Black November

We are on day 8 of the transport strike in France. Unfortunately it has coincided with a cold, wet spell and the whole city is seething. The pavements are packed with grumpy Parisians, the streets jammed with road rage of every kind; car, motorcycle, and bicycle, the few buses and metros that are running are so full that people are risking getting limbs cut off as they squeeze in the doors. Manifestations are now taking place in busy areas with thousands of people protesting. If you get caught on the wrong side of the protest you are stuffed, the police stop traffic and the protesters take their sweet time going across while you patiently wait or take the very long way around. The French are tres pissed off and want the world to know.

Attempting to make the best of it, the Ellis family have donned their trainers and scooters to make the trek to and from school every day. Once Tom does his drop off he swiftly transforms into Superman and runs the remaining 8 km to work (much to the delight of the mothers on the school run). I continue to push the pram through muddy Champ de Mars and should be bench pressing 250lb easily by Christmas. The times Ruby does attempt to scoot inevitably ends in a fall on the way, delaying us even more. After drop off I jump on a velib and join the crazy road ragers, praying I don’t get hit by a tour bus.
The children however are coping amicably with our new regime. Scooting/walking 3 km to school with hundreds of other people in cold, wet conditions is a far cry from our cosy local school 2 minutes away in Bradford on Avon, yet they have rarely complained.

It is the mothers with young children and old people who suffer at these times, or anyone who is physically disabled and relies solely on public transport to get around. I stare with disbelief at all those able bodied people who stubbornly wait for the sardine packed bus instead of using their own two feet.
Next in line; civil servants, teachers, students, lawyers, judges, air traffic controllers, and most importantly, tobacco retailers (‘fuming’ about the imminent public smoking ban) are all jumping on the bandwagon, protesting over many of Sarkozy’s reforms. Very soon normal life as we know it will cease and the country will just become one big whinging unproductive mass of moaners, huddled together outside in their hordes, smoking, debating, and idling, what the French are best at anyway.
With France’s former president under investigation for embezzlement, and their new President under attack for attempting to ‘modernise’ the country and create incentives for the French to work harder, we’re wondering if this is the right place to be. Sarkozy’s hardest reforms are coming next year apparently, within the health care sector, general pensions, and the labour code. If this is Sarkozy’s 'Black November’, what are we in store for next year???

Halloween in Paris

World Cup Woes & Bicycle Foes

The city is swarming with international rugby fans, and lucky for me, the players as well.
Running in Champ De Mars is never dull at the moment, seeing a scrumful of rugby boys running in big groups is more than inspiration to keep me going.

Despite England’s performance in the tournament so far, the atmosphere is electric everywhere in Paris, without any unsightly, drunken scenes as the rugby crowds behave accordingly. Everyone wears their patriotism on their shirts, and there is no animosity, (apart from the poor English bloke walking through a crowd of hundreds of Scots at the Champ de Mars who roared blasphemies at him). So far it has been the Scots who have made the most noise, taking over the Champ de Mars for a few days, it was swimming in kilts, beer, and bare bottoms (I’m not complaining!)

As usual, Paris has done things in style and have suspended a huge rugby ball in the middle of the Eiffel Tower, lighting it up green and gold at night throughout the tournament. They also have large outdoor screens up in front of Trocadero and Hotel De Ville for mass viewing. It felt quite unreal to be watching England play in such an atmosphere, with the late afternoon sun setting on Hotel De Ville the picture was still amazing as people lolled about on the fake grass beneath the screen. The police, as always, were in control, with high security and directing people and traffic, and numerous Gendarmerie vans on standby. A year ago I would have criticised them and accused them of being control freaks, but now I realise what they do makes sense, they don’t want it to get out of hand, and you can be sure you won’t see any drunk English louts singing ‘Sweet Low Sweet Chariot’ whilst stumbling along Place d’Hotel DeVille, for if they did they’d be quickly silenced. Most Brits we passed by nodded in patriotic showmanship, the funniest being a tubby Anglophone with his roses proudly on display above his impressive gut, teamed with a French beret…..now that is class!

