Languedoc Blog

CRAC and LAC

2006-10-09T14:08:00.000-07:00

Well it's been so long, I can hardly remember how to update my blog, but here we are again, recording a couple of thoughts for posterity (well, for the two other people who actually read the thing - hi Sarah, hi Helen). I'm not even sure that either of them are all that bothered about contemporary art (although H is into her pots - sorry, ceramics - and Pierre Soulages) but for what it's worth, I just wanted to big up the CRAC and the LAC, both of which I've visited since my last posting. And hey, I said I planned to get there, so at least I'm as good as my word.

The LAC (Lieu d'Art Contemporain) is now closed for the winter except by appointment, but there's nothing to stop you ringing them up and arranging to go down to Sigean for an afternoon. I popped down with Sylvia of FRUC-fame (oh do keep up - if you've read the previous posts you'll understand) and we had a jolly time checking out Robert Morris' work, and a very odds n' sods, eclectic collection of works by all kinds of artists whose names you'd recognise (like Yves Klein - yes, he of that lovely blue). The space itself is huge (it's an old winery, I believe) and its rather lovely to stumble across it amidst the new build, breeze block landscape that is the outskirts of Sigean. There's certainly lots of silence in which to ponder the works on display, and plenty of space within which to admire them, so on that front it's a winner. It's not exactly the Saatchi gallery, but then Languedoc ain't London either, so there you go. Check it out at www.lac.narbonne.com or call 04 68 48 83 62.

And next up, the CRAC (Centre Regional d'Art Contemporain), in Sete, a good half hour's schelp from the station but by the time you get there you're really ready to sit down and drink it all in. They've got a great show on until October 15 (hurry, hurry!) called Les Fils de Marcel (yes, more of that Chauffe Marcel expo I've talked about before), with rooms housing amazing installations that get you thinking "how did they do that?" (or sometimes, why did they do that?) That's the funny thing about living here: you have to make much more of an effort to get to some bona fide contemporary art, so when you do finally achieve your goal, it feels good and you just appreciate it that much more. http://crac.lr.free.fr

Next posting: SNAC and WACK. No actually it's the Musee de Serignan. Don't hold your breath, though. It may take me a while to get round to blogging it.

Frac, Fruc, Lac n' Crac

2006-07-02T12:50:00.000-07:00

and Frig as well, while we're at it. As in, it's so friggin' hot I can hardly bear to turn on my 'pooter, and I certainly can't be arsed to blog that much... (as if i could in the first place). It's 21.48 as I type, and our thermostat cum temperature gauge jobby in our hallway says 29.5 degrees centrigrade. We've just come back from a totally cool place (in every sense of the word) in the Lozere, called Gardoussel. It's a lovely green (in both senses of the word) place with gites and chambre d'hotes, run by a smiley zen scottish couple called Sharon and Alex. Alex is well into his ayurvedic medicine and yoga, but YOU don't have to be to go there and just enjoy the peace and lower temperatures. Check it out, it's THE place to get cool this summer. www.thesuncentre.com

And if you're wondering about the Frac/Fruc reference, I'm just that I'm all excited about ART at the moment. Helen has just fired me up about the reopening of Montpellier's Musee Fabre (read all about it at http://cafeandmarmite.blogspot.com), which prompts me to rave about the whole homage to Marcel Duchamp show that's being held at umpteen venues in ten different towns across the Languedoc this summer, until October 29. Organised by the Fonds Regional d'Art Contemporain of Languedoc-Roussillon (FRAC to its friends), this is a feast of all kinds of thought-provoking state-of-the-artiness. Coming from London, I feel starved of this stuff, so I get all hot and bothered when it comes to town. So far we've seen the big show at the Panacee (a former School of Medicine in the centre of Montpellier, fab atmospheric show space) and another smaller offering at the former Chapelle de la Misericorde. Next up on my list is the LAC at Sigean (Lieu d'Art Contemporain), showing Robert Morris, and the CRAC (fruc knows what that stands for) in Sete. Dunno what 's on there, but I'm going anyway. With any luck they'll have aircon.

