Happy New Year (bof)

Back to work after a Christmas break is a tough one. You go from the festive spirit, lots of food, wine, making merry with friends and family to the serious business of earning a crust.

This morning I woke up and still felt festive, if a bit tired after a full week of merry-making and the return to France. By the end of the day I felt it was all over. The deccies are still up, and will stay up until Twelfth Night so as not to incur the wrath of the Christmas Spirits and scupper the year, but my heart's no longer in it.

I can no longer put off tidying my lovely pressies away. I'll have to empty my suitcase and generally tidy up the rolls of wrapping paper and boxes of Christmas cards. Après-ski is fun; après-Christmas is not.

Christmas is like a bubble of unreality. You suspend real life while you see friends and family, eat too much at every meal, quaff too much alcohol, indulge in cakes and snacks in a concentrated few days. I think it's the coming back down to earth that makes the hardest bump.

I was in the UK last week. On one evening, I met up with a couple of guys from school who I hadn't seen since they left at 16. We had a fantastic time reminiscing, catching up on who had done what, who had died (not so fun), who was where, etc. A real plunge back into the past, it was. A mega dose of nostalgia.

Back in the present, it's the New Year and I don't even want to think about what's coming up. Instead of plunging into gloom and doom, today I cheered myself up by noting the huge progress in human civilisation since 1820 as seen in the graphs of The World as 100 People.

From here - Our World in Data

Let's just hope the good things carry on getting better and the bad things continue going down.

Happy New Year.

Bucket Listing Bollocks

This is the time of year when we get tedious reviews of the past year's events and predictions as to what the next year will bring. It also brings with it lists of 'things you should do/see/read/eat before you die' otherwise known as bucket lists.

I sometimes get asked if I have a bucket list, to which I answer an emphatic NO! Bucket lists are full of guilt and frustration, hypocritical self-affirmation and self-delusion. What do you put on them? Things which will make you look good when asked usually. Would you put "Watch 'Arthur' (with Dudley Moore, not that twat Brand) another 27 times"? Probably not. It might be on your private list, but your public list will contain "Understand 'The Killing' in the original Swedish (or is it Danish)" (or some such twaddle).

On the 1001 things I must read before I die list, would you admit to putting 'A daily diet of Littlejohn'? Or rather 'The complete collection of Dickens'? Once you've finished your list, do you then plunge into it just in case your Maker claims you earlier than expected? You've probably got such a load of depressing cultural classics on there you're more likely to turn to 'How to be a woman' by Caitlin Moran for a good laugh than wade through Homer's 'The Iliad' even it is worthy of study.

Bucket lists are sources of frustration. They sit there glaring at you from the back of your mind, a reminder of your self-delusion; and how many of us need that sort of self-induced hassle? Life is tiresome enough remembering to open one's bank statement, keeping tabs on the kids' activities/jabs/school work and tidying up before the cleaner comes without being prodded by one's better self to tick off items on the list of self-improvement.

I can just see it. Being run over by a bus and mouthing at the ambulance team "Save me, I'm only half way through 'War and Peace' and can't go until I tick it off my bucket list!" Or arriving grumpily at the Pearly Gates and having an argument with St Peter about a few days' respite to finish off the last 416 pages before entering forever-more into the arms of Paradise. In fact there's probably a library of worthy books and a comfy chair just outside so that bucket listers can finish off the read they were whipped away from so unexpectedly.

I don't have a list of 100 places I'd like to see before I die either. As I can never decide, and keep changing my mind anyway, my list would be defunct before I'd even finished it. I could never afford to do all the travelling, so I really don't see the point in going to all that effort. Armchair travel has distinct advantages, the main one being you don't actually have to travel anywhere. No passports, tickets, queues, being treated like cattle, sickness, getting lost, being delayed, missing connections, airline food, certain death from deep vein thrombosis, getting bitten, mugged, or sunburnt, or the worst - deciding you'd made a mistake and it wasn't worth being on your list in the first place.

