Stampede!

It's all action in Lille at the moment. This weekend is the nationally famous 'braderie de Lille' (the city basically transforms itself into a giant open air flea market and and about 2 million people show up and expect to be fed)
Its origins lie in tradition - when servants could, once a year, sell their and their masters unwanted belongings on the streets. Nowadays it's a ramshackle mixture of made in TastelessCrap-land, pure bricabrac (ie treasure hunting) and antique dealers (fleecing punters). 200km of random stands means my sneakers and wallet should both get a workout.
And in October kicks off the anticipated 'Lille 3000' festival. A new biannual cultural festival starting this year, sort of like Adelaide Fringe festival, but with a theme - if I'm interpreting things correctly. This years theme is Bollywood and soon, very soon, there will be 12 of these 8 m high elephants to greet me every morning on my way to work.

Lille 3000

In 2006, the city of Lille inaugurated a new biannual cultural festival called Lille 3000. The theme of the first year was India, and the city centre was transformed with giant elephant statues, bollywood facades and hindu gods.

Smile!

It's Mr Ed :D

Wedding bouquet

S'il pleut la Sainte Madeleine

Il pleut durant 6 semaines
According to my Almanac, the saying goes, If it rains on Sainte Madeleine (22 July - and it did), it will continue to rain for 6 weeks. Not so catchy in english, but 6 weeks of rain when you were just getting into the summer sales is never a catchy topic. Most people are resigning themselves to the fact that the 3 weeks of heatwave summer we had back in July is the sum total of whatever summer had to offer.
No great changes in the daily routine, I take my blue regional train out to work every morning, passing by the numerous little garden allotments, watching the months crops change - pumpkins are starting to make an appearance, tomatoes are still ripening despite the lack of summer warmth, the markets are full of the small producer stalls and I've been enjoying new potatoes, freshly picked green beans - so fresh that they squeak a little in your mouth when you eat them, I haven't eaten beans that fresh since I was a kid and my grandad would give us his surplus. He always had surplus. I decided to expand my mushroom repertoire last week and bought a healthy handful of girolles, because I thought the price per 100g was the price per kilo. Those mushrooms better add a couple of years onto my life at that kind of price. It's been a busy month, and I haven't had time for blogging or even much photography (bought a new camera and subsequently went into an inspiration slump), my mother visited the north for the first time in mid August, and it rained solidly. We luckily escaped the rain when we visited the very medieval city of Gent in Northern Belgium. Castles, pure Flemish architecture and omnipresent trams, it felt we were further away from France than the short 70km trip it actually is from Lille. We also finally made the effort to visit the museum of art and industry in the nearby suburb of Roubaix. Formerly a municipal pool done in pure art deco decadent style, it has since been transformed into a museum that showcases work from the general period (1920s to 1940s) as well as textiles. Most of the original structure has been left intact, including the old shower cubicles and changing rooms. And the former swimming pool is now dominated by a long shallow basin which shows off the stunning relection of the dual stained glass semicircual windows at each end to great effect.
Otherwise, time is tripping along at an alarming rate. This public servants exam I'd decided to try out back in June is zooming up at speed and I have not even vaguely begun to prepare myself, not even to the extent of figuring out what there even is to be preparing.
In other events, I temporarily inherited a cat. But the part that made it temporary was of my own choosing and I've been battling an awful lot of guilt since making that choice last night. I had offered to take the animal from a friends apartment block as it had been abandoned during the holiday period and essentially left to starve to death. I had it with me about 4 days in total but it was showing a fair amount of aggressiveness and I was having a pronouced allergic reaction to it. So I called the SPCA to come and collect it. And I've felt awful ever since. I can't even remember the last time I've felt so guilty about something. So I've been mentally beating myself up over that one a lot over the last 24 hours. And probably will for some days to come. To try and alleviate my guilt, I sent off an application form to join the Nord Nature group (local ecological group dealing with habitat, flora and fauna issues relevant to the North). Atonement through a chequebook. It's very Catholic of me.

Fairground ducks

Lille, France

Macro peacock feathers

A slightly different view of a peacock.

White duck in a green pond

Taken at the local zoo in Lille, France

The museum of art and industry - Roubaix, France.

Once a municipal pool done in extravagant art-deco style, the 'piscine de Roubaix' has since been transformed into a museum although has kept many of the interior features of its former self.

A vulture's stare

A vulture surveys the world around him from atop a turret on Gravensteen castle, Ghent - Belgium.

Dancing on rooftops

Detail on a building in the Belgian city of Ghent

Armentieres

Close up of the belfry in the Northern French town of Armentieres

fishing cats

fishing cats
Originally uploaded by Nyx.

Todays moment of zen brought to you by my new Nikon (oh I am so showing off, but I just love this one, love it, love it love it)
Yeah, I'm kind of ripping off Jon Stewart too - he seems like the sort of guy who wouldn't mind though.

If it were any funnier, I'd be

tweaking the Turkish bunny.



The Euphemism Generator

Turtle row

It makes for a great cliché nature shot, but these Florida turtles - generally kept as pets - are a nuisance species that have been introduced into the ponds and waterways around the Lille zoo, France

Snowy owl

I'd love to see some owls out in the wild one day.
Lille zoo, France

Red Panda

Lille zoo, France

Kookaburra

Lille zoo, France

Hamster

Lille zoo, France

Fishing cats

At the local zoo, Lille - France

Baby gibbon

Looks like he's laughing. Lille Zoo, France

Sol

Sol
Originally uploaded by Nyx.