The title of this Surrealfest is Chauffe Marcel, which is something that someone famous (Jacques Brel, perhaps?) once said to his drummer (or some other muso type) as they cranked out a jam (un boeuf, as they say in France). Chauffe Marcel? I don't bloody think so.

And finally, le FRUC. As in , le fruc, c'est chuk. We recently met a really nice bloke called Stephane, and his partner Sylvia. Visit www.lefruc.biz and you'll get directions from the FRAC to the FRUC. Arguably the FRAC has more to look at, but the FRUC is a more creative space, and you get a warmer welcome and a better cup of tea there. Tell him I said so!

B.A. at the F.D.A.

2006-06-01T00:20:00.000-07:00

The other night I did something brave. I went to a meeting of the F.D.A., all on my own. A business acquaintance introduced me to this group (it’s a kind of member-get-member thing), and always being up for a challenge, I went along to see what was what. And to put you out of your misery, F.D.A stands for Femmes de Decisions et Actions.

Blimey. I’ve always been a bossy boots, kick-ass, know-it-all kinda gal, and here I was in a room full of ‘em. No, I’m exaggerating. They are (for the most part) nice, intelligent, educated Frenchwomen who give up their time to do Good Deeds (or what the French call BA, for Bonne Action) and raise money for good causes. The night I went along, they were handing over a cheque for 10,000 euros, which is the kind of money not to be sniffed at. I had a delicious dinner (these things are always done over a good meal) and some thought-provoking conversations (no-one asked me why I moved to France, which was bloody refreshing), and to top it all off, I found a new hobby horse (excuse me while I heave myself into the saddle).

So… Montpellier-based mothers of young children, lend me your ears. What do you do with those old baby clothes that just can't be reused or given away? Maybe you're not planning any more children, and your girlfriends just aren't sprogging right now? Fed up of looking at that old car seat/cot/bottle warmer/steriliser/other piece of baby kit? Les Restos du Coeur can use it all. Part of the charity set up by famous French alternative actor/comedian Coluche to help the homeless, there are now five Restos Bébés in Herault (see www.restosducoeur34.org for details) where young mothers can go for support and to get free food, clothing and other babycare items for children up to 2 years old. What they need are your old baby clothes and kit. If anyone has anything to donate, there are two drop-off points, both in and nearby Montpellier. One is in the centre of town, at Les Arceaux : call Isabelle Plana on 04 99 13 32 50 to arrange a convenient time to drop. The other is in Lattes, call Josy Plana (her mother) on 04 67 65 20 14, same arrangement.

Moved To Tears

2006-05-31T12:42:00.000-07:00

Just a shortie. Wanted to write about last night's outing to Montpellier's Theatre des Treize Vents www.theatre-13vents.com

Brilliant. A recently built, smart theatre with cosy club armchairs in the foyer, delicious food courtesy of the team from Le Baloard (a restaurant well worth visiting on boulevard Louis Blanc, 04 67 79 36 68) , a small but perfectly formed book stall run by Montpellier's Sauramps store - oh, and great, thought-provoking, contemporary performances on the stage. I saw The Vagina Monologues there earlier this year and loved it. Last night it was September 11, 2001, a piece performed - in English, with French subtitles - by a cast of American actors from the Center for New Performance at CalArts, Los Angeles. You can guess the subject matter. You can guess my reaction (there's a clue in the title).

This is why I love living in the centre of Montpellier, and why I doubt I shall ever move to deepest, darkest rural France. Great big dollops of contemporary culture. Practically on my doorstep. Cinemas that show art house films, in the original version, just one block away from my flat. Bring it on.

The Nice Man Cometh

2006-05-30T11:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Diary

Met a Very Nice Man today - for the second time!