The city of Paris has introduced a new, inexpensive, biking system - the 'velib'. Several thousand very good quality bikes are stationed all over Paris, 300 meters apart, with over 300 km of bike lanes created especially for those brave enough to use them. After finally working out how to use a 'velib', I set off with a friend along the Seine on a splendid late summer’s morning. To be riding a bike around Paris felt so liberating, and not quite as terrifying as I thought. Because so many people are doing it, it makes it more accessible somehow, easier to slip into the crowd of nervous yet gleeful cyclists weaving their way around the city, much to the chagrin of taxi and bus drivers.

As I'm getting used to all the bus/taxi/bike lanes whilst dodging the traffic of pedestrians, motorcycles, cars, and other cyclists, it all seems to be going very smoothly, no crashes or injuries…until the junction at Pont Neuf. Just after this things get a bit tricky, and we end up on the wide pavement adjacent to the bus lane, which was very narrow and full of buses, a mere gap stop til we could get on the road again. However, in unforgiving Paris, you are not allowed to make even the smallest mistake or deviate from the norm, and a vendeur (man selling books along the Seine) decides to inform me of my crime of briefly riding on ‘le trottoir’ by grabbing me as I ride slowly by so I nearly fall. Unbelievably aggressive, he shouts at me in French for 'rouling' on the sidewalk. Aggressively French back I tell him ‘Ne touché pas!’ and it infuriates him (unbeknownst to me it was a form of the language used only for the lowest of the low). Enraged, he comes after me. I hop on my bike and try to escape and he kicks me as I wobble away, shouting very English profanities over my shoulder, bien sur!

Lesson learned – wear heels next time so I can kick him back.

Holidaying with the French & Beach Rugby

I’m taking great comfort in seeing that not all French are the pristine, classy, well turned out people that the Parisians portray themselves to be. In a self catering resort in the south of France, there are all walks of French life, and in this type of place you don’t find as much chic and sophistication as you would in Paris. They are on holiday, after all, with the first rule being to bare as much flesh as possible. This is understandable when living in a ‘mobilhom’, what constitutes basically a large microwave oven. I have no idea which parts of France these French people are from, but there is evidence that class distinction also exists in this country, we all have our versions of chav, thank goodness.

There are still, however, some things that remain exclusively French across the spectrum of classes. Their vanity for example. Only here would you see grandmothers shouting at their grandchildren to ‘jouer!’ at the poolside, swatting them away like flies, whilst they proceed to sunbathe topless, unashamed of the scars on their breasts from implants done quite some time ago. When they’re completely grey and saggy there has to be a point where those things just don’t matter, but not for the French. It matters very much for as long as they are on ‘display’.

Interaction with children seems the same countrywide. Very little basically, with the odd slap for minor misdemeanours, I even heard one mother call her little girl ‘Vache!’ by the pool whilst giving her a smack. They are far too busy browning their boobs and smoking fags in the sun to play with their kids or swim in the pool, no wonder all the little Frenchies stamp on our sandcastles, they’re pissed off their parents didn’t help them make any!

And here we are, a week later, still making sandcastles but this time on the Paris Plage, the man made beach by the Seine. One of many great free events Paris puts on, and this year complete with Beach Rugby in honor of the World Cup tournament this year. In front of Hotel DeVille, Tom and the kids had a go whilst I watched the men’s Beach Volleyball on the next patch, oh la la.

Saving grace – the French are late risers therefore there is no rush to reserve your sunbed on the beach or by the pool (as with the Germans). Just get there before lunch and leave before tea when the hordes of French teenagers arrive, most with their prepubescent breasts on display.
Not so saving grace – We missed the finish of Tour de France on Champs Elysee because some plonker from Channel 4 invited us to a restaurant where they were filming Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares. They were filming as we arrived and upon first sight of our noisy and loud children we were promptly told they were fully booked. I saw Gordon from nose to torso through the small kitchen window, but a bloody waste of time.

