The Entente Lime Cordiale

Should you put the lime cordial in first then the water, or the other way around?

My local is called 'La Gare'. It's lovely. And I've just discovered this being said about it:

'Locally, la jeunesse dorée of the 16th can be found hanging out in the 'm'as-tu vu?' ('did you see me') haven of La Gare.'

So evidently not a bad place: peanuts have been replaced by olives. Although Olly and I got crisps last night.

But, it's kind is under threat.

I've just read an article on the times website with this title:

'Paris does the can’t-can’t as noise laws kill nightlife'

It's here http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article6936286.ece if you fancy a look. I know; me reading. But it makes an interesting point. A point that says the French know how to control things. Or maybe the British do...?

Paris is concerned as it's nightlife is disappearing. There have been so many noise restrictions put in place, that the noisiest location in the city is now the Perifpherique! Some may say this is a good thing; putting up noise restrictions: 'people that need to work' says one comment on that article. I for one had the old woman below me bang on my front door at 23h30 the other night as my shower was making too much noise and keeping her awake!

This is hardly the Paris the Mairie wants to portray, but if it carries on the way it is, that's the Paris it'll have to put up with.

Having lived here for just under two months, I shall tell you something I have worked out. The French mock me for being English and the fact that my economy was buggered during 'la crise' and that there's was (relatively more) healthy. The money in France comes not from the French, but from other nationalities working longer hours and propping everyone else up, and from tourism.

If the noise restrictions carry on, the nightlife will move, as it's doing already to other European cities, and the French will be in the merde. I think the party in the UK will noisily last long into the night and the last train will have left La Gare.

Was I just in Dr Who?

I felt something more whimsical.

Having felt knackered I went for a nap for an hour. Three hours ago. It's so confusing going to sleep when it's light and then waking up when it's dark still in your clothes.

On top of all of this, I must have had some variety of dream as I ended up in a country house during a soireé of someone's and met a boy called Edward. Then there was a white flash and David Tennant turned up and said did I want to follow him, gave me some blue potion and then ran. Edward and I followed him out a back staircase and along a road to a kebab shop. Where we met Edward's mum who always bought him a kebab after rehearsals.

Now I'm back in the real world as I write this and have some questions for you:

Are you actually reading this?

Was I just in Dr Who?

Do you reckon I'll wake up in a minute and find I'm actually writing this in the dream?!

Strange things are going on in my head!

Honestly, what just happened?!

Following on from 'Onions and Frogs' last week: http://domcovkid.blogspot.com/2009/11/onions-and-frogs.html , something strange happened today. We won a game. Yes. Won.

It was the normal routine of wake up late, eat breakfast and lie in bed with my head under the covers listening to Eminem's 'Loose yourself' really loud to get 'in the zone!'

So having turned up 15mins late, I was mildly surprised to find I was the second person there. I waited until the rest of the team turned up and gave the team talk (I've had a week to work on it!) and it seemed to have worked. I suppose it would as the general gist was 'enjoy yourselves'

And true to form we were a goal down within 5 minutes after some frankly comical defending.

Never one to give up easily (yes mum, I did just write that :P) I moved myself into midfield and went about changing things in true entente cordiale fashion. We started to move the ball around better, move into space; nice things.

Not meaning to blow my own trumpet but I set up three. and bloody scored! A peach. Got the ball in my own D after a cocked up short corner, legged it down the right wing, beat three defenders for pace and then looked around to see if there was someone I could pass to. There wasn't, so I cut inside to the edge of the D and smashed (flukiest most perfect contact ever) it across goal into the top left. Silence. The best (and most lucky) goal ever scored in France.

So we won 6-1. It was like France had won the World Cup and no one had handled it to get them there. Just honest, excellent play.

So all I've got to do is work out how I'm going to fill the rest of my sunday now that matches are so early!!

Is this work? Really?

Quick one. As I'm playing hockey at 9am tomorrow (I don't understand in a country so laid back and many unions fighting for many people's rights why hockey is played so early on a sunday morning in France! Maybe it's because the only thing there isn't a trade union for is indeed hockey!) so they'll be a blog about that. Sorry, that was a lot of bracketed speech so you'll have to go back and read it again so it makes sense!

What I really wanted to explain was yesterday. It was Friday, so the normal hardly anyone being at work principal applied, the morning was spent discussing your weekend plans and the afternoon was spent on google maps handy traffic function working out whether the roads out of Paris were busy so you could put the plans you talked about in the morning into action!

But lunch. No normal mooching off to the canteen (actually it's called a restaurant; only in France!) but everyone who was in work appearing in a meeting room for lunch.

It was the day after the third thursday in November. Meaning that 24hrs earlier the Beaujolais wine for 2009 had been released. All 7 varieties of it.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beaujolais_nouveau

Only in France could an entire 90mins of work time be devoted to wine. And apparently, damn good wine as it '...was judged to be one of the finest vintages on record,' by many people around the world. http://www.kyw1060.com/Philadelphia-Area-Toasts-Beaujolais-Nouveau-Day/5718604

So whilst 18 of us polished off all 7 bottles (I had a couple of glasses, Phillippe polished off a bottle to himself) we also gorged ourselves on a mix of salads, patés, rustic French bread and a lovely tarte tatin!

We got back into the office and I was asked whether an English person enjoyed that. 'Bah oui!' I replied 'Only in France,' all the while feeling really genuinely sorry for Olly in Chippenham having a plastic sandwich at his desk! But oh well, he's coming to visit next week so we'll French it up!