First time was December last year on Montpellier's Place de la Comedie, where the annual Fete des Vins was in full swing. Working my way round with my friend HB, we tried to decide which of the many winemakers' stalls to visit. The way it works is that you pay your money - I think it was 3 euros - and get given three little tickets and a glass (you get to keep the glass, too). You swop your tickets for a glass of wine at any of the many stalls, so there we were, two wine novices, figuring out who to plump for. "Ooh, nice looking label there," said my friend, stopping in front of the Domaine de Saumarez stand. "Yes, nice looking bloke too," I muttered, "let's give him a go." Or words to that effect. That's how wine-savvy we are, me and my friend. We held out our tickets and glasses, beaming brightly. The Nice Looking Man smiled back, and said, in English that was so damn perfect it was obvious he WAS English, "Yes, we try hard with our labels, we find they appeal to women, and in your average household, it's women who tend to buy the wine." Well, he had us, hook, line and sinker. We tried his wines, I mumbled some nonsense about getting a hint of shoe polish (I was "doing a Jilly", which HB has never allowed me to forget), chatted a little, bought some bottles (great labels, and the contents weren't bad either) and then pushed off. Well, there were a few other good looking guys there too, you see, and we still had two tickets left apiece.

Fast forward to May 2006 and HB and I decide to spend a rare, work-free, child-free day by going off to taste some wine. We just can't help ourselves: some mysterious force pulls us to Murviel les Montpellier, where we are charmingly received by The Nice Man (aka Robin Williamson), who puts up with all our wittering about wine, warns me (very nicely) not to park my bum on a wine barrel that's about to explode, so chock-full of fermenting liquid is it, and who comes across as funny, self-deprecating, and A Good Egg. We leave with a car boot full of bottles, and our purses a little lighter. Then it's off for lunch at Le Mas de Saporta, the showcase for AOC Coteaux du Languedoc wines and a jolly nice restaurant on the side. If you're in Montpellier, give it a try - it's the perfect place to sample top quality local wine and cuisine. No website that I could find, but they're on 04 67 06 88 66.

And just to prove that I'm not just a silly bint who's swayed by a pretty label and a smile, here's my review of Domaine de Saumarez 'Aalenien' 2004 Coteaux du Languedoc. It's 65% syrah, 35% grenache, aged in barrels of various sizes, 90% of which are new. Very deep coloured. Open nose with sweet dark fruit leads to a lush palate with good concentration and richness. Deliciously forward (rather like my good self), richly textured, and quite hard to resist (a bit like Robin Williamson, I suppose). A very ripe style, with nicely integrated oak.

OK, I confess, that wasn't me. It was lifted (apart from the brackets, you understand) from www.wineanorak.com, which is as good a place as any to mug up on wine. And if you want to catch up with Robin and his wares, he'll be at the Estivales on Montpellier's Esplanade, just off the Place de la Comedie, on Friday July 7th from 7pm, where you'll be able to taste the deliciously dry white Domaine de Saumarez 'S' 2004, which goes (so I'm told) rather well with oysters - which will also be available. Failing which, go find him at Domaine de Saumarez, 34570 Murviel les Montpellier, +33 (0)6 24 41 56 20. And failing that, if you're in the UK, his wines are sold through Handford's of London - South Kensington.

Arrive, Survive, Thrive

2006-05-29T13:26:00.000-07:00

Here's a thing. Recently, I've been having a funny feeling. A good one, mind you.

We ARRIVED in the Languedocalmost four years ago. It was bloody awful. I spoke fluent French, had a new job to keep me busy, a supportive partner, a new wicker basket to be filled with organic veggies at the colourful local market and all that gubbins, but it was, nevertheless, PANTS. Once the honeymoon period had worn off (ie. once the winter set in - we arrived in September, just as the grape harvest was beginning), reality set in. I was miserable. Living in the countryside bored me rigid. Vineyard views are all well and good, but they're no substitute for (say) the London Institute of Contemporary Art, a shopping spree at APC, or an afternoon in Liberty fingering fancy fabrics and sniffing Dyptique candles. You get my drift.

