government wants to do something useful, instead of moaning about pushy middle class parents hogging the best schools because their children are tutored, they should make sure that every state school child receives the best education possible.

That goes for France and the UK. Interestingly, in France, state school teachers have their children privately educated. Nuff said...

Down the Drain

I had a bit of a meltdown this evening.

There we were, playing on my TWDB's son's Wii - bowling - when my eldest announces that he needs more cantine tickets.

An innocent enough remark, you may think. Yes, except that he should still have 9 left out of the 20 that I bought him on October 13. Each ticket costs 4.80Eur, so that represents nearly 50Eur lost/stolen/evaporated into the ether.

I was not pleased. He is convinced that they have been stolen from his bag. This is possible, but it strikes me as bizarre that he is losing systematically one ticket per day. Or maybe they all fell out on the train when he took the bag up to Paris. Also unlikely. The wretched things are virulent pink, and if you leave one in a pair of white trousers to go through the wash, the virulent pink transfers itself effectively onto anything it comes into contact with.

It's especially galling as the food is so crappy. You might have heard tales of the fabulous three course meals laid on with wine, candles and waiter service in school cantines but don't believe a word of it. My boys have had to suffer school lunches since they started school, and, while the menus look great, the reality is somewhat disappointing.

They regularly come home like ravening wolves having barely eaten at midday because the food was so foul. Today, for example, my eldest told me he didn't touch the rotton tomato salad, but just had a couple of slices of bread and a yoghurt for lunch. This is bad enough at 4.80Eur, but becomes positively disgraceful at twice the price.

Can they take a packed lunch? No way. Only if they have a doctor's certificat and several forms filled out in quadruplicate to declare some horrific allergy to almost all foods can they bring their own food. I would be quite happy to prepare him some sarnies with little tomatoes and fruit for his lunch. At least he'd be sure of getting something he liked. But, for some reason, French schools totally refuse to accept the idea of a packed lunch.

So I wrote an email to the school this evening to report the problem and ask if they keep tabs on who eats on what numbered ticket. I'm not hopeful for a response. I'm even less hopeful for an answer that means anything. Still, I tried.

By way of banging home how furious I am, however, I have declared that no pocket money will be received until the summer. I will not stand by and do nothing at the loss of such a huge amount of money. This following on the heels of missing the train to Paris and having to top up the purchase of new tickets on one of the busiest days of the transport calendar, in first class, natch.

The evening, which had been progressing so merrily, came to an abrupt halt, rendering me depressed and angry.

Thanks, son!

MiniMum

There's a girl who lives down our road who I can barely say 'hello' to. This is bad in France, as I'm sure you all know, where you get snippy bakers who pull you up tartly if you forget your manners even if your head is in the clouds, and ask for a baguette without introducing yourself formally, in triplicate.

Well, okay, I'm being facetious, but some do go a bit far on the snippy front if they've taken a dislike to you or they got out of bed the wrong side that morning, or haven't had enough caffeine injections or didn't get a good shag the night before...

This girl is the same age as my eldest and is a right little madam. Her mother is no better, it has to be said, and it's amazing to see genetics working so beautifully. They even look alike - the same bitchy face with snidey eyes.

I feel I should be adult about things though, and be able to say a breezy hello because she is just a kid, and one should set a good example. Trouble is though, I can't be arsed (another one to add to my list!).

When I ask my eldest why he is friends with her he says he isn't, she's just a 'friend of fortune' as it were because she lives opposite and it would be more of a pain not to be her sort-of-friend. Apparently she's quite keen on him, but he regards her as toxic and thus contaminated so refuses to touch her in any shape or form.

So she's jealous whenever she sees other 'couples' and goes into limpet mode sticking to him like glue. Don't I make her sound fun? She's also a manipulative little cow and a stirrer to boot, so really the less he sees of her the better.

One day she said to him, "Your mother doesn't like me, does she?" and he replied "No", which is fair enough. I think she told her mother because she now ignores me when I go past. I'm not sure our next fête de quartier will be quite as well-attended as the last!

I did actually warn my son that there are toxic females about, and that they should not be humoured or pandered to and he is quite within his rights to tell them to bog off if they get out of hand. He is quite a gentleman so this kind of goes against the grain, but there are limits, and some women do not deserve to be well-treated because they just abuse it and take advantage. She is one of those and I pity the poor bloke that gets landed with her, except he'll probably deserve her if that's the sort he goes for.