No, bucket lists are definitely a Bad Idea, along the lines of New Year resolutions which you know will be abandoned before Jan 14, so why bother? I prefer a more wishy washy dreaming, a sort of 'well I'd like to finish this project if I can' or 'I hope this project which is out of my hands but is relevant to me this year gets off the ground'. Then if it doesn't happen, it doesn't really matter because it was all concentrated in the realm of the nebulous anyway, one's amour propre has not been attacked with failure, and you can just pass on to something else without guilt or frustration, like choosing from an untouched box of your favourite choccies.

Happy New Year everyone. I wish you health and contentment for 2012.

Freedom

I haven't made any New Year resolutions for years now. Deciding to better oneself at the beginning of the year and then finding that, by February you're still nowhere any nearer to betterhood is so depressing that I gave them up as a bad job.

Wanting improvements is really a constant struggle and is more of a mindset or an attitude. My current basic aim in life is to have a more interesting job, but I'm not doing anything in particular to find one. I'm rather hoping that one will fall from the sky. If I made a resolution to do something about it, I'd end up depressed and unhappy because I know that, at my age, I cannot just go into a standard interesting job. I've been at my present undemanding post for too long to be attractive to your average employer.

In the meantime, I coast along pleasantly, contented with my lot especially because it seems that the boys are happy. Mummy is around quite sufficiently to be of use but not so much as to be a doormat.

One of these days I'd also like to finish my book. The more I work at it though, the more work I realise it needs, mostly of a technical nature. That's the boring bit though and it takes loads of self-control to get on with it. Since meeting my TWDB I've had less head space to think about it, and even less time to get writing. It may have to wait until I retire! Or at least until the boys leave home.

Those are the only two resolutions I might make, but I don't need it to be Jan 1 to make them, as they are at the back of my mind all the time. Voicing them at the beginning of the year would make no difference to their being achieved either. I cannot add hours to the day for writing, or magic up a super job.

I suppose it's motivating to ring in the New Year with good intentions, but they have got to be doable. I do some exercise - probably not enough, but I don't care - and enjoy food and drink although I do keep my diet pretty healthy and don't go out binge drinking. Nothing to be resolute there without impinging on my enjoyment of life. And therein lies the key, I think. Life should be enjoyable, not a prison of futile impossible aspirations. Live the life you want to live with what you've got not the life you think you should live with what you haven't got.

That's freedom.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year everyone. I hope you had a good time over the past two days. I certainly did, with my new fridge being used to full capacity!

Oysters, foie gras and champagne were much in evidence as my TWDB and I saw the new year in hazily but happily. The boys had their own meal, chosen by them for total deliciousness, which meant butcher burgers, home-made oven chips, salad and an ice-cream log. I also did an exotic fruit salad with mangos, lychees, pomegranate, and pineapple.

Yesterday we had Christmas lunch - turkey and Christmas pud. NG joined us and brought her special recipe foie gras which was yummy. We washed it down with a bottle of Coteau du Layon having started with champagne and went on to enjoy a 2002 Margaux with the turkey, and a Domaine Henry Passerille with the pud.

I'm not sure how I got the meal on the table as I was working on half a cylinder only after the night before, but it all came together and was a huge success. The turkey, also bought from the butcher down the road, was delicious - it does make a difference buying it from a specialist rather than the supermarket. I needed it to get the giblets so I could make the stuffing.

So, on the menu, for the record, we started with NG's foie gras, then with the turkey we had bacon rolls, peas, bashed neeps (swede & carrot), roast potatoes, stuffing (pal B's recipe with oysters!), sprouts and gravy, then a fine stilton (brought back from the UK) and finally a pudding with cognac cream, and the rest of the exotic salad.

When I look back over my blog I like to see what I did in years past. This year was a particularly good one. I spent Christmas in the UK with my family, and New Year in France with the boys, my TWDB (our first) and NG. We opened the pressies after lunch and everyone was very pleased with their haul. I got a black backpack hand bag from my TWDB, and lovely gold earrings from NG. I now look pretty presentable!

I hope you are all feeling positive about the coming year. I had a good 2008 on the whole, but 2009 seems to be starting really well, and I have great hopes that it's going to be even better.