For anyone who isn't already in the know, I turned another year older over the weekend. For anyone who should be in the know and is staring wide eyed at the screen thinking 'oh shit, I forgot Nats birthday, again' (I threw the 'again' in for good measure, you slackers), then get those little digits moving and start writing grovelling apologetic emails. Now. Though you can finish reading this first if you like. I probably have something terribly important to say.
So, I asked the bf where madame was to be taken to drown her sorr..er, celebrate the auspicious occasion
'A restaurant - On de game'
'On the Game? What kind of place is that? A sports restaurant?You're taking me to a sports restaurant?' (insert suspicious ready to be pissed off tone here)
'No, not "on the game", on-de-gem' (insert 'what are you, a moron?' look here)
Fast forward to a point in time when I can interrogate someone capable of deciphering this babble into a Flemish village called 'Hondeghem"
Oooh, riiiight...
Just wait until the day he tries to phoenetically translate 'we're going to Coober Pedy'
(cul=arse
beur = north african
p.d = fag)

Well, because I got a digital reflex many monthly payment scheme installed to celebrate, nothing short of world war 3 is going to rate a mention. Sucked into the 'Nikon?Canon? Canon?Nikon?' quandry for the past few weeks (just tell me which one's better you bastards!) , I finally settled on a Canon. Until I changed my mind at the last minute and got a Nikon. While waiting the for the unaccountable inordinately long time it takes to get served in this country when there's actually no-one else but you waiting, I encountered another poor lost soul almost on the verge of mental collapse just waiting for someone to definitively tell him which one to buy. He latched onto my 'Well, I was GOING to get the Canon but....' comment like a prophecy from the Oracle. And was no doubt terribly pleased to hear me quote parrot like what he's been reading on countless online reviews for months now. Strangers asking me for advice. I must look grown up.

3 chats

Chocolate shop in Lille, France

Le chat bleu

The first photo I took on the day I got my new digital reflex - a Nikon D50.
Le chat bleu is a very yummy gourmet chocoate shop in Lille, France

Eternal sunshine

Building detail in the Grande Place, Lille - France

Don't mess with the designated driver

Rich teddy!

You know you're in France when...

A certain brand of sparkling water uses a man ironing his own penis to sell the merits of its cool and refreshing qualities.

performance anxiety

wtf?
Originally uploaded by Nyx.

Hello digital internauts! Been a while, but my lazy ass bone has been playing up again. That and I have performance anxiety. Old school friends from the olden days (when everything was in black and white - just like I used to think when I was 4 - see, see how stupid the television makes you?) have been proclaiming readership, others are proclaiming to want readership, and to that end I was just thinking the other day how many english collective description words and/or titles end in 'ship' - and, y'know, why...? So to any old friends (and a new one, hi the new one) who are tuning into this station....it's been 15 years, I'm still ranting.

So, y'know, it's been hot. And if it's not the heatwave, the hezbollah or Zidane's headbutt it's not news. And heat means a couple of major changes here in France - first is the transformation of old people into sort of geriatric houseplants (have you misted Madame Tartempion yet this morning?), the second being the bone melting epidemic amongst small dogs transforming them into a canine rag mutts. It's disturbing.

This weekend past was July the 14th, which, like most historical celebrations in any society around the world, means a chance to drink more alcohol. I went to some northern beaches in the pas de calais, soaked up the faux tudor and tacky souvenir shops, watched dogs get carried and witnessed some nightmarish toddlers face meets chocolate icecream incidents. I accidently went on a 50km bike ride - mostly because I didn't know how far I was meant to be going (distances on tourist maps with oversized local attraction icons are larger than they appear), went to a bird wetland sanctuary (daydreamed mugging the people with the severely expensive digital cameras and telescopic lenses), and went to Aqualud in Le Touquet (where I spent 3 hours thinking...'I paid HOW MUCH for this??)

Otherwise I just get the train back and forth to work everyday and spent 35 hours a week contributing to that overly complicated administrative system that the expats all violently hate. Bureaucracy is, after all, a French word (not to mention one of the bonus spelling words on the list when I was in whatever year you're in when you're 10 in your country).

Ragwort

In the Parc de Marquenterre, Baie de Somme - France

Dainty

In the Parc de Marquenterre, Baie de Somme - France

Fort Mahon

Canche-Authie region of the Pas de Calais, France

soccer saturation

Grande Place j-1
Originally uploaded by Nyx.

Y'know, there's a lot going on in this world, but nothing short of a national disater of epic proportions is going shift football/the World cup/why Zizou had a tanty off every real-time broadcast with pseudo-teleintellectuos speculating and surveying and replaying and devoting 96% of a 40 minute news program to one subject (see, I can do some bloody surveys too; 8.00pm - 8.26pm and 8.34pm - 8.40pm entirely football related. It's like they forgot there was a rest of the world out there.) Surrounded as I am, by morons, I too was dragged to a mysteriously-hiked-up-their-drink-prices bar to watch people yelling at a tv screen for over 2 very long hours...on some level, I can still argue that I'm just participating in some kind of cultural field trip, just with more alcohol. Soccer can transform a town like no other sport I've seen - I've seen it turn London into a flag parade, Amsterdam into a ghost town for 90 minutes on a Saturday night, and the Lille grande place into an open air party. So here I am, jotting down pointed observations in my imaginary moleskin as I watched the crowds silently file their way out of the bars to go home and puzzle over why so few euros rested in their pockets, flags refurled, red, white and blue body paint trickling down into their shirt collars. And philosophically ponder to myself...meh, nyer, whatever.

Encore un truc

Just the one. Let's not get carried away. But now that I'm back in the employment fold, I'm reminded how much this habit irks me.
So standard work greetings in this part of the world are either a handshake or a cheek kiss (confound them at your peril). This habit, in itself, I'm quite ok with - having been semi-regularly exposed to the greeting system à la française since my childhood.
No, what does bug me beyond measure (apart from people whose head and legs are not necessarily pointed in the same direction when they're moving into my impact zone vicinity)
What DOES bug me beyond measure is the French version where the hand and the head are not pointed in the same direction during the workplace greeting rounds. So, you guys initiated this custom, right? Follow the damn thing through already and just LOOK at me when you're shaking my hand. A micro-second of acknowledgement is all I'm asking for here.

And if I'd met a carpenter instead?