Scuba Diving Under The Eiffel Tower

The Ellis Family have been taken to new heights on the fitness front. There have been so many events, tournaments, and trials in this city that all our heads are spinning from the constant buzz of everything, never mind being physically exhausted just keeping up with life over here!
· From riding to diving, our son is getting quite the experience en France! The Champ de Mars is always buzzing with some event or other, on top of the thousands of tourists, it’s a busy place!! This past weekend there was a huge pool set up under the tower and they were offering free trial lessons scuba diving to anyone. Sam was very keen so in he went, although a bit disappointed he didn’t see any manta rays or tropical fish he did see a crocodile and it has spurred on his love for the marine world even more.
· Afterwards we crossed the bridge to check out the Paris Rugby Experience at Trocadero. They had touch rugby tournaments in front of a huge screen showing live rugby, so sitting on the stone steps of Palais de Chaillot Tom watched a professional game on the screen and a real game in front of him with an Eiffel Tower view….not bad. The view was fine for me was well, lots of muscley legs, tight pink rugby tops, and a few six packs………..heaven.
· One side of the Champ de Mars is now being topped up with tonnes of sand for…………you guessed it, professional beach volleyball tournaments!!! Now, will that get you over here to visit me my darling sister Gail???? Apparently they do it every summer, so start saving for your plane ticket. Guess where I’m going to be parked everyday after school….oh la la. And yes there’ll be lots of eye candy for the boys as well, shame Tom’s stuck in an office across town.

Crazy May

May is a crazy month in Paris. With over 5 bank holidays scattered throughout, not much is accomplished at school or work. With the crowning of the new president of France, Nicholas Sarkozy, Paris has been buzzing with political fever and excitement mixed with a little bit of unrest. Admittedly, I was very naive of the politics in France, but it’s hard to escape living in Paris as everyone seems to be talking about it. A few weeks ago as I was sipping my usual café crème on Rue Cler, an older gentleman walked by and stopped to say ‘Bonjour Madame’ and shake my hand. Very friendly, I thought. Then another gentleman walks by a few minutes later, again shakes my hand and charmingly says, ‘Bonjour Madame’. No idea who these men were I thought I must be prime prey for older gents seeking mistresses that day. Then I noticed many photographers and press people about and asked the ladies next to me who he was,. ‘Bayrou, third in line for presidency!!’ they replied. Oh la la, even old politicians are sexy and tres charming in France, let’s hope Sarkozy is also, though there remains to be many undecided about him.

The Cannes Film Festival is currently on and there is a fab exhibit in Le Bon Marche of black and white photographs from the previous years. Set in a mock up theatre, there is a large photo of the winner from each year atop a red velvet cinema chair. It is the 60th anniversary of Cannes this year so I’m sure it’s a cracker. Sadly, we are unable to join the celebs down south as we are not heading there until mid-July. Prochaine annee peut-etre?

We are also preparing for Sam’s first school trip away from home. The first week of June Sam will be at Pony Camp for 5 days (4 nights!!) The French encourage independence from a very young age, and we were very wary of it at first. But after a school meeting and numerous chats with other parents, we’ve given Sam the choice and he wants to go. He has to look after his own special pony for a week, water, walk, brush and feed it, plus numerous other activities in what looks like a fantastic camp. My greatest fear is my little boy coming back all grown up, or wanting a pony as a pet instead of a dog. It’s time to loosen the apron strings and let him go, his little sister will be in mourning for his absence.

Alors, our French adventures continue and we are definitely enjoying it more. The French live and breathe the Pleasure Principle more than any other nation, and we are getting a bit too used to it!

Gnomes at the Louvre

Taking a midnight stroll through the Louvre is truly spectacular. Everything in Paris should be seen during the day and at night, both perspectives offer so much in different ways, and there is something even more romantic about the city at night (if that’s possible). However, it’s not just romantic for us dreamy eyed married lovers walking amongst the maze of hedges leading on to the Tuilieries, it’s also the playground for gay garden gnomes apparently, who seemed to be popping out of the bushes at every turn as we walked by, no doubt excited about the loud British male voices they were hearing. UK’s version of Hampstead Heath, the gardens facing the pyramid at night are full of ‘cottagers’ looking for ‘lurve’ at the Louvre. We dared our male companions to go in but they only provided a wee bit of mincing for their Louvre lovers who obviously missed out on a quality bit of English Roast beef (with a condom to avoid mad cow disease bien sur).