Best wishes to you all, my lovely readers. May 2009 bring you health and happiness.

Frigi-there

Will I have a fridge for New Year? It seems so, YES!

No thanks to Darty, however. I went there last night and waited, a lone figure in a sea of white cases. I might still be waiting had I not given up after ten minutes, the lack of sales assistants a glaringly obvious cause of sliding sales... However, not wishing my feet to become petrified to the floor, or die of starvation before I was served, I went to Carrouf instead.

In Carrouf, I immediately found the sales assistant and showed him the fridge I wanted which, joy of joys, was on promotion. I advised him of my dire need for it to be delivered before Thursday because there was no way I could cope fridge-less over New Year. He must have understood my plight, because he said he would check the stock. Unfortunately, there were none, only the more expensive white version (not on promo) and ordering from the depot wouldn't get it to me until Friday.

So I suggested that I could have the one on display, and have it delivered on Wednesday. He hummed and ha'd a bit but I did more helpless, desperate female act, which wasn't difficult as it was exactly how I felt, and he said that would be okay.

So, Cinderella, you will go to the ball, and I will have a fridge for New Year. The thought of preparing party meals with no fridge was just a nightmare, and I was on the point of cancelling everything and retiring to my bed with a temperature and bottle of gin. No need, however, YIPPEE!

All I have to do now is clear out the existing fridge, clean underneath and get it ready to be carted off. No small task as it's covered in magnetic letters and bits and bobs on the top (cake stands, empty jars, roasting tin...), all dusty and needing a new home. The bin beckons for most of it... I'd much rather have those magnetic words that you can make into poetry or a little story now that the boys are older. They never did play with the letters. Visitors to the house (such as NG) used them way more than the boys! Ah well, all one can do is provide the means to improvement. You can't force it down.

I'm now looking forward with pleasure to the next couple of days (even though I have to venture out shopping tomorrow afternoon...!) instead of with pure horror and dread. It's the little things... 511litres worth that make all the difference.

Getting to the UK

I'm going through my annual struggle to get to the UK for the end of the year. This year, however, it's looking grim.

To take advantage of the tickets I can actually afford, I have to be right up there at the opening of ticket sales - 2 months in advance for Eurostar, 3 for SNCF. Actually, I don't see why Eurostar can't align its ticketing procedures with SNCF because that would really make life much easier for those of us who find it hard enough even with the cheapest tickets. By the time Eurostar tickets go on sale, SNCF have had theirs out for a month already, and at the busiest times, the cheapest ones get sold off really quickly.

This month I haven't been able to reserve anything. I had to apply for ID cards for the boys, but had to wait for their father to send written authorization that I can do this. It took him two years... He left it so late that I couldn't apply until mid-October and it takes six weeks to get them processed. If all goes well...

As it's quite possible that French fonctionnaires go on strike, or that stuff gets lost, or that some bit of paper is missing, which would put back the application, I dare not buy any type of non-refundable ticket until I have the ID cards in my hot little hands.

Normally it costs me about 500€ to take the boys to the UK. I checked the prices for New Year week and they are currently standing at 945€! This is way over the top and means that we cannot take the train.

I then checked British Airways from Marseille. As I refuse the idea of getting to Gatwick from Essex for 06:55, I have to take the pricier tickets, total cost 985€. OK, there's always Ryanair. A shortened trip because they don't fly every day from Montpellier, and it would cost us 750€ not including priority boarding (a further 24€). Plus the cost of getting to and from Stansted (another 100€). Going from Marseille is out because, again, there is only a 0635 flight. As it takes 90mins to get there, plus the international flight 2-hr check-in time constraint, it would mean losing a night's sleep.

So basically it means that we can't go. Which, naturally, is really pissing me off, especially as it means that, even divorced, my ex-h can still piss about with my life, the boys' lives and that of my family. And there isn't anything I can do about it except send a narky letter (which I've done).