Go out with an IT type lad, and his version of reality is that his spectacularly lucky girlfriend (or hey, let's be more open minded in honour of gay pride that I recall as having supposed to have happened sometime. Recently. This Year. I think....and call them a - partner) has hot and cold running access to superior computer technology, faster, stronger, better and constantly updated software. Now - there's the key phrase that is the bane of my existence...constant updates.
Constant updates translates to your online password to about a squillion sites being consistently wiped and I can't even begin to count how many bookmarked pages I've lost even AFTER I realised that there's a better way (delicious serving as nothing more than a replacement online toolbar that won't get wiped every other week) , there are still a bunch of temporary 'I'll check back on those later' that get swept under the cyber rug, how many online passwords I lose, then forget, then have to reapply for, then lose, then forget, then...including delicious, now that I think about it.
Constant updates translates to just when you think you've figured out where everything is, it gets moved/reconfigured/uninstalled/or just plain wiped. Unless it's his. It's always reinstalled if it's his.
Constant updates translates to 'whoops I just overwrote all your documents and photos by accident. Sorry'
OK, so I DO back up (hell, I was at uni for 7 years, I'd never have passed if I didn't back up, with 'the computer ate it' replacing 'the dog ate it' as number 1 most frequent excuse. In my case it actually was true. Re the computer, not the dog. I never really had a dog). But I, being a proud and robust techno-peasant, do not back up nearly as often as the meddling cyber geek plots opportunities for my 0101101 numeric destruction.
You know when you were a kid and you got your hands on that first bit of electronic equipment (in my case a portable am radio) and a screwdriver and you went 'hmmm, let's see now', and it was never quite right after?
Need I say more?

tower and bridge

Two photos stiched together using the most basic software there is. I just got lucky.

Happy Day!

Some British toff (that's Brit slang for scholar type person innit) has calculated that today - the 23rd of June - is the happiest day of the year (based on a bunch of factors including sunlight, and only applicable in the Northern Hemisphere I imagine), but then the reverse 'sad day' wouldn't necessarily apply for every Southern Hemisphere country because it's set at January 23rd, but then January 26th is a public holiday in Australia, so Australia Day could well be put forward as that nations happiest day, right? Anyway, if anyone else comes up with the idea, remember that you heard it here first* and that should give me the right to sue them or something.
And I'll have you know that I spent this allegedly monumentously joyous day on active mould duty as this apartment (told you I'd complain about it eventually) tries to pass itself off as The Best Little Sporehouse in Texas. Ugh.
I have work again, starting in July. So that should keep me out of mischief for the next 6 months or so. It's in the nearby town of Armentières, an interesting little town. Visually. I wouldn't want to live there. It's like a town whose glory days have passed, the grand edifices that marked when it was more vibrant, more active have been boarded up and abandoned, but not torn down. Like they're just waiting for the day they can be opened up, dusted down and live again. In other words, it's a shithole.
But the run-down look is pretty common in the Nord generally I guess. It used to be a mining and textile region, but coal mining went out of style, and - like many areas in France - good quality textiles became a thing of the past. So the factories closed, and the slag heaps grew green and sometimes became little ecological zones of interest.
The Nord has had to branch out in alternative areas to compensate, and health, technology and research have filled in the void to a significant degree. I hope though, that should the region ever rediscover its former prosperity, and a use for some of those old buildings, that they'll be kept as part of the local patrimony.


*Austalia Day, Australia's Happiest Day TM

my aches have aches

It's crazy how a really long stretch of sitting around can leave you feeling like you've done a couple of turns in a tumble drier.
So, obviously I'm home. For those of you who didn't twig that I'd left, well, I left, and now I'm home. I had an awful trip back. Awful. I met the Winner of 'My most annoying travel plane seat neighbour. Ever' on the Darwin Bombay/Mumbai section(I was in high school during the fall of the USSR, surely that exempts me from having to learn the changing name of any more cities/countries?). I met the second runner up on the Mumbai-London leg. Karma just never gives me a break. I should probably never go to India.
Introducing our winner - an incessant chatterer with 2 like-minded 6 year olds and overly developed magpie tendencies, collecting as much as possible of every object possible on the plane in the 8 hours available to her. Including a lot of my seat space, not to mention making overt advances towards adding my pillow to her rapidly expanding collection. And consistently breaching my personal taboo of 'never talk to me while I'm watching wildlife documentaries. Ever. Especially David Attenborough. Unless you want me to gind me teeth at you and start twitching'. I mean, the overt wearing of headphones HAS to be a pretty big clue too, right? Well, obviously not, because our runner up - the old fart from hell - didn't quite get that I might not want to be asked questions every 5 minutes after not having slept for about 24hours. Especially when the questions were upwards of 50% in Hindi. Even when I told him. Repeatedly. Including requests that he stop ramming his twice-the-legal-size-limit suitcase pointy legs into my ribs (oh, that might explain some of the aches actually).
God grant me an eject seat button and beware of overhead storage cabins. Maybe he was the most annoying after all. They both managed to get entirely different flight crews on entirely different flights tetchy enough to want to hiff them out the airlock. It's not only that I'm just intolerant.
So I get home to an empty fridge AND one less bottle of champagne. It was the Moët. The bf is, frankly, lucky to be alive. I think he is under the impression that having bought a new car last fortnight absolves him of pretty much everything, somehow.

Technology's great

That is, when it's not transforming you into a shrieking banshee of rage and despair, of course...
I got an iPod! Yes, I have finally joined the apple generation thanks to an old dear friend of mine (a lot dearer since he gave me an iPod) who was offloading his iPOd mini since he's upgraded (it has a battery glitch, but it seems to be going ok for the moment). So you've been warned. This is what I have learned. If I support you for a good decade of changing hairstyles, partners, sexual orientation, clothes (which are sometimes mine) and coffee, then I expect a technological offering at some point
Well, my ever shortening stay in the land of Oz is drawing to a close. As always it has made me laugh, made me cringe, made me nostalgic, made me yell at the television a lot (yes, thinking about not pumping raw sewage into the harbour MIGHT be an idea to start thinking about - Hello! Darwin Council? ARE YOU PAYING ANY ATTENTION?!). I've caught up with most all the people I wanted to see, and haven't run into anyone I really didn't. Really. Didn't. I've played tourist, I've played local, I've played outback delivery driver girl. I am - like many politicians up here - wearing many different hats. But now I'll put my beret back on...

Pontiac

A lot of old cars get dumped out in the bush in the remoter areas of Australia. I liked the grass growing through the motor of this one.

Through tourists eyes

Metal flowers
Originally uploaded by Nyx.