I'm relieved to know that my eldest certainly does not.

Weekend Sans Fin

This weekend seems to be going on an awfully long time. I'm taking a break here from doing stuff, to have a nice sit down, and to looking forward to having a drink. I've had tea, now I need a tipple.

Today my eldest is 12. His birthday treat was to take 3 friends to the cinema, starting with lunch at MacDo, then an ice-cream after the film and back home for cake and pressies and play.

To prepare for the onslaught of boys, 7 in total including a friend of my youngest and the little brother of one of official guests, I did some tidying up downstairs and then lay into my youngest's bedroom. I've already written about the state he gets his room into, but today it was so bad I just blew and decided to have a blitz. I swept everything into the centre of the room with a big bin bag and got him to help me sort it all out in record time.

That done we collected the other boys, went to MacDo, had lunch and deposited the big guys at the cinema (to see 'Journey to the centre of the earth'). I took the younger boys and one of the mothers to the beach for a nice hour or so sun and sea air. The best fun the boys could think of was to throw wet sand at each other so they were a sight when we had to leave to pick up the big boys. I think most of the sand dried off nicely in the car...

Once back home (after collecting the big guys, and having MacDo drinks and ice-cream) the boys grabbed all the weapons they could find and started fighting each other. A break was taken for pressies and cake and Carembars, and they are now at it again outside rushing about like banshees on a sugar high.

Yesterday I started off taking my youngest to his mountain bike club, doing the shopping, collecting him, rushing home for lunch, taking him and his friend to footie, rushing home, taking my eldest to mountain bike club, collecting him after cleaning the house during his absence, then driving all the way down to watch the last footie match only to find they'd finished and the trainer was bringing them home.

While everyone else was out in the glorious sunshine having fun, I was inside doing the thing I hate, loathe and detest - cleaning the sodding house. Yes, it looks lovely, but the price I pay...

Tonight, NG has kindly offered to cook dinner after which I intend to lie prostrate in front of the tele with a drink in my hand...

...and wait for the weekend to finish, enfin.

Work is so much more restful!

School's Out

My eldest was told that school was essentially out from yesterday. This is because the pupils of troisième were sitting the Brevet. I have just realised that this is the French version of O'Levels. Or rather, it's a series of exams you sit at the end of four years of collège, just before you go to Lycée, but they don't determine what you go on to study for the Baccalauréat.

There are three exams over two days : French, History/Geography/Civic Education, Maths. These combine with continuous assessment in other subjects, and you can gain extra points by doing an optional subject such as Latin, Greek, a regional language or foreign language. There's also a new computer/internet component where you have to prove you are competent to use a computer and use the internet. I doubt many kids would fail that. My eldest assures me he spends much time on the computer working towards this very test. Practice makes perfect, he says...

Funny how he applies a different attitude to the electric guitar...

Despite the fact that collège officially finishes next Thursday, the kids have been told they can just not turn up from now on. Cool! What with strikes and ill teachers, it's a wonder they got taught anything at all, but I heard from a woman on the parents association that his class was considered a very good one and they finished the programme with time to spare. That says more about the lightweight nature of the programme than the intellectual level of the class in my opinion. They've basically had no homework since April which of course means no marking either...

To celebrate the end of the year at my youngest's école, we'll be going to the kermesse tonight where various games are laid on, you can buy cakes and savouries, and generally let off some steam. My youngest and I made a boiled fruit cake last night which we'll take along. It smelt so good I had to severely restrain myself from digging in, mind. True to my dissolute mummy nature, I'll be going with a cooled bottle of wine brought by my pal C so we can enjoy the evening with a chilled apero.

We created a bit of a stir when we did this at the end of year show the other week too. I brought along cushions as we were sitting on concrete blocks in an exterior amphitheatre, got the bottle of 'water' out and poured some lovely cool white wine that we sipped, and nibbled on olives and peanuts. We did enjoy the show. It was such a civilized way to watch our little darlings perform as ferocious conquistadors with their charcoal 'five o'clock shadows'.

It'll be interesting to see next year who has the same brilliant idea. Maybe we'll have started something. Or maybe we'll just be branded as Irresponsible Mummies and ignored jealously. No skin off my nose, I never talk to anyone anyway!