OK, that was quite long, sorry! More tomorrow!! :)

The Hand of Gaul

And so here's my ten penneth. And I was there. So unlike everyone who has an opinion (and I don't blame them), mine is more first hand.....

So, 'it proves the pope isn't an Irish catholic*' and 'pretty sure that is the only time in French history that a flag hasn't been raised when they have their backs to the wall**' but for me, being engulfed in the atmosphere, it's more than that. There was a tangible sense of fear coupled with nationalistic pride all rolled into one with the anthem (video below) and a communal sense of 'we might coque (pun intended) this up.' A physical feeling of we need to win.

So when Robbie Keane finished off a lovely move down the wing, the Irish went insane with joy. The stadium shook. Well one tiny part in the corner did. The rest of us were in shock a sense of 'ok lads, we're properly in the merde now!'

Attacks came and went; and then after much football, much whistling and swearing, 'that goal'

And yes, I happened to have a 6th sense so was recording whilst it went in. OK, just a bit of it!

There was a 'Mon Dieu we've scored!' moment as the French (and I must confess me as well) went apoplectic with rapturous jubilation.

Then, after everything had died down, the goading of the Irish had ceased, there was a knowledge that Henry had handled. The Irish were too far away so the only people in the stadium who didn't think it wasn't a goal, were, ironically, the fans of the team who had just been knocked out!

I looked across at my dad. He was a shock. 'hand ball' he murmured. I carried on jumping up and down and then looked across a couple of minutes later. 'He cheated' came the response. My dad was right. Everything that parents across the world teach their children had been blown apart so overtly and so blatantly. There's no joy in it. Five minutes later we were on our way to the metro station. So were many others; whilst the match continued behind us all. I looked back at the stadium, knowing we'd made the right decision.

I don't know what the response will be. From FIFA, UEFA, anyone. I'm not going to pretend I know things; but I was there and had a sense of an understanding about what Henry must have felt. The pressure of 80,000 people in his face; an entire nation on his shoulders.

What I am going to finish with is I feel, and I know this may upset a few people, that if it had been the Irish who had won like France did, the Irish would have expected everyone to live with it and said it was part of the game.

I leave you with a announcement on the metro this morning from the driver that encapsulates the collective sense of embarrassment and mild shame that has gripped Paris today : (translated from French obv!)

'Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the end of the line. Would everyone please get off. I would just like to say, as a Frenchman, I am happy we are going to the world cup, but it was a handball and as a Frenchman, I would also like to apologise to the Irish as it was not a way to win a game. Have a good day.'

and the train applauded.

*My mum!

**My brother (which he probably stole from somewhere)

Onions and Frogs

It seems me, and my dear friend Mikey (http://mict88.blogspot.com) are equally frustrated by our respective hockey teams.

Having got on the bus for a good 5 minutes for an away match this morning, we promptly threw it away, played atrociously and lost 4-1. Having been used to a beautiful brand of effectively 'total-hockey' for the past 12 months culminating in winning the league in Bristol, I seem to have been dragged back to hockey dark-ages!

There's no pace, no momentum and no link between the defence and the attack. If someone gets the ball, their first reaction is to play it backwards. Then backwards some more, until the opposition tackle them and score. It just doesn't work.

As I have only been in Paris about a month I'm reluctant to to impart my knowledge as I'm sure they won't listen.

Any suggestions as to how to motivate a French hockey team would be very much appreciated in the comments box below this post!!

What isn't a thorough disappointment is the fact that spotify is legal in France *happy face* and the fact that I have learnt to caramelise onions; which were very lovely by the way.

I shall leave you with the note that I am very much looking forward to the new series of Top Gear ce soir; and imploring you all to watch it!

Bon Soir et bon next week a tous!

Remembrance Sunday

Although we lost this morning, I still wore my poppy with pride!

AUTUMN! COLOUR!

The camera was charged and it wasn't raining so I went out and took some lovely pictures! Just to give you a sense of how much fun I'm having!

And, they'll be another one tomorrow as I've got an idea for remembrance Sunday

So without further ado:

3 Europeans, 2 World Wars, 1 Discussion and 0.5 Swine Flu

As I write this I'm at home. In fact, I'm writing this blog backwards!

Right; 0.5 Swine Flu. I've got it. It's not officially swine flu, so I'm happy about that. So I'm working from home today. Like actually working! None of this lying in bed feeling sorry for myself! I'm laced on pills and strepsils and have already eaten enough oranges this morning than a small African nation produces in an entire year. And whilst all of this is being ingested, the Danny Baker Show on 5live podcast is resonating around the flat.

The next bit is a enlightening aspect of working in an international environment. No one in my office understands why I'm wearing my poppy; even though the French have the 11/11 off work! So we had a discussion: Me, the plucky Brit, Claudine, the 'cheese eating surrender monkey' (but she's lovely and caring really) and Heinz, the German.

Having heard rumour that because remembrance day falls on a wednesday, the French will be taking both monday and tuesday off. So I asked my boss:

'Heinz,' asked I 'what's happening next week with the holiday?'

'The Germans don't have the day off...'

'.....Because you lost!' I quipped before he'd finished.

'The French have the day off',' replied Claudine.

'Yes, because you surrendered, so you need to commemorate,' retorted Heinz (displaying an uncharacteristic vein of German humour) 'The Polish have the day off too I think'

'Yes!' I said, 'Because you fully invaded them the second time and you still didn't beat them! They have every right to have the day off!'

So after all of that, I think I may have take thursday and friday off!