Want a tip on how to fix a recurring lens jam problem? Drop your camera onto the street. Really hard. If that didn't work, then what are you stupid? Why would you voluntarily drop your fragile bit of electronics onto tarmac?
Anyway, Temporary Techniques For Startling Your Camera Into Working Properly tips aside, I think I have to face the fact that my camera is getting old and weary, and my constant habit of shoving it into my handbag sans protective covering to let it fight it out with other accesories has taken its toll on the lens mechanism. I hope it'll stand up to the next two weeks as I've been viewing the Darwin and NT landscape with a new 'tourists' eye, where mounted buffalo heads in pubs, beat up 70s Holdens and heck, even Red Rooster fried chicken signs become potential fodder for the lens. I can even understand why people might like to photograph road trains.
One thing I have noticed is the modern architecture in the city centre, having being (mostly) faced with centuries-old buildings for the last couple of years. Posting online is time consuming, I'd forgotten how painfully long everything takes with dial-up.
I'd write more, but I've been forced into slave labour by my father, as usual.

Some local news: they're seriously considering heating up the local pools up here because 'nobody goes' in the dry season (ie now). Heated pools, in the tropics...
If I find out they're thinking of using anything but solar power to do it I may burst a blood vessel
Because all the talk hereabouts is about nuclear...and 'going nuclear' and building nuclear. And why? Because dear George 'nucular' W., clearly having heard some vague rumour about excessive fossil fuel consumption or some rubbish, thinks the solution lies this way. And here, in Australia, despite all this bloody sun just gadding about and sunburning the country, despite having a population 1/10th size of the US, whatever George can do, Australia should do too!

Nymphaea

Taken at a plant nursery. Darwin, Australia

Sunset in Darwin

Darwin, Australia is my home town and I think it has the nicest sunsets in the world.

oh, that's more like it...

oh, that's more like it...
Originally uploaded by Nyx.

I'm eating a Tim Tam, it's pretty good.
I've been back about 4 days now, slowly getting back into the rhythm of the tropical lifestyle and changed time zone. Mostly recovered but still getting up insanely early. But that's also partly because around the equator the sun has pretty much only 2 states - set and up. The intermediate dawn business lasts about 10 minutes.
I had this whole plan sorted out in my head whereby I would notice things, and remark on these fantastic differences that I'd never realised and that I'd be very philosophical and wise about it. Essentially it boils down to; it's not as cheap as I remember, what passes for commercial journalism is worse than I remember and the fashion police need to pay this town a visit. Seriously. Otherwise it's like I left yesterday.
But what I had forgotten are the lovely delicious smells of just about everything - satays cooking at the morning markets, heavy frangipani flower smells at sunset, the sea, bushfires, small animals rotting in the heat... (just thought I'd throw that it because that's exactly what nature did while I was whimsically sniffing down at the foreshore during this mornings bike ride)
But I just missed guava season by about 2 weeks. I'm pretty irked about that.

Tropical coastline

Along the foreshore in Darwin, Australia

Dragonfly

This was taken when I was still using a 2meg 3x optical point and shoot, back before I got myself a digital reflex, so I was lucky that the dragonfly wasn't interested in moving from his spot. Darwin, Australia

of broken glasses and, well, more broken glasses

Thats it, next big party everyone gets spillproof plastic baby trainer cups. And maybe bibs. And maybe straitjackets as well.
Aside from that severe dent into our beer glass collection, and a couple of bloodstained teatowels, everything went quite well for the housewarming. No emergency trips to ER (tough if that cut had been about half a centimetre deeper and a bit to the left, there might well have been), no complaints from our neighbours and no police turning up in response to noise complaints and confiscation of various illicit substances. So, quite tame in comparison to a lot of parties I've participated in really...Of course, there's a large gap between being 20 and at someones parents house and being 30 and being at your own place trying to protect the wrestling apes from knocking over your crockery cupboard. More is represented in that time that just 10 years. Though though those 10 years might have passed by the unnamed invité who made a total nuisance of himself while we're trying to patch up someones injured hand, dropped the beer bottle he was waving around in an attempt to create a few more glass related accidents (note - dropped the bottle NEXT to the people who were performing a little home ER), and then swiped a bottle of vodka that someone else had left for us before leaving. A certain someone really needs a refresher course on party etiquette.

At a Dresden Dolls concert

At a Dresden Dolls concert
Originally uploaded by Nyx.

This is one of the few pictures that actually worked out from the concert. I was limited to using my boyfriends digital camera, whose settings still remain a mystery. My own camera was confiscated at the door for collection after the show, but luckily they didn't suspect that I might have TWO, yes twoooo, cameras in my bag. I took the Monsieurs as a spare as mine's been on some pretty shaky legs for a while now, noise distorted images and recurring lens jams. The non use of cameras at concerts seems to be a standard fnac (ticketing agent and media department store over here) policy rather than anything requested by the groups themselves. And considering the number of mobile phones that can take a fairly decent picture these days, I don't actually see the point.
Anyway, the concert was great, the support act was Devotchka, whose music I really appreciated. Bought one of their albums at the end and had a chat with the singer - nice guy. The Dresden Dolls themselves put on a good show, energetic, laid back. The gig was pretty small and cosy.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to get an equivalence for my Masters all typed up in French with a happy friendly letter from the Ministry of Education all before Tuesday. Because I'm curious to see how badly I could muck up a public servants entrance exam later this year. That is, if they accept my candidature. If you've been paying attention re France and anything paperwork related, you should come up with a decent guess about how many phonecalls to different services I've had to make up till now...My Mum, after practically half her life in an english speaking country, still does not like to communicate over the phone in english. If only I had that luxury. Phone numbers, especially, can be tricky. The bulk of my french generally doesn't require much active thought. I still muck up the odd gender, but unless its a particularly complex verb conjugation or any number between 70 and 99, it generally trickles through the language centre ok.
For anyone not familiar with the french numerical system, almost all the groups of tens get their own name up until 69. Then the compounding begins. So 70 becomes, literally, sixty-ten, sixty eleven etc, 80 becomes "four-twenty", 90 becomes "four twenty ten", and considering the teens are already compound number names to start with, 99 becomes "four twenty ten nine". I should just pretend to be Belgian...septante, nonante...(though curiously no 'octante')