We survived the first two months by drinking vast quantities of local wine and plotting our escape to a larger town (bigger, better market), where we rented a soul-less modern villa for eighteen months and considered our options. This was SURVIVAL time. It was OK, and even, like a curate's egg, good in parts (the Friday market run, the Saturday morning cafe and croissant fest). But man cannot live by bread alone (not even crusty banette), and I found myself pining for urban thrills.

Reader, you'll be unsurprised to hear that we got the hell out of Dodge and finally settled in the Big Bad City (aka Montpellier), where dog shit is copious and binners are free. Only the night before last I had to call the SAMU because some poor dog-on-a-string person had apparently taken an overdose and was expiring on our doorstep (I kid you not.) Well, waddaya know? All big cities have their downsides. I don't care. I love living here. Four years on and we've met some PLUs (People Like Us), I've got some close women friends who I really click with (big up yourself, HB! and before you ask, they're a mix of Brits, Americans and Frenchwomen), I'm getting my fix of contemporary culture thanks to the Diagonal cinemas, the Panacee art space, Sauramps book store, the Montpellier Danse festival, the Corum theatre - you name it, I'm checking it - and we've found the best beach bars, the nicest Thai restaurant in town, and the magnificent municipal library. Finally, Life Is Good. We are thriving.

So to anyone out there who's not sure about their new life in France: hang in there. It gets better with time. For some, it's only a matter of months. For me, it took a lot longer. I met a woman last week who moved to the Tarn 15 years ago: it took her five years to start feeling happy in France, she told me.

Stung Into Action

2006-05-28T12:59:00.000-07:00

I admit it. I've been stung into action. I speak as someone who got all excited at having a blog, and then found she couldn't be arsed to write it. That's the funny thing about blogs: they're like opinions. Everyone (well, these days, practically everyone) has one. But then you realise the awesome responsibility of Having A Blog: people expect you to update it, all regular-like. Jesus, not only are they reading your diary, but then they have the nerve to whinge when you don't post on a daily basis. Well excuse me, but whose blog is it, anyway? My excuse is that I write for a living (yes, really), so in my precious free time, writing isn't always what I want to do for fun. And blogging is what I do when I have something I think is worth saying, plus the time to get near my keyboard. Which, surprise surprise, isn't every damn day.

OK, rant over. PH of TLP, you have inadvertently kicked my arse. I hear you. I shall post more often, promise.

Too much vous, not enough tu

2006-05-27T15:04:00.000-07:00

A favourite topic of conversation amongst Anglophones living in France is the old “tu versus vous” debate. As in, how long does it take before you get onto “tu” terms with (say) your (young, long-haired) postman? Or why does your (young, trendy, laid-back) hairdresser persist in calling you “vous”, when you’ve made it quite clear you’d love to be tu-ed?

We all have our tu/vous stories. Here’s mine. There's a late 20's (I’m guessing) and rather attractive but very shy young man who does the mucking out at the stables where I ride. I have had the hots for him since just about forever, but I digress. Every time I go to saddle up, there he is, wearing a tight, white T shirt, scooping horse poop and heaving heavy hay bales around in a manly kind of way, while I mince about in my jodphurs, all Jilly Cooper-like. Anyway, we have gradually started to chat a little, mainly about music (believe it or not but I can bluff my way in deep house and techno, being married to someone who earns his living by making just that), and on one momentous occasion fairly recently I said to Stable Boy "si vous voulez, on pourrait peut-etre se tutoyer?" and to my delight, he agreed. Hurrah! A new friend! White T Shirt Man is Mine!