Lovin' The Loire

The pleasant chirps of birds singing, soft wind blowing through the leaves, the gentle whirr of the pool’s motor with the odd, distant grunt of a tractor nearby…….We have traded the constant din of car horns honking, blaring ambulance sirens, and foreign French chatter for the blissful quiet of the Loire countryside. How much more you appreciate the simple things in life when you’re surrounded by chaos most of the time. Staying in a freshly decorated small farmhouse near Descartes (where the famous philosopher lived), we have adopted the local Labrador Tiggy, are picking fresh strawberries every morning from the garden, and are poolside every glimpse of sunshine we get (which sadly, is not often). A much needed escape from city life, we are visiting chateaux and drinking copious amounts of local wine to get us through the week, such a trial! Although the children are more excited about the dog than the castles, they are also enjoying having a house with a garden and a pool, even if they don’t get to swim in it.

Another castle visit to Chateau Chenonceau, the most famous of the Loire Valley. A ‘floating castle’, it is built as a bridge over the water, with beautiful gardens on either side. One can only imagine the types of parties that went on here. Built in the 16th century much of its original décor remains, and it is decadence beyond extravagant. The French King Henri II owned the chateau and gave it to his mistress. When he was killed his widow ordered the mistress to give it back to her, though she very graciously offered her another chateau down the road, how very diplomatic of her! Could you ever imagine Posh offering Madame Loos Beckinghim Palace following Becks demise after doing too many lines in LA.???

Not Brave Enough For Bikes.....yet

A Chanel model mom, a famous Belgian singer, a former covergirl model, these are the women I encounter on the school run. Correction, I rarely encounter them personally, but usually see their children with the foreign nanny getting dropped off or picked up, but when these women do appear they cannot be missed. With other moms either driving Jaguars to school, getting dropped off while their drivers wait for them, or arriving on the most amazing display of bikes ranging from full chariots to triple seaters, I feel quite humble as I get off the No. 80 bus. You can see why I get a little bit of satisfaction driving the car to school once in a while, just to prove I’m not a complete peasant.
Back to bikes - I do have great admiration for these women, driving their children around on these grand apparatuses in the dangerous streets, something you wouldn’t catch me doing, more for my lack of balance in coordinating such units. The looks my girlfriend receives as she bikes down Rue Cler with her amazing chariot are priceless, everything from wonderment to disgust to laughter. It truly does resemble a modern chariot with a 3 wheeled wagon compartment complete with pink detail. She can fit up to three children in there and pedal them around like a modern Mary Poppins, across the Champ de Mars, back to her beautiful ground floor flat (with garden!) virtually underneath the Eiffel Tower.
The French, however, generally don’t like ground floor flats. More for personal taste and status rather than security (they are obviously the easiest ones to break into), they see it as the higher up you live, the higher class you are. And obviously if you’re at the highest level you can have a rooftop garden (can you see a theme running here of child unfriendly places in this city???)
As we drive past the Eiffel Tower every day on the way to school, the view never gets tired. The children are always excited to see it whether half visible in the morning fog or in all its glittering glory at night, it is always impressive, magnificently tall and proud with hordes of people underneath at any time of day. Not something to ever take for granted, it is one of the finest landmarks in the world, and best of all, when we see it looming up, we know we’re close to home. The park in Champ de Mars has become our after school hangout, where they usually have a ride on the carrousel with the crazy Frenchman who insists I ride one of the tiny chevals, not a chance monsieur!