housewarmings

Current view of our internal courtyard - it's coming along gradually, and has finally evolved beyind the the three primary colours of green, putty and cement by some orange marigolds and an ornamental kumquat given to us as a housewarming present by the pseudo sister in law. Crossing fingers that it doesn't turn up its leaves and die within the first month. Considering my criminal track record with nursery plants that are any older than 6 months and retail for anything over 20 euros (just ask my recently departed ficus). It's only because they load them up with chemicals and grow them in perfect hermetically sealed greenhouses (ie their 'ideal growing environment' or some such rubbish), so that the minute you put them into the real growing world (where they might get too over or under enthusiastically watered, the pollution diluted stuff filtering through the dirty window doesn't actually count as light, and there's dust clogging up their stomatas), they just go and die ungratefully on you.
Anyway, phase two will be some hanging wall mosaics. I've even come up with a preliminary sketch and colour design. Now all I need is to learn how to do mosaics. It's called prioritising. Watch and learn. MOstly I'm just looking forward to smashing crockery with intent.
Going to a Dresden Dolls concert tomorrow night http://www.dresdendolls.com/. Seeing as I think they're pretty good. And seeing as they've very courteously decided to play in a nearby town (well, technically it's another town, but it still considered as part of the Greater Lille Metropolitan Region). In fact this entire region seems to spend most of its time trying to be part another region at all levels. First you've got the very finite defined borders of the town, which seems to melt into the Lille Metropole, whilch in turn melts into the nord - but not just the nord, because they tack on the 'pas de calais' as well. And then Picardie likes to get in on the act. And then there's the whole Flanders business extending off to the north east. And THEN it's part of the larger Belgian-English-French Euroregion. I'll leave it there. Mostly because I was talking about a concert.
This upcoming weekend will also be a much delayed housewarming party (mostly delayed because we had to wait until we had a decent number of chairs to offer people and a kitchen set up to provide for ther culinary entertainment). Speaking of culinary entertainment - despite my 'how do I cook for 6 people in a mini stove' misgivings, a 2kg chicken CAN be made to squeeze into a 12L oven, accompaniments including my dear grans delicious coquille st jacques recipe (which I actually made into food, I didn't just hand them picture cards and ask them all to imagine real hard), steamed beans, new potatoes, strawberry parfaits and a cheese and cherry platter. Because it's cherry season now. Happy joyful cherry season.

Friday, I'm in Lille

and definitely not in love with anyone or anything, not even the weather which I am braving (stupidly) without sunglasses, and wearing totally the wrong shoes which I need to unlace, take off, put back on, relace, idem the pants, unzip, peel off, sob at pasty white wobbly legs in mirror, put on, rezip as I desperately lurch from one stretch cotton mecca to another, and dying of heatstoke and ignoring a rapidly increasing thirst in search of A Pair of Jeans that Fits and Does Not look Like it's from the 80's. And try not to get distrac - ooo, that's a pretty top - by the fashion pitfalls along the way. Mission:Impossible is finding a pair of jeans, and if I get dehydrated and faint from lack of food and too much walking along the way, well, that just might make the difference between the zipper closing and not.
Hell, no, who am I kidding?
Some French woman wrote a book for Fat Anglo-Saxons a while back called 'French women Don't get Fat*' (which is obviously a patent lie, but she did get away with it, so kudos to her I say). A more correct title would have of course been 'Fewer French Women Get Fat, Would you like to know Why?' Or more recently revised in my head as of today , 'French Women aren't Allowed to Get Fat because the Average Dress Size in the Fashion Stores Doesn't Allow for it'.
While the average dress size in most Australian Stores is somewhere around a 14 (Which is supposed to be a UK 12, or a French 44, but in France dimensions a 44 frankly seems more like a AUS 12, which would be a UK 10, and don't ask me to convert that into American because I'm not even sure that what I've said so far is correct), in France (still with me?) the average seems to be about a 40, which is not, as direct conversion would lead you to believe a size 10 but more resembles a size 8. On a good day. And if I hear one more overly tanned womans(How, already? How?) airy 'no, the 38 is too large, get a 36' I will smother them with the pile of jeans I'm heaving round the shop.**
If you are a boy, and can read, you probably didn't find this post very interesting. But then the fact that I can't get a decent pair of jeans is somehow your fault I'll bet anyway, and if it's not then it should be. Because I need some scapegoats. And I'm not getting chocolate involved in this, we go back a long way, me and chocolate.

* Actually, I've got nothing really much to say against the book, it's all about joie de vivre and drinking water and not stuffing yourself and not eating junk, and all that standard boring common sense.

** I did finally find a pair. Don't fret. They are too big. But I am well beyond caring.

Whatever puny literary talent I have has been squished into the verbal mud by about a third of a bottle of 50 proof rum.
Don't drink a third of a bottle of 50 proof rum on an empty stomach boys and girls, it can lead to loss of all temporal bearings. Yesterday I thought it was Tuesday, though I have since been reliably informed that tomorrow is in fact the weekend, and that we have planned a dinner party and everything. Still, at least I didn't drink and blog, that could've been messy.
As a side note, I don't know how I'm going to prepare a meal for 6 people using the micro-oven and 2 hotplate setup we've got. But I'll think of something.

gah!

He answered back! The incompetent jerk answered back! 'taking issue' with my complaint (mind you I'm willing to wager he spend more time on the email than he did on the actual phone call). Not only was he an incompetent jerk, but it turns out he never even gave me the right information, because I DON'T need an emergency Australian passport (mine's sort of expired) but I CAN get an online travel visa - at half the price - using my French passport (my parents found some more competent people to speak with in Australia). The incompetent jerk told me I couldn't get a visa using my French passport. What an incompetent jerk!
(You know, part of me wants to answer back again, but partly I'm worried that it will degenerate into some immature slander match, and partly I'm afraid that they can get me blacklisted or something. My email address doesn't exactly do much to hide my identity. And it's not like I can take my business elsewhere - except maybe to the New Zealand embassy)

stupid things you do to fill in the slow bits of your life

Like downloading 'what star do I look like' software.
We got a bit excited at first, it seemed to pretty much set on me looking most like Gillian Anderson (every thinking male cyber geek sci fi buff fantasy girl, I should be so lucky right..?) and the Monsieur came up looking like Liam Neeson. Could be worse.
So then we plugged in a portrait of his dog. Because this is logically what you're going to do next, of course. And it thought his dog looked like Liam too. Now I've often noted a slight resemblence between them (my boyfriend and his dog, I can't say the Liam-boyfriend connection had ever struck me much). So Liam is possibly the missing link between them. (Now there's a dinner party I'd like to be at). So we're starting to lose confidence in this fantastic new e-toy riddled with adware, especially when one of our friends came out looking like Stephen Dorff. What with the friend being originally from Benin and all...