Bugger me, I go back a week later and he's forgotten. Not only is he still all shy and humble, but he’s gone back to that "vous" thing. “Ah, mais tu peux me tutoyer, tu sais!” I say with a big smile, and he nods. I go back the following week. He calls me vous again. I do the “my name is Madame Personne, but you can call me Grande” thing, he agrees, we smile. And then a week later, we’re back to la case depart, as they say in France. Things continue in this vein for a couple of months. Every week or so I ask him to “tu” me, and he struggles valiantly with this idea and sometimes it even works for a bit… until he relapses again to "vous", leaving me feeling peeved. Doesn’t it occur to him that someone as obviously young (at heart) and cool as moi meme should be called "tu"?. I kid myself that perhaps he is in awe of me in a Lady Chatterley’s Lover kind of way (stop sniggering at the back), but I think not. He just knows I'm a forty-something woman with two kids and a wedding band on her finger, who wishes she could still pull. And you know what? He's got it in a nutshell.

Whining to win wine

2006-05-21T12:43:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know. I haven't blogged for several weeks, and now I come back to bore on about... crap. Dog crap. Not just that, though. There are lots of other things I want to bang on about. Like smoking childminders, the fallacy that the Cirque de Navacelles is actually worth visiting (thanks to Helen of http://www.cafeandmarmite.blogspot.com for making those points), and the fact that the Lac de Cres is a scrubby, scabby piss-poor excuse for a park.

Sorry if I sound negative, but sometimes these things have to be said. Every thing in the garden simply cannot be rosy, without exception, all the time. It does us all good to sound off from time to time. And now our whining can win wine (apparently). Check out the poll at http://www.creme-de-languedoc.com/South-France/polls.php and get voting. You're allowed to sing the praises of life in France, too!

FAFfing around

2006-04-19T12:43:00.001-07:00

When I started this blog, I had lots of good intentions, and a little tiny bit of time on my hands. I now have slightly less time, so the posting has become random - nothing for days, then two in the space of an hour. Ah well.

Liberation ran a great article on April 7, 2006 about thirty-something French housewives (otherwise known as Femmes Aux Foyer, or FAF for short) who write blogs as a way of relieving boredom while boosting their self-esteem. The blogs (and bloggeuses) mentioned are all of a particular kind: full of recipes for delicious gouter treats, handy hints and (gulp) knitting and dress-making patterns for children's wear. And as Libe puts it, "leurs enfants s'appellent plutot Emile, Zoe ou Arthur que Cynthia, Kevin ou Mohamed." Well, it makes me and my banging on about dog poo look positively uninspired. Check 'em out:

http://innamorata.canalblog.com
http://fredemickadeletc.canalblog.com
http://gaelletreccani.canalblog.com
http://marieandco.canalblog.com

What a way to go

2006-04-19T12:43:00.000-07:00

Just read this rather odd piece on the Independent website www.independent.co.uk and couldn't resist posting it here. OK, so I already knew there was shedloads of dog poop in France, but now it's official.

From the Independent, April 19, 2006

FRANCE
You are most likely to die in a heatwave in France, especially if you are elderly. You are also most likely to do yourself an injury slipping in dog faeces. Indeed, Paris is the poop-slip capital of the world. Every year, 650 people are admitted to Parisian accident and emergency units after sticky falls. No statistics are available for the number of elderly people killed while slipping in dog mess in Paris during a heatwave.

Gene Pitney - something's gotten hold of his heart

2006-03-29T12:52:00.004-08:00

Let's break the univeral blogger rule here: never write your blog after midnight, never blog after several drinks. So I've been out, come home again, and didn't feel like going to bed straight away. Logged on, and found that Gene Pitney has gone and died in Wales, of all places. I loved Gene Pitney. God knows why, but his distinctive American whine really did it for me. So imagine my distress, dear reader, when I discovered he had passed away in Cardiff, Wales, in the middle of some crumby-sounding UK tour. I paste the hilarious PA posting and let you make up your own minds, but do check out Gene's quote ("I love what I'm doing - to pick and choose where I want to go, and what I want to do") and the tour manager's comment ("it looks as if there was no pain whatsover, which is nice"). You couldn't make it up.