Botty-ful

My eldest's feet were turning a potential shade of green. They certainly smelt like it, anyway when he removed his Converse shoes. We agreed that he needed shoes for the summer and he already had the perfect pair in mind - Geox.

I had never heard of this make until I saw an ad on tele, which proves that television advertising works, I suppose. Most of the time, I strenuously try to ignore being influenced by the endless stream of fantastic goodies paraded before my eyes during episodes of House, Ghost-Whisperer and the like, but my son does not. He is thus more aware of what is available while I bathe in happy ignorance and try to make ends meet.

Our shoe discussion went along predicable lines.
Him: "Mummy, I need new shoes."
Me: "You certainly do. How about some nice summer sandals?"
(Contemptuous laugh) Him: "Do you want me to be the laughing stock of the school? No, I want a pair of Geox shoes."
Me: "Geox? What are they?"
(Enthusiastically) Him: "They allow your feet to breathe and are really cool."
Me: (thinks, cool = expensive) "Ah ha..."

Cool also means 'available in one or two select boutiques so don't think you can just go to the Halle aux Chaussures' as I found out when we tried the Halle aux Chaussures first. Then we tried Intersport where we were told that such shops are not allowed to sell this terribly select make and you can only get them in minuscule boutiques probably on the other side of town requiring a major expedition, sandwiches, and a survival blanket. Meanwhile, my shopping was starting to perish in the searing late morning sun.

In a last ditch effort, we went back to Carrouf and found a boutique that sold Converses. They didn't sell Geox shoes but told me that a shop called 'Botty' (yes, I know - priceless!) does them. Hurrah, thought I, there's one next to Intermarche next door. Then I remembered going in there when it first opened and having to be carried out on a stretcher after catching sight of the price tags.

With much trepidation, therefore, we hit the road down to Intermarche to investigate it's Botty (sorry, plus fort que moi...). Inside all was chaos, with one sales-lady and two sets of customers including a small girl who was having sandals for a wedding that afternoon bought for her by granny (I supposed). She was nothing if not fussy, starting as I'm sure she means to go on.

Finally it was our turn and my eldest got to try on a pair of the famous mark, Geox. They were available only in beige in that style. He pooh-poohed a much snazzier pair with colourful stripes down the side. No, he wanted either black or dark blue and if he couldn't have that because even if you are buying a select mark in a Botty boutique, you are restricted to an equally select choice of colours, he would make do with beige.

His choice made, I went to pay. Up until this point, I had not thought to look at the price despite knowing that shoes in Botty cost an arm and a leg. The sales-lady presented me with the price - 100Eur - which caused a sharp intake of breath on my part and the draining of all colour from my face. To her credit, she greeted my horrified regard with sympathy and a suggestion that perhaps a little 'remise' could be made because shoes at that price for one's son were a nasty shock. She looked up what she could knock off and was able to bring the price down to 80Eur. Still a terrible price, and more than I pay for my shoes, but at least he won't be the laughing stock during his last 3 days at school...

I'm sure you're all so relieved about that! I am, obviously...

Saturdays...!

My eldest's 11th birthday was a couple of weeks ago, and today he is supposed to be doing the celebrating with his friends bit. I meanly told him he couldn't invite every kid and his dog to a MacDo-fest as it costs too much for what it is. On the other hand, I suggested, I would take him and a couple of pals to the cinema.

This suggestion went down very well on condition, he said, that I left him and his pals to see the movie all by themselves. Ah. I agreed, of course, thinking that we would be in town and I could mooch around the shops for an hour or so, have a nice cup of coffee on the Place de la Comedie and watch the world go by plugged into my MP3 player.

Not quite... He wants to see The Simpsons movie which is on at the super mega Mulitplex outside Montpellier, near Ikea (funnily enough...). Pop went my afternoon's activities bubble. I now have the prospect of going to a movie myself all on my todsome which I loathe (never done it, don't intend to start now...), sitting in the car reading, going to Ikea looking at things I don't want to buy (or I do, but can't...), taking the tram back into town to rekindle original bubble or drive down to the beach. Hmmm. All involve effort except sitting in the car reading. How annoying.

Why the desire to have it easy? Well, I went shopping in Carrouf this morning, and it's buggered me for the day... Shopping on Saturday mornings really is the pits but since I was there I bought a box of organic quinoa and a nice rice/lentil organic mixture just for a change. Intermarche doesn't have such exotic items. It's probably why I spend less when I shop there too...