Moving along - before I go and attempt to actually try and get some sleep tonight (after last nights washout). I'm picking up my continuing saga here - the one where I use this blog to list every single incompetent person/group/mail correspondance I've ever received. Next, is one of the temping agencies I’m registered with. Have I done a temping agency yet? Not only have they stopped calling me about anything work related, (since I refused a placement for a permanent contract for a logistics company a couple of months back, not sure if that’s cause and effect or if I’m just paranoid) but they’re incessantly bugging me about what my exact personal details and situation are while maintaining the employment telephone silence. It started about a month back when they absolutely urgently needed a copy of my last work contract - the one that they had sent me to start with. So I decide to take a copy of my updated cv with me at the same time. And grovel a little. About how I REALLLLLY need a job right now. Expand the search. Get out the radar. Cross reference. Ignore salary pretentions. Just give me something here...Except, obviously, a permanent contract working for a logistics company. And the girl said she make a note of it on my profile. Whether this means she wrote ‘Desperate, Do not call under any circumstances’, in big red felt pen, or she just utterly forgot about it is not mine to guess. But I got a call about 3 weeks later, asking if I was still available.
Yes, totally!
Ok, well, that’s all we need to know
(Update, wrote ‘Desperate, Do not call under any circumstances unless to torment for some Friday afternoon amusement’ in big red felt pen)
And then they did not have my new address. Even though it’s on the updated CV I gave them. And even though I’d already advised them of my change of address about 6 weeks before.
And today I am being pestered by repeated sms' to get my email details. Which I refuse to answer. Because they have it. Written just underneath my address. On the CV I gave them. Possibly the red marker is obscuring everything.

But I felt much better after writing a haughty email of complaint to the embassy.
You see, for the next 2 weeks, I really am not going to have very much to do. Except blog and complain. Not necessarily in that order. Not necessarily separately either. There's also maybe that project of training flying killer monkeys to attack all annoying incompetents. They couldn’t get it done in a 35 hour working week though.

hang on - hung up

I called the Australian embassy today.
My query was redirected to someone who in turn redirected me to a webpage and gave me a bunch of instructions to follow in 3 seconds flat.
I typed in the webpage while he was still on the line and told him the address was giving me an error message.
He told me to visit the page and fill in the form and he had to see someone else and hung up.
'But the address isn't w...'


The French phrase for 'to be hung up on' is 'il m'a raccroché'
But - in French - you can take it one step further and say 'il m'a raccroché au nez'
This is the telephone equivalent of having someone slam the door in your face. We don't have this distinction in English - which is funny because this guy, this Australian guy, il m'a raccroché au nez.

eep!

I'm going to Darwin in 2 weeks!
Kind of a whirlwind booking, was meant to possibly be sometime in August but departure date has been severely bumped forward (and via London, and Singapore and Bombay and London again)
Though I have a bit of a crush on my new hometown, it'll be good to go back home again.

trapped

The rain let up for one or two hours yesterday - long enough to grab our bikes and go randomly round some of Lille's adjoining suburbs and marvel once again at the extreme abundance of cycle paths (many of which leave the road system entirely and take you through green groves with wild flowering forget-me-nots). Golden sunlight filtering through the freshly rainwashed green leaves in the eternally gorgeous citadelle park/forest prompted me to mention for the 680th time that we really should picnic there. Earlier that morning I braved the tropical style downpour to visit the Vieux Lille markets (classed as one of the 100 prettiest markets in France). New seasons treats included fresh peas (which remind me of being a kid, my grandma always made me shell them), gariguette strawberries (a French variety I think, longer, sweeter and somehow 'silkier' than your standard strawberry - the best come from Plougastel in Brittany*). An unplanned 'treat' was the sweet talking cheese seller who skilfully bombarded me with a tasting a range of sheep milk cheese from the Alps, unpasturised gruyere from Savoie and before I knew it had wrapped up a modest block in some waxed paper before I had asked the price. I shouldn't have asked the price. In these situations it's just best to hand over 20 euros and be happy if you get some change out of it.


*As an aside, the French apparently consume 2.5kg per person per year of strawberries. Considering I buy about 1/2 kilo a week for the entire season, I must be taking up the slack for a lot of people.

With last nights free open air concert in the Grande Place, and the ambient temperature still hovering around 20°C at 10.30pm, it felt like the start of the European summer music festival season. The 2 DJ line up, which included David Guetta was part of a clever marketing ploy for the local newspaper 'la voix du nord' to celebrate the introduction of a new look format (ie the sort you can read on public transport without needing a triply extendible fold out tray table) and boost its reader numbers - and especially young readers (because, like, no-one reads the NEWSPAPER anymore, do they?)
Anyway, as far as newspapers go, it's actually quite a respectable rag. And Lille is one of only 2 provincial cities in Lille to have 2 local papers (the other is Nantes)
Because it's practically summer, and I've been gripped by some sort of culinary fever, I'll leave you with a recipe for cold spiced tea. It's pretty yummy
1/2 c sugar
1C water
1 stick cinammon
6 cloves
3 cardamom pods

2T tea leaves
4c boiling water
juice of 1 large lemon
juice of 2 oranges
soda water/mineral water

Boil 1c water, sugar and spices for 5 min, remove from heat.
Add brewed tea with this spiced liquid and leave to cool
Stir in orange and lemon juice once cool
To serve, dilute to taste with mineral water (for me it's about 50/50)

oh yeah

ok, so, one more bee. I lied. What is it with all this fun and sun and good times weather during the week and the total shit that they come up with for the long weekends? Something should really be done about it. I should speak to the management.