More French Progress

French progress - Finally having some daily chit chat with the Parisians is very satisfying. I don’t always understand everything, but catch just enough to respond with a ‘Pour quoi?’ or ‘Bien sur!’ Although customer service in most shops is appalling (usually from the women), the male ‘vendeurs’ are more friendly and forgiving of your bad French, a real treat to chat with. They may be fromagers, bouchers, or poissonniers, but they all have a passion and respect for food and take great care in helping you choose your product with helpful advice on how to store it and cook it. I love this banter with them, get a thrill of understanding a few words and being able to reply simply but correctly. They seem to appreciate the effort being made, and the ‘Bonjournee Madame’ makes my day.
Loving Ruby’s interpretation of the language at the moment. A lot of ‘Mommy, know what so-and-so is in French? It’s…..basically the English word with a long ‘aaaah’ on the end, for example chocolate is ‘choclaaaa’. Then when she comes out with her ‘oh la la’s, and ‘voila’s’ I can’t help but crack up. The other day she lost a ticket for the carousel as we were messing about on the bed, then a few minutes later I hear her say, ‘Ah, voila!’ as she pulled the ticket out of her knickers. A right little madame she’s turning into, or ‘mademoiselle’ should I say.
Sam’s accent has surpassed both Tom and mine’s in accuracy, he can spit out his French ‘r’s’ with more authenticity than we’ll ever have, and often corrects us when we don’t do it properly.

The Charm of The Champs Elysee

Tom and I have decided to make a concerted effort to get a babysitter every Saturday night and go out. What’s the point of living in Paris if you stay in your flat watching Jack Bauer every night (much as we love him)? Our latest escapade was to the Champs Elysee area for dinner and drinks.
The Champs Elysee is always entertaining. As touristy as the street is, I love everything about it. You have designer shops such as Louis Vitton’s empire with the most amazing window displays, massive Virgin Megastore to spend hours in, a huge Renault dealership with racing cars in the window. The choice of cafes and restaurants are endless, all at a ridiculous price. It is, of course, the ultimate street to people watch, so paying up to 7.50 euros for a coffee almost makes it worth it, to savour the coffee and watch the array of bouffant hair and huge sunglasses walk by, usually accompanied by a lot of fur either on themselves or walking beside them. There’s also quite a lot of filming going on, I walked right into what looked like a filming of a commercial, with a cheesy looking French couple singing a song and twirling around a lamppost. I tried very hard to stay in the background maybe appear as an ‘extra’ but was told almost politely to ‘get lost’ in French. Sadly, still no Olivier to be seen L.
One very cool place right at the end of Champs Elysee near the Arc de Triomphe is called ‘Drugstore Republic’. It’s open 24 hours and is a very trendy food/epicerie shop combined with funky gifts, jewellery, books, magazines, boulangerie, pharmacy (of course). Also inside is a brasserie which turns into a late night hotspot. I’ve been there for coffee in the morning in the conservatory with an Arc view, and around the bar at night sipping cocktails, always fun place to be.
A waitress told us there is a restaurant in Paris called 'Dans le Noir' where you eat completely in the dark and are served by the blind. You choose your meal before you go inside, then are seated in complete blackness and served delicious food and wine, left to savour the true taste of the food without all the other distractions. Sounds like quite the experience.

Fashion, Celebrities, and Champagne by the Pool...

Surreal moment today in the Louvre; we were caught in a rainy windstorm at the Tuileries and had to go inside so made our way to the underground Carousel to have our picnic. We sat down on some steps and noticed there was a ‘Semaine de Mode’ (Week of Fashion) in one of the ‘Salles’ that many people were queuing up for, and the big screen outside showed a live fashion show. Of course I couldn’t stop people watching, the almost glamorous wannabe’s in the queue and then the beautiful models coming out of it the show was enough to keep me enthralled. As I sat there with the kids eating peanut butter and jam sandwiches I watched these people come and go, most of them unbearably trendy and impossibly cool. I pondered how different life is for some people. Some of them looked at me strangely, as if a mother sitting there with 2 children having an indoor picnic was akin to aliens landing on the Louvre, some looked at me with a hint of sympathy perhaps, whilst others looked at the children in wonderment, possibly at their blonde, blue-eyed beauty and innocence in such a glamorous, sophisticated adult environment. I imagined myself in this world for a moment, teetering on high heels, wearing the latest fashion trend complete with Chanel sunglasses on my head and matching bag, standing in the queue looking important, wondering if I’ll have the foie gras or moules for lunch at The Fashion Café, when Sam wakes me from my dream with, ‘Mommy, I can burp ‘au revoir’ in French…’ and proceeds to prove it to the delight of the onlookers.

