After getting up at 4 o’clock last Sunday morning to catch the early TGV, my trip home to Chesterfield was nearly cut radically short by signal failure 20 km south of Lille. Luckily, someone pulled the right levers and we shunted into the station just in time for me to have my yearly battle with the immigration official. As I approached the border control box I removed my glasses and handed him the loose bundle of rags that is my passport. Continue reading
We made it. Another Mayan long-term cycle grinds into gear and I’m wondering where we’ll be at the end of the next? Probably still waiting in five hour traffic jams like the one I got caught up in yesterday driving back from Annonay after a five hour class with people who make dieting biscuits for a living. Continue reading
It’s the morning after our Christmas meal and I’m dashing out to the park for what might be the last run of my life. Continue reading
On my way to A and A this morning (it’s a pharmaceutical company), I realised that I’d taken the same route I used to take when I lived in Guillotière last year. While it made me late for the third time this week, it was worth it because it gave me the chance to check out how Old Matey was getting on, my name for the homeless man we met in Lyon 15. Continue reading
The question I’ve been asking myself for a few month now is, who exactly reads this blog? This week the statistics hit 3000 visits since I started it last year. What this means in terms of actual readership is impossible to gauge. What I want to know is how many people have read it because they want to. Compared to how many people have stumbled upon it by accident; read some strange meanderings about some guy called Blogley and pressed delete. Quickly followed by BLOCK SITE. Continue reading
Where do you take your parents to eat on their first trip to Lyon? A city of 10,000 restaurants.
This was the dilemma I was facing leading up to their arrival last weekend. With the hotel and flights booked and paid for. It was up to me to find three good restaurants to cover each of their three nights in the city. If I ever needed to use the needle in a haystack analogy, it was now. Continue reading
Soap, packets of pasta, flip-flops, pirated DVDs, odd socks, faded French popstar posters, out-of-date ibuprofen, bottles of coloured spirits, mouldy lamp shades, punctured bean bags, packets of dried almonds. All of these litter my flat like artefacts in a museum. Carefully curated to remind me that even though she doesn’t live here anymore, her possessions do. Continue reading