Paris

The boys took their first trip to Paris at the weekend and had the added joy of seeing Andy. The boys and I had an easy trip from Dijon while Andy battled with unbelievably crap transport services in the UK.
We had taken advice and pre-booked our Eiffel Tower tickets and I hate to think how long the experience would have taken without them. We bypassed the queue on the ground but spent plenty of time in the vertical queue for lifts and staircases. Thankfully the skies were clear and the boys loved seeing Paris from  above. However the need for hot chocolate soon got the better of us and we tore down the staircases rather than wait for the lift.

We soon realised that Paris was packed and that anywhere and everywhere was a queue. We walked the boys up to the Arc de Triomphe and reeled when we saw the crowds. We joined the throng on the Champs Elysees and smiled at the massive queue outside the newly reopened Marks & Spencers where people were happy to wait two hours just to go into the store!

Luckily the river came to the rescue and we were able to get tickets on a Paris boat trip without too much trouble. We loved the Eiffel Tower light show which happens every night on the hour and lasts for ten minutes. 20,000 flashbulbs transform the dark steel girders into a glittering diamond encrusted sculpture. Simple but beautifully effective.

On the Sunday we had hoped to see the Modern Art galleries at the Pompidou Centre but the queues were unbelievable so we settled for Paris on foot and enjoyed as many of the sights as we could whilst fuelled by the thickest, richest and most expensive hot chocolates available.

The peaceful bit at the Pompidou Centre

Christmas has landed at Notre Dame

What Egyptians?

The latest craze on Lovers' Bridge.

Fun with languages

Since October I have been attending a French language class at the local college. It is free to non-French speaking parents of school age children in the St Jean area. I am not sure that my language skills are improving but I am certainly getting plenty to giggle about!
The group is predominantly Turkish. Thrown into the mix are an Italian and a Romanian and myself. Our teacher is Syrian. And although I do not speak Italian or Romanian I am now their official interpreter in class. Sometimes I am Rolf Harris and can only convey meaning by a "do you know what it is yet?" cartoon. And at other times I am the "lady of the dictionary" with access to the French dictionaries for all the classroom languages.
Despite our language barriers we have forged great friendships and have discovered words which are virtually the same in all our languages. This list is work in progress and by no means exhaustive and consists of the unquestionably essential combination of  : piano, elephant, parachute & aeroplane.
I just need a scenario where I can get all those things in one phrase...

"My Mate" Ken Clarkson

Hugs and kisses to Ken Clarkson (Film Caterer Extraordinaire & demon go-kart driver) who is one of our greatest blog followers and has generously ensured that the unique gourmet fare of England will be with us for years to come! Thank you from the crew of Lobelia. xxx

Bad Parenting

Just found this amongst our summer clips. An illustration of bad parenting. We actually paid someone to do this to our beloved son. It was well worth it!

Parades are like buses...

The boys are members of the local Judo club which has an excellent membership and an inspirational teacher. We spend several hours per week at the club and have been made to feel very welcome indeed. And last weekend the boys were invited to join the parade to celebrate 100 years of sporting associations in Saint Jean de Losne.

The French love a parade. They love a marching band. They love flags and banners and noise and uniforms. The emergency services usually join in and love to sound their sirens. And the parade nearly always visits the retirement home. I think it might be the french version of taking great-grandma to feed the ducks in the park (for those in the know - long live Beryl Reid in the Beiderbecke series!)

Saint Jean de Losne is not a big town, but when there is a parade it seems like a city the size of London. These parades can take up to two hours. I reckon a parade is the secret weapon in the Dukan diet arsenal because there is no time to stop and eat. Or perhaps this swarming syndrome is the most effective way to keep heating bills down and the town warm in the winter. Or maybe the decibel level is so high that it helps to drown out the annoying mobylettes (noisy scooters) that buzz about incessantly. After all - there can't be too many people who watch the parade as most of the town is already taking part in it.

apparently this appliance is still in service!

And only six days later we found ourselves in another parade. Same town. Different band. This time the boys paraded with school friends to the War Memorial for the Remembrance Service. They wore their poppies and fielded questions from bemused locals who do not know the poppies' significance. And they sang the Marseillaise and marched behind the band and the firemen and the local dignitaries. 

Our next scheduled parade is on December 11th : a re-run of the St Nicolas celebration which we took part in last year. I wonder which band it will be?

Here the sousaphone player nearly causes a pile-up!