Latest piscine episode – we finally found a decent pool at the bottom of the Montparnasse Tower. As I was waiting for Tom and the kids to come out, a man that worked there started chatting to me in French. We managed to have a half decent conversation, some of which I feigned comprehension. when he asks me, ‘Tu aime champagne?’ Oui, bien sur, I said, so out he comes with a cup of fizz, soon followed by Tom and the kids who were quite surprised to see me starting my weekend alcoholic binge so early, and at the swimming pool of all places! Again, only in Paris!

Our first trip to Bois de Bolougne with our bikes and rollerblades was eventful as every family outing in Paris seems to be! We punched in the name of a road near the Bolougne, and Fay (SatNav) took us the scenic route, which led us to one of the most dreaded roundabouts in the world. As Fay politely announced for us to ‘take the 10th exit’, Tom looked at me in horror and there loomed before us the glorious Arc, and about a thousand cars whizzing around it. At the point of no return, he went for it and somehow made the right exit and drove away unscathed. Sam now thinks his daddy is a true hero.

Celebrity spotting – well, not really, but I was told that Brad and Angelina had a flat in the 15th arrondissement, they’re pictures taken in OK magazine were taken at our local Square Lambert, my weekend running haunt! Also, Olivier Martinez apparently has a flat in the Left Bank, and with recently breaking up with Kylie I may have to hunt him down and do some proper stalking….watch this space!

We’ve survived our first 6 months in Paris. Thank you to everyone for putting up with my whinging, my stories, and my basketcase rants. Things can only get better and easier from now on in, so hopefully the rants will become less and more cultured, sophisticated diary entries will follow, such as our weekly family museum visits, Ruby and Sam’s French elocution lessons, and Sunday lunches with the Pitt Family.

Herpes & Half Term

Just returned from a fantastic week away in the Charente area. We stayed in a town called, wait for this…..Herpes!! Very unfortunate name, but a sweet small village with nothing in it bar a ‘fontaine d’Herpes’ (which was basically an old well) and the cutest donkeys ever, even white ones which I’d never seen before. There was, however, a stunning chateau in the next village which Ruby was convinced Sleeping Beauty lives in, so we enjoyed walking around that. It was a great week of girly giggles, beaucoup de champagne, sloe gin, and pineau (the local drink), daily visits from the friendly ghost in the big farmhouse, lots of jigging to Justin Timberlake, gruelling Table Tennis & Boule competitions, and of course the infamous Shark Bingo games which Ruby is the all time champion. We were a bit disappointed not being able to use the stunning pool and patio area, although us girls made our own ‘sunroom’ of sorts to get a bit of a tan.

So, apart from Herpes, we visited La Rochelle and Cognac, both quaint places in their own ways. We look forward to our next trip to the Loire Valley in May when we visit our (rented) vineyard in the village of Sancerre. Well, it’s actually only a row of vines, but we get to buy 4 cases of Sancerre at a very discounted rate, hopefully they’ll last us through the summer!

Struggling through this 2nd week of half term. Keeping the kids busy in the rain when I’m detoxing isn’t much fun, I feel like I’m shouting at them constantly. Mostly it’s when we’re out in public and I’m with them on my own in all the ‘danger zones’ whilst they’re still in fairy la la land. Keeping them safe is hard work. Also, the weather’s very unpredictable so we’ve been caught in it a few times. As the few friends we have here have jetted off to South Africa, or Austria, or Courcheval, we only have the memories of Herpes to get us through til school starts next week (and there were more than enough laughs to do that – berets, moustaches, and naked bottoms behind French aprons, that’s all I’m going to say!)