Maybe reading on the beach is what I'll do this afternoon. It's lovely here today - must be easily mid-20s°C. I'll let you know...

Fag Off!

There's been high drama here today.

Yesterday my eldest asked me if I had ever smoked. I told him that I had tried it at university. I didn't tell him about the odd spliff I'd shared before then with some of the delightfully dodgy but ultimately overly odd for comfort friends I'd had in my mid-teens. Or the laced 'brownies' cooked for me by university friends who lived out in the sticks which I munched whilst watching The Blues Brothers movie - surreal stuff when high!

I am not a natural smoker, and when I did try smoking ordinary fags I just had a very strong image of nasty dirty smoke going into my lovely pristine lungs and fouling them up. It was easily enough to dissuade me from persisting with my trial. That and the cost...

I asked him if he'd been approached to smoke and he told me that he hadn't. It turns out that indeed he hadn't but his girl friend had. She has a girl in her class who is redoing the year, so probably seems to be older and more sophisticated. This girl, F, smokes at weekends and when she can - don't know if her parents know, or where she gets the money from, mind.

She offered a cigarette to my eldest's friend J, who accepted. My eldest was horrified and told her he wouldn't be her boy friend if she smoked. It seems that she promised she wouldn't smoke again.

I come home today to find my eldest in a state because he had been with the girls on their way out down the road, but had turned round and come back again when F offered another fag to J who accepted, despite her promise. Hence high drama.

Over lunch we had his mobile phone ringing, him answering, getting irate and hanging up on J or her sister. In the end I told him to let them talk and stop hanging up as it was not calming him down but just working him up more. He ended the conversation by telling his friend J that she had one last chance to keep her promise or he wouldn't be her boy friend any more.

This turning school-kid smokers into social and personal pariahs seems to me to be a good tactic, and I congratulated my eldest on his action. These kids depend on peer approval so if it's withdrawn because they are indulging in socially unacceptable behaviour, it might well encourage them to stop. Unless they are in one of those really annoying phases where they want to do everything to rebel against as many people as possible, even formerly close friends.

I think I'll just keep quiet about the time I shared a Cuban cigar with Russian and Cuban friends in Texas having got plastered on vodka and rum... ahem...

Bugger Brother

How long has it been since the beginning of term? Yep, two weeks, give or take. My eldest's school bag tore across the top in the middle of last week. Was I cross? You bet.

So I took it back to Intermarché today. No till receipt, natch. I bought it some three weeks ago, and don't keep supermarket receipts that long. I was expecting, after all, that the bag would last ten months, not two weeks.

A guard was lurking around the customer service counter so I went up to him and told him about the bag and how unimpressed I was. Did he care? Not in the slightest. All he did was to ask me if I had the till receipt to which I said no, but that I wanted Intermarché to contact the supplier to complain about the crappy quality of their bags.

This was obviously not in his job description, so he advised me to go and see the lady on till one, who happened to be on till three (are you keeping up here?). When I showed her the bag, she tut tutted sympathetically and called some geezer.

I suppose he was some sort of manager, so I told him all about the bag, and he, guess what... asked me for my till receipt. I told him I didn't have it, I knew I didn't have it but I wanted him to give the supplier a bollocking. I then told him that because of his supplier selling me a crappy bag, I was going to take my custom to Carrefour to do my entire week's shop there. This was potentially a lot of money - he's not to know I had done a big shop last week, and only needed to top up... and I stalked off to his apologies wailing plaintively in my ears.

My youngest and I then tackled shopping - bleh - and I came back determined to print off 200 odd pages of my book with the generic cartridges I had had delivered, eventually, from Toner Services (.com). Can you imagine my fury when I fitted the new cartridge in, could see it sitting there all sparkly new and full, and yet the printer (Brother) flatly refused to acknowledge its existence? Not only that, but when I plonked the old Brother one back in, it told me repeatedly that there was no cartridge inserted.

Conclusion? Printer buggered.