There was never supposed to be a Plan B, but I've had to come up with some sort of alternative. It is for me to go over, alone, while the boys are with their father, to spend Christmas with my parents. It would give my mother some relief from dotty dad when it's not sure that there'll be other members of the family around on Christmas Day, which in itself is a Good Thing.

I'm just sorry that the boys will be deprived of their trip, that they won't get to go ice-skating at the Natural History Museum, or see their cousins or the rest of the family. We only go over twice a year as it is, so it's a real shame to have to miss out on a trip.

And all because their father couldn't be arsed to write one letter. What a twat.

First Impressions

So what impressions are you left with after ten days making merry?

For me, Christmas in Blighty was made particularly significant by attending or listening to the Nine Lessons & Carols first at our local church and then on the radio at Kings College, Cambridge. I had not felt particularly Christmassy this year, but listening to the build up to the arrival of Jesus plus the traditional carols brought what it was all about thankfully home.

I'm not very church-goey, especially as there is no C of E church in Montpellier, and sitting through Catholic mass is not something I relish, so I do the traditional English thing of only attending church when it matters or when I happen to be in the country. Which means Christmas.

I also drag the boys along so they can appreciate an English traditional C of E Christmas (whether they like it or not) and at least be imbibed with what Christmas really means from an early age. We went to church on Christmas Day which they suffered knowing they'd get no pressies if they moaned. Christmas without the religious significance is as heartless a piece of commercial exploitation as it gets. It's just all greed : food greed and acquisition greed.

Anyway, moving on... I have a lasting memory of Greenwhich Naval College where we went ice-skating in bright orange skates to twinkling lights and shouts of delight followed by mulled wine and the Docklands Light Railway journey through Canary Wharf fairyland.

Family get-togethers of laughing children, Roman Playmobil figures fighting it out on the carpet, reading out the same jokes from crackers, trying to put together a rubber puzzle in the shape of a cube, Handel's Messiah to pressie-wrapping at midnight, flaming Christmas pud with brandy cream, and the Queen's speech so full of generosity and kindness.

Then back to New Year's Eve with a dear friend to sup on Bottarga di Muggine from Sardinia grated over fresh pasta followed by a grilled/smoked veal chop with stuffed peppers and a different wine for every fork-full... Then watched a DVD on Andy Goldsworthy and his incredible sculptures worked from Nature, in Nature. Not a wild party, but a delicious evening for all the senses. Texts to loved ones at midnight, then phone calls later once the over-charged lines were free, and to bed, thankfully, gratefully, warmly.

Happy New Year to one and all, and may 2008 see your foes defeated and yourselves victorious in whatever it is you are trying to overcome!

Air Today

I had to buy two new suitcases to come to Blighty and all because of RyanAir's new weight restrictions per suitcase. In times gone by I would fill up a mega case with clothes for all, and take a small case of 2 x 10L wine boxes. They fit in snuggly, and I just needed to be able to get the cases in and out of the car. It was a struggle at times but what's a back in the pursuit of a good drink?

The limit of 15kg per bag per person is a pain, but makes things easier on the back (there's always a silver lining...). I filled up the spaces with a loaf of pain de compagne, a tarte au poire, a galette des rois and those inflated pockets of air in plastic used to pack boxes. A visit to the family at New Year after Christmas involves presents - bulky ones for the boys - and the need for space.

We flew via Marseille; an original routing in a direct service from Montpellier to Stansted, but we needed a spare part. An engineer wearing a descriptive coat and carrying a screwdriver (always a dead giveaway), fiddled about in the cockpit for a couple of minutes, after which we had to wait 40minutes for a slot out. The kiddy diagonally opposite screamed from time to time, expressing on our behalf the frustrations of the rest of the cattle. I mean, passengers.

I was fairly unperturbed as the wait for the taxi at the other end would have been 2 hours had we been on time, and would now merely require us to hang around for 45mins.