This is a funny story told to me by a friend who lives on a very expensive street near the Eiffel Tower, so picturesque it is often used for filming. In the gorgeous building next to her there’s a new tenant, ‘Bongo from the Congo’ her husband tells her. In reality it is the President of the Republic of Congo and his last name is Bongo!!! Apparently the Sultan hosts the most amazing parties with rows of Bentleys and Mercedes double parked outside and throngs of woman coming and going, hmm, maybe we’ll change neighbourhoods!
After leaving the amazing Cineaqua Aquarium in Trocadero today we have a bit of a trek home with two metro changes. Ruby promptly falls asleep wearing her green fish sunglasses and I am left carrying her up and down flights of stairs avec school bags, etc.. Out of 6 flights 1 person helped me, which I think is probably about the correct statistic over here. There is one dog for every 6 people, and one helpful human out of every 6 Parisians!
Cineaqua however is an unbelievably chic aquarium. A combined cinema and aquarium there is one huge central tank surrounded by 3 different cinema screens and one bar area where you can sip champagne whilst listening to live singing and piano, either watching the screen or the amazing wall of water in front of you. Again, only in Paris!!

Stay tuned for the latest in ‘As The World of Paris Turns’. Will Bongo finally get bonked? Will the bruises on Tom’s bottom disappear if he finally masters the art of blading? Will Tracey buckle under the pressure and get le petit chien accessory for her handbag?

Moulin Rouge, Montmartre, and Monceau

For my birthday we went to see the ‘Feerie’ show at Moulin Rouge in the evening, finally!!! It was a great spectacle despite the cheesy glitz. The flashy costumes, boobs and cheeks on show were enough to keep Tom enthralled for 2 hours, never seen him so quietly fixated on a rugby game as he was there. Personally I thought the dancing was mediocre and the interval acts stole the show; acrobats balancing horizontally head to head and an amazing juggler who juggled with his throat! What a life those girls must have. Needless to say, Tom’s mouth was ajar the whole time, had to pick his jaw up the floor as we left.

Sunday not so successful with tantrums from both children and parents and then hastened by cold wet weather. We went off to Parc Monceau in the 8th, a small version of Stourhead with hundreds of runners and a playground. Beautiful people in beautiful surroundings, everywhere you go in Paris, do they always have to be so perfectly turned out with perfectly behaved children?? Just imagining all the effort they go to everyday to make themselves and their children look so stunning wears me out.

Attempt to go up to Montmartre after the Parc which was a big mistake. The vernacular was broken down so Tom lifted Ruby asleep in her pram hundreds of stairs up to Sacre Coeur, once we got up there, there was a barrage of black men almost barricading the streets trying to sell you things. One man was quite abusive, going for all the young girls by grabbing their arms and not taking NO for an answer. It was very disturbing until a whistle blew and a security guard approached him. Once we got to the top we all needed to warm up and had the most atrociously expensive hot chocolates in the square whilst watching the artists, when the sugar hit caused Sam to go into hyper mode amongst the tourist couples trying to have a quiet coffee. Then the weather turned, easels went flying and it was time for the 10 minute trek in the rain to the bus for our 45 minute journey home to be snivelled at even more by its passengers because our children were chatting happily on the bus, how dare there be happy children for they should be seen looking pretty and not heard in this city.

Bonne Annee!!

After a great trip home for the holidays, we have returned to Paris with some trepidation to what it will bring us in 2007. We were pleasantly surprised and relieved to have the kids quite happy to come back, and after a hellish first day back to school they’ve adapted again quite quickly.

New Year and all that so we’ve decided to take up a new family sport – rollerblading. Took Tom some convincing but he bought a pair too and off we went to the Tuileries for a practise skate. It was quite a sight – Sam in his new shark goggles and Ruby in pink ones riding their scooters around whilst their parents were stumbling along on their skates (well, one of us was gliding quite smoothly actually). The sight of Tom falling on his arse made it all worth it.

So nice to be back on the number 80 bus, as joyful as ever with Sam trying to suffocate Ruby in her pram en route or making eerie orca noises with his stuffed killer whale, to the so obvious un-delight of the Parisians. They really do need to lighten up.