food issues

No, I'm not going to talk about stuffing myself like the proverbial turkey, but rather an issue which has been bugging me more than a little for quite a while.
The bee being plucked out of the bonnet today is the price of food in this country. I don't know what the other expats think about it, but I'm finding the end of the conveyer belt price tag makes me raise my eyebrows in shock more often than not.
Let me clarify than I'm not a big meat consumer, and the meat I buy is generally not too expensive. I don't buy much in the way of alcohol (and nothing over the 4 euros a bottle mark because, hey, I'm not kidding myself, I have bugger all in the way of a wine palate. I'm from Darwin. We drink wine out of 2 litre casks over there).
Spirits I buy about once a year, no soft drinks,no premade meals, no premade sauces...you get the picture.
Anyway, the cash register rings up a lot. Around 90 euros worth of groceries won't even last us a week - ok, so we're both eating lunch at home these days, but still, that's 150 AUD. For not even a week. For 2 people. Blows me away. I got by very well on about 60AUD a week just for myself back in Australia. And even doing a bunch of fancy currency conversion wage:living expenses calculation, it still comes out as what I perceive to be about 1/3 more.
Ok, so that's one bee out of the way - but my next bee is not just against the inflated prices but where a lot of the fruit and veg is sourced at my habitual supermarket (which I won't name because a) they don't need the publicity and b)their bonus miles system sucks. After spending thousands I probably have earned enough to trade in for a carrot on a stick). Potatoes from Israel (potatoes, seriously...), plums from South Africa, capsicum from Chile.
All hail the global market that makes this kind of idiocy possible.
Ok, that's enough bees for now, if I keep going there won't be anyone left to make the honey.

Old houses in Old Lille

Behind the Notre Dame de la Treille, Lille - France

soleil

soleil
Originally uploaded by Nyx.

oh and about time too...
First official dine outdoors day
First official open shoes day
And finally broke though the 20°C barrier. Before you know it we'll be sleeping with the window open.

Pear blossoms

In the Jardins du Vauban they cultivate a lot of heritage varieties of apples and pears. Lille, France

random humdrum

I had an interview for english teaching work (unusually, in English!) but didn't give me much scope for optimism. Best case scenario is that I wouldn't get any steady work before September. I have like, 1 euro in my bank account. Waiting till September isn't really an option.
But at least we did have an interesting chat about the French job market (verdict - it sucks). One big problem here is that they're really big on you being exactly qualified to do what job it is you're applying for (even to the level of admin assistant or secretary). Which is all well and good. Except for what you're qualified for doesn't have anything on offer. So you try and diversify, 'polyvalence' is the big catch-word in these parts - though I'm not convinced that employers appreciate the true meaning of the word as they seem reluctant to apply the idea of 'diverse range of experience' to 'broad range of skills'. My CV is that of a typical Australian post-grad; diverse, patchy in a couple of spots, and not a 'CDI' to show for myself. CDIs - unlimited term contracts - are the employment pot of gold in France. Those protests a while back? They were a lot of students getting scared that when they graduated there wouldn't be CDIs waiting there for them with open job security arms. I personally had some trouble wrapping my head around the concept that under 25s were clamouring for long term job security. Before even entering into the job market. Before they had families. Before they do the mid 20's finding themselves experience in India - or whatever the new India for 20 somethings to find themselves in is these days. But at the same time - finding a place to rent without a nice little CDI contract in your pocket? Not so easy...Getting a loan - for a car, for a house, idem. And what kind of place do you think the guy whose surname is Ngalo is living in? Its a nasty vicious circle that doubles as a downwards spiral when France frustratingly doesn't seem willing to adapt its labour practices to a changing job market. Dangle a 'CDI' in front of the average young Australian and their mind may start to fill with visions of '40 years of loyal service, gold watch as a retirement present and a heart attack the year after' visions. 'Course working all these issues into your average job interview isn't always so easy...

Cassel

Mont Cassel
Originally uploaded by Nyx.

I remember we drove through the rather pretty town of Cassel about a year ago, and I commented that I'd like to visit again. So this Sunday we did - pity the weather didn't hold out on the 45km drive to this town on the hill (Flanders is pretty flat, the hills are few and far between - they call them 'mounts', it's cute, and optimistic) and it's well known for its 17th century windmill perched on the very hilly top of the hill. Mostly, though, we just rode around on our bikes the departemental roads getting hopelessly lost, going 'where the fuck is zeemersteenvordebrouck?'
I thought I was outta shape, but you should've heard this pug dog that some woman was dragging up the hill. I spent about 30 seconds trying to identify where the duck noises were coming from.
Oh, and I'm listening to the Shins - they're a good band. If your brain thrills to indie pop (that sort of sounds like revival 60s folk), you should give them a go.

One of the great television mysteries of the 21st century has to be 'why was this TV series cancelled?'. Everywhere you look, same constant high DVD sales ratings, same 'WHY was this tv series cancelled? Why oh why dickhead executives?' comments from reviewers. I will add my voice to the choir - and check it out if you haven't seen it yet and you're trawling around looking for something good to watch.

Still jobhunting. Oh how it rankles. Stupid country. And what is with this mentality that english speaking people are obviously only good for teaching english...? I can't ever imagine someone in Australia saying to a qualified Chinese architect 'oh, well you could always teach Chinese'. Still, being victim to this stupid brainset, and being penniless, I have an interview with the local school of languages next week. Couldn't turn out worse than my last experience. You know what would generate employment in this country? Recruiting a few more people at the dole office who actually HELP place people in a work environment - be it training, volunteer, work experience - ANYTHING even vaguely relevant to what they want to do. To get people actually out of their house and feeling like they're contributing somehow, and making contacts and having something more interesting on their cv than blank spaces between employment periods. The local dole office - the ANPE - is the Agence Nationale Pour l'Emploi. Note that there is no 'A' that stands for 'Assistance', no matter what their happy smiling faces website may like to portray. To date I have had simply NO help from the ANPE. And I have asked. I have asked repeatedly. What they do, in essentials, is record your information on file. And this is all they really want to do. The entire appointment is highly centered on filling as many boxes on the computer file as possible, no matter how often you try and steer the conversation to subjects such as 'What I really need help with is...' And to give you a printout. How is a printout of what I already know about myself actually going to help me in my job seeking efforts? It's not like they even have dole payments to worry about - the employment and payment branches are split into 2 distinct divisions. Talk about getting your moneys worth...

un hirondelle ne fait pas le printemps

And again
Originally uploaded by Nyx.

the saying goes - one swallow doesn't make it Spring.
But I think the one I saw really did :)
Last minute plans on Thursday
'Is it easter? This weekend? Oh, so not next weekend...Right. So what are we doing then?'