I was trying not to grind my teeth to powder, but really, it's a disgrace! I then had to take my youngest to a footie tournament for the afternoon: won 3, lost 1; after which I had to dash into Darty to buy a new sodding printer (HP). The cartridges are nearly 18Eur a piece. I used a whole one to print off the two hundred pages... You can see why I wanted to try generic cartridges, which cost a mere 7Eur, but I wasn't expecting to have to fork out another eighty odd for a new printer! My book has 389 pages to date. That makes printing it a luxury, and way pricier than the cost of a printed book with cover, photos, interview, review bites and kitchen sink.

Actually, come to think of it, you have to be quite rich to write a book in this day and age. I definitely must not give up the day job yet!

Soirée Musicale

St Gély is a dynamic place. It's the village next door, and while St Bloggie is a calm haven of residential sanity (for the recovering escapees of divorce like myself), it's all happening down the road.

It's where my eldest has his violin lessons, and this evening we went to watch the end of year concert. There seemed to be a lot going on at the same time. In the sports hall were collected mature dancers in 5-gallon hats, girls in green tee-shirts and black cycle shorts and all manner of creative club members set to perform for their annual bash.

We were in the amphitheatre, with comfy seats and a good view. The sports hall has wooden seats and benches, if you're lucky enough to nab one before someone else gets to it. I know this because it's where they hold the judo tournaments six times a year. My eldest used to do judo. I can't say I was sorry when he gave it up.

The concert was due to start at 'six' which of course is an arbitrary time meaning anything from 6.15pm to 7pm depending on when the participants arrive and finally get themselves sorted out. We were quite a party. There was moi (natch - the driver, and mum), my youngest, my eldest (natch - the star), his beloved (yes, they start young in France), her twin sister, and NG. A show of force, you might say.

The first on was a group of classical guitarists aged from about 7 to 13. They did very nicely. Then an electric guitar group came on, to the delight of most of their classmates who were sitting up at the back. One of the classical girls also played the electric guitar, and very well she did too! The prof played the drums, and there were 4 guitarists and one bassist. NG and I were most impressed. I couldn't ask my boys what they thought as they were sitting on the other side of the amphi, my youngest under strict instructions to behave or come and sit by mummy and get walloped when he did something naughty... When the prof introduced the players at the end of the performance, their pals all cheered their particular classmate. Then that half of the audience all got up, trooped down the steps and left!

After a little pianist and a little viola player (who got a special clap from me, being one too!), my eldest came on with his group of fellow violinists and two cellists. I had forgotten my camera (BAAAAAD mother!) and had to fall back on my mobile phone to take a video of them playing.

They did very well. I know my eldest was feeling extremely anxious as he had behaved diabolically this morning before breakfast, but he didn't give in to his nerves and was rightly pleased with himself. I cheered like mad when they'd finished I was so proud.

Just before NG collapsed into a heap, we gathered the young'uns and headed home.

NG and I made a special point of studying the youth on stage, and tried to guess which ones were probably being a bugger at home. On the whole, they seemed nice and relatively normal, which was encouraging. The boys looked alive and animated, and the girls looked clean and fresh.

Music is such a wonderful thing to be part of, especially when you reach the stage where you can play with others. My eldest has now reached that point and, I'm delighted to say, wants to continue playing the violin next year.

On condition he doesn't have to do solfege...

Proud Mummy Moment

What makes one proud as a mother? When your child is systematically top of the class? When your child is a musical prodigy? When s/he finally gets the hang of a difficult issue and you see the light in his/her eyes? When your child is a sporting hero?

All of those things, surely, and yet, I find I am inordinately proud when my children spontaneously show humanity and generosity; proof, if you like that I am not bringing up heathens.

My eldest was off on a school visit today, to see the Perrier factory. He had asked me for a picnic lunch, which I provided (chorizo sarnies!). Upon his arrival home today, he brought out a bunch of Perrier goodies - a pen, keyrings, ruler with calculator, etc. and asked us to choose what we wanted. I assumed they had been free gifties from generous Perrier.

Not exactly 'generous Perrier' although each child had been given a bottle of water... No, my son, unbeknownst to me, had raided his pocket money, taken ten euros and bought goodies for all his family, including NG. Not only that, but he offered the goodies around without reserve for us to choose what we wanted. Although he had his eye on the ruler, he didn't try and influence our choices. Naturally, we guessed what he wanted to keep and just accepted a little keyring.

Now that's a generous-hearted boy. He may not be a ruthless top notch businessman in the future, but he'll always be my pride and joy.