Gene Pitney dies on UK tour
By Anita Singh, PA
Published: 05 April 2006
Singer Gene Pitney has died in the middle of his UK tour, his agent said today.
The 65-year-old American star was found dead just after 10am today at the Hilton Hotel in Cardiff. His 40-year career included the hits Twenty-Four Hours From Tulsa and Something's Gotten Hold Of My Heart. A spokesman for South Wales Police said: "We've had a report of a death. It is not believed to be suspicious. We had the call just before 10.10am. The body, which has not been formally identified yet, was found at the Hilton Hotel in Cardiff." Pitney played St David's Hall in Cardiff last night and was due to perform in Bristol tonight. In an interview at Christmas he spoke of his excitement at taking his show around the UK on a 23-date tour which was due to end later this month. He denied it was a gruelling schedule, saying: "I take care of myself. I can finish up the tour no problem whatsoever. "I love doing what I'm doing - to pick and choose where I want to go and what I want to do." A spokesman for the Welsh Ambulance Services NHS Trust confirmed that a rapid response vehicle and an ambulance attended the Hilton in Cardiff this morning. The spokesman said: "We did not convey a patient to hospital. We were on the scene within two minutes." Pitney had been in good health and his death came as a shock to friends. Mark Howes, of Pitney's management company In Touch Music, told BBC Wales: " He did a good show last night at St David's Hall and it was wonderful. "I've seen him quite a few times on this tour and he was fit and well. He said it was the best tour he had done for quite a few years." Mr Howes said the singer was found dead in his bed by his tour manager.
Pitney's tour manager James Kelly said the singer was found dead in his hotel room this morning by long-term friend Geoff Clennell. "We don't have a cause of death at the moment but looks like it was a very peaceful passing," said Mr Kelly. "He was found fully clothed, on his back, as if he had gone for a lie down. "It looks as if there was no pain whatsoever, which is nice."
He added: "Last night was generally one of the happiest and most exuberant performances we've seen out of him. "He was absolutely on top of his game and was really happy with the show. "I got the news a couple of hours ago and I'm flabbergasted." Mr Howes said later that he last saw the singer on Sunday after his show at the Symphony Hall in Birmingham and that he looked well. "It's terrible news and I'm still shaking," he said.
"I just can't believe it. I wasn't at Cardiff but I understand the show went particularly well and he was in good form. "There was no indication anything was wrong. It's terribly sad." He added: "I last spoke to him on Sunday after the show at Symphony Hall in Birmingham. He was very well and was enjoying the tour. "He was talking about the next time he was coming over to Britain as he said this was the best tour he had done for a number of years. "It wasn't like a business relationship (with Gene) - he was a friend and that is why it has hit hard with everybody. "It was almost like he had a family going around with him. He was a really nice person." Pitney rose to fame in the Sixties and was introduced to a new generation of fans in 1989 when he duetted with Marc Almond on Something's Gotten Hold Of My Heart.
The single gave Pitney his first UK number one - 22 years after its first release.
He had 11 top 10 hits in this country including That Girl Belongs To Yesterday and Looking Thru The Eyes of Love. His songs have been recorded by some of the world's biggest stars - Hello Mary Lou was released by Ricky Nelson, Today's Teardrops by Roy Orbison, and Rubber Ball by US singer Bobby Vee and British artist Marty Wilde. He worked with the Rolling Stones and is credited with helping them find fame in the US. In 2002 he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. A spokeswoman for Cardiff coroner Mary Hassell said she had been officially informed of the star's death. The spokeswoman said a post mortem examination will take place to establish whether an inquest will be necessary.