Our taxi driver was a chatty chap and provided an entertaining drive including avoiding the M11 which had a tailback from the M25 junction as far back as Harlow. I heard about his mother who had lived in the UK for 45 years and spoke no English but had had 4 children who now financed her travels around the world since the death of her husband, and, at the age of 75 was having a blast. I heard about his eldest son who, at the age of 27 had given up believing he was the next rock guitar phenomenon and, with the love of his girlfriend, had been encouraged to find a proper job and grow up. He is now a trainee computer repairer with PCWorld and loving it. His daughter is a maths whizz and earns a 6-figure sum in the city, while his sister is married to an Indian pop star and jets it around the world. Definitely an entertaining drive!

Followed by relief at arriving 'home', surrounded by the entire nuclear family, a festive house wonderfully and fully decorated, a turkey and Christmas pud lunch on New Year's Eve, and joyous boys having a ball with their cousins and adoring their presents from the Blighty contingent.

Happy times.

Hair Today

In preparation for the New Year festivities in the UK, I paid a visit to my coiffeuse, Véro, chez Jean Vallon on Wednesday. It's a place I've been frequenting on and off for many years now. At one point though, I spurned the camp zebra-print sofa provided while you wait for a service à domicile with Crystelle, who staggered along the unfinished paths to my doorstep with her equipment.

She was a lot cheaper than the salon, and we had a good old natter while waiting for the colour to take, but she is so successful that you have to be pretty well organised about booking her in advance. Unfortunately, I'm the 'oh my god, I've got to get my hair done this week or bust' type, which meant I was forever being told kindly but firmly that she was unavailable. At which point I would revert to Véro who could always fit me in somewhere.

So now I've accepted the inevitable. I rang the salon on Tuesday afternoon for an appointment the next afternoon and was fitted in as smoothly as a well-kept hand into a silk glove.

We hear a lot about morose French service industry workers, but in Jean Vallon they are a cheery, smiley bunch who always make you feel you are a good client, which I am. Véro cuts hair, so another nice girl did the colour and I was able to admire her tiny French frame and the way her belt seemed able to suspend itself on her hips without working its way up, or down.

Next to me was a scene of intense activity. A young woman in her early 20s was turning from a brunette into a blond. This involved several stages of work. Her hair had to be uncoloured and then coloured blond. It was taking ages. She was at the uncolouring stage when I joined her at the mirrors. Her mother was passing protective cotton wool strips to place at root level while the 'bleach' was applied and massaged into the long strands of hair.

My own colour applied, I sat and read 'Challenges' magazine instead of a trashy women's one because it had a section on what studies lead to jobs. So, for example, general engineers are 80% likely to get a good job on leaving university. Those doing media studies have a 39% chance of a job most of which will be through a temporary contract. I was reading with the RA and my eldest in mind as it also gave information on what makes a CV stand out from the banality of most.

Back at the mirror, Ms Decap was standing up to make her way to the basins. It took a long time for her to do this as her legs emerged as being very long, perched as they were on 4 inch heels, with a very very short flimsy skirt over thick patterned tights. A thought flitted across my mind that my mother would have blown a gasket had I appeared in such an outfit, so obviously her mother, who was sitting admiring her daughter as she strode over to the basins, had a laxer attitude than mine...

I was by now sitting on the cutting side of the room. The hot water had run out just before the conditioner on my hair was washed off, so I had to endure a chilly rinse which froze me to the core. I sat, warming up, while Véro snipped, and watched, fascinated while Ms Decap had her hair dried. It had come out a virulent orange yellow and she gawped at it, horrified, holding her nose, maybe to stop herself snorting. I tell you, it was most entertaining.

Her coiffeuse was not in the slightest perturbed as it was completely normal for brown hair to decolour like this. Had she left it like that, she could have made a fortune on street corners. Still, it had to be blondified, so she went back to the colouring side of the room to have the 'bleach' applied, and when I left, she was still waiting for it to take.

She would look extremely stunning when it was finished, I'm sure. With those legs, and long blond hair, she'd drive many men wild, which I'm sure was the aim. She would be all set to have a fantastically fun New Year!

My more modest cut and colour were beautifully executed as usual even though the girls were extremely busy, had been working last Sunday and would be working this Sunday too. I am very excited by the fact that I have been there now 9 times, so next time I go, I'll get a free session.

I did envy those legs though...