Captain's Blog Star Date April 4

2006-03-29T12:52:00.003-08:00

Do you ever feel like you've stepped into a time warp? Or boldly ventured into a galaxy far-beyond the realms of your birth planet? When I moved to France I was prepared for culture shock, though having spent three years working in a couple of fast-paced ad agencies in Paris, I felt I was pretty much down with all things chic and French capital city-like. What I wasn't prepared for were the odd things that frankly still shock me today. Like (whisper it) pissing in public (men, I mean - I've not seen too many crouching females in my time here). Like dog poo - oh, everywhere. Like the very unnatural, aubergine-purple hair dye beloved of French women of a Certain Age. And like parents who sit in a playground, surrounded by broken glass, watching their offspring play. This was Saturday morning. I took a small child (my own) to said playground. No swings, natch. Lots of broken glass, though. And several parents, smoking for France (puffing on a fag is, let's face it, the French National Passtime), sitting on their arses. How odd. I crouched down and picked up huge, jagged shards of green beer bottle and then stalked over to the nearby rubbish bin. I did it again. And again. And then two other parents got up and followed my lead. I wanted to kiss them. Instead, I smiled and nodded. They nodded back.

So I suppose all is well that ends well. My time here is done. Beam me up, Scottie.

Swings and roundabouts

2006-03-29T12:52:00.002-08:00

Can anyone tell me why there are so few swings in France? I've been pondering this one since moving here four years ago. In any self-respecting park in the UK there are children's swings, but frankly I've seen more clean public toilets (no, make that just public toilets) in France than I have kiddies swings. And don't even get me started about the lack of public loos, or the hideousness of what are coyly called Turkish toilets. Believe me, you don't want to go there (literally). But you know what? I'm going to bang on about it. When I was emerging from my second (ahem) confinement, I took my 3 month old baby to Montpellier's American Library www.bibliotheque-americaine.com - a fine facility, housed within a super-modern building that houses (I think) the Law Faculty libary (or something speccy and serious, along those lines). I figured that this ultra-clean, swishy looking architectural marvel would have clean(ish) toilets and maybe even baby-changing facilities. And I didn't even think about access with a buggy - surely there would be lifts everywhere? Yeah, right. The lifts go to all floors except (wait for it) the basement, which is where the toilets are. You get to the loos by walking down a steep flight of stairs. Brilliant. So once you've got a sulky student to help you haul the buggy-and-babe down the stairs, you find... Turkish toilets. Seriously dirty ones. Yuk. And not a clean, flat surface in sight. Sigh. There I was getting so excited about their fabulous collection of English language books and periodicals, and then I find that the toilets suck, big time. A classic case of swings and roundabouts if ever I saw one.

A Languedoc breeder writes...

2006-03-29T12:52:00.001-08:00

My Significant Other (MSO) tells me about an interesting article on the BBC site, all about how cheap it is to raise a family in France (we have two children and no intention of having any more, thank you very much). Which I suppose it is, but it's hardly a reason for upping sticks and moving to a whole new country, is it? It's a benefit, sure, but not exactly a prime motivator. French governments both Left and Right put la famille high on the agenda, and at the last Conference on the Family, prime minister Dominique de Villepin (who is a prime example of a sexy, silvery grey posh Frenchman - what a lush combination that is, but that's neither here nor there) outlined new incentives to encourage two-child families to move on to a third. Well, anyone who decides to have more children because it's cheap/subsidised/encouraged by the French goverment strikes me as profoundly odd. If you want to read the BBC piece in full, go to http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4856992.stm

Ladies who blog

2006-03-29T12:52:00.000-08:00

It was only a matter of time. First I moved to to the Languedoc, then I became a Pig Lady (by joining a Parents and Infants Group). And now I've joined the bloggeratti. Following in the footsteps of two sisters who have been doing it for themselves (hello Sarah and Helen), I am now A Lady Who Blogs. Our Lady of the Languedoc Blog, if you will. A 40-something luddite who only sent her first texto last year, I have finally taken the plunge. Hell, everyone else seems to be doing it. So, repeat after me: je blog, tu blogs, il/elle blog, nous bloggons...