'Etretat?'

This long hoped for suggestion from my dear Monsieur (who has meant to have taken me to Etretat about 60 times since about November 2004) was more than welcome.

But I have this philosophy:

It always rains at Easter
(seriously - if you spent your life being me, it really does) -AND we're going to the coast - near Normandy (tempting fate much?)...BUT we're going to Etretat. I'll bring a brolley and see it in the rainclouds if I have to. Still, the weatherman wasn't giving me much cause for hope.

But lo and behold - last minute bookings were fruitful (a friend of a friend told us about this little place, in this little village - and no, I'm not telling - if I tell, the next time we make a last minute reservation we WON'T get that cute little room with the balcony and ocean views...) and the weather turned on some spring charm. No traffic jams (the Lille-Normandy traffic is much more reasonable) and a weekend of fresh ocean air, wandering around spectacular scenery and hanging out in the most peaceful, quaint authentic villages that France could offer. As far as minibreaks go - it was just....perfect.

Etretat

Normandy, France

Etretat

Normandy, France

Dieppe Marina

Beautiful light on an early spring day in Dieppe, Seine Maritime - France

La Salamandre

A restaurant in the village of Etretat. Normandy, France

clang clang clang went the trolley...di 'holy crap where'd my bell go?'

I mean seriously who would steal a bike bell?
Now that spring is (allegedly) on it's way (though they had a giant snowflake where my town should be on tonights weather report. I'm hoping it'll be just the one) I've pulled the bike (and my ever expanding butt) out of winter hibernation and found it's had little banlieue rats nibbling away at it while it was stored at in the Asnieres communal courtyard. For one, someone tried to have a little chomp away at the bike lock and being too totally lame to properly steal a girls bike (with a little panier attached in front (damn, whats the english word?) they figure they'll just steal the bell). How much street cred does that get you these days? Times can't have changed that much. I knew a funky rebel German exchange student once back when I was at a more appropriate age to read Harry Potter - they stole Mercedes hood ornaments and wore them as bling bling, back when bling bling had a better name (did it ever?). But what do you do with a bike bell? Except injure a few unsuspecting pedestrians further down the line who never got to hear the 'dring dring' of the approaching bike as the rider was going 'hmm, better warn these folk I'm com - hey, where's my bike bell gone? *crash*'
Ok, no, that didn't happen.

Some things I learnt about living in Paris is that whatever it is, if it's not nailed down, someone WILL steal it. The other thing about Paris - is that even if it is nailed down, they will steal the nails. And then they will steal it.

New life, enjoying following;
- I can practically leave the pot on the boil during the time it takes me to pop out and run an errand (I also frequently do this when I go for a run around the block with scissors)
- The car is currently parked about 3m from our front door.
- Residents parking fees are actually very reasonable - for any country where a garden/carpark/garage is not some kind of automatic birthright
- Bike paths, everywhere bike paths
- A very spacious UNESCO classed heritage site just a short stroll away
- The fact that I hear more birds than cars, despite being in the city centre.
- Ground floor versus 5 flights no elevator (my lazy arse is happy)
- Art nouveau architecture
- Private internal courtyard...it's inside, but outside
- Boyfriend cwork close by enough to come home for lunch
- People actually doing recently forgotten polite things (holding open doors, stopping at pedestrian crossings, smiling)

New life, appreciating less;
- Broke, flat broke
- Surveys
- The barrage of charity collectors - tip: avoid eye contact
(Look, it's not that I don't care about AIDS/Starvation/Cancer/Lymes disease/The clap whatever, but I've picked my charities. I give either money, my time or both. I'm sick of feeling like a heel because I can't give to EVERYBODY. Because I CAN'T GIVE TO EVERYBODY. Give me a t-shirt that says this.)

So that's it then, we're both finally 100% here in Lille.But I knew, just KNEW I could not trust him to pack the last of the stuff into the car and get himself here without some incident...apparently it wouldn't all fit. So it got left. Which is no so much an issue until you find out what got left (useful stuff) and what got brought (broken cups).

Right, I'm 30 now and I haven't figured out how what guys do when they are imitating a bit of thinking passes off as logic. Now before you xy chromosomes all start howling and baying and 'bloody woman driver'ing in my comments field, that I am not talking about male intelligence nor disparaging your very useful can opening skills and telephone inventing skills and such. I'm just talking about your day to day capacity to be incredibly thick and annoying (I bet even Einstein left his dirty socks just generally around the basket, but not IN the basket, and bellowed 'where's the butter?' at his wife, forcing her to stop whatever 13 things at once she was doing to tell him 'right in front of you dear')

Now I'm inclined to think that part of the reason it wouldn't all fit is because he packs like a monkey on crack (hmmmm, and what's in this box? A keyboard, a dirty cup, 3 spoons, a glass, socks, an empty bottle of vinegar, honey....)
And what was left? The lamp, a (slightly pricy) oil radiator, the broom, the mop, the special mop bucket, vacuum cleaner bags (really, convince me that they wouldn't fit anywhere), the new bottle of adhesive paste I'd just GIVEN him just the week before to put up a hook (and hide a paint hole in the wall...) - didn't even put the hook up AND threw away my bloody tube of paste. What's all that about eh? I remember a time a couple of years ago when I used to miss all this.

It's not you, it's me

Right, right... I HAVE an excuse this time, really!
I don't have an internet connection.
There.
Am I vindicated? Do you feel small and unworthy for having doubted me, my committment to sharing everything that bugs the hell out of me? About all those valuable microseconds of skim reading we have shared? Send all chocolates and plant sex organs c/o of the green woods road Thats what my home address actually translates to - Green Woods Road. Nice huh? Though a little tame in the overall offerings of Lille street names 'Street of the Hunchbacked Cats (I'm serious), Blue Sheep Street (I'm still serious).
And thats my opinion. And if you have an opinion, Lille is the place to give it. Lille, otherwise known as 'Rijsel' in Hollandish gets its 'not quite sure how to pronounce it' name from a little provincial dialect meaning 'so, tell us what you think about it', which is of course my way of saying - there are a lot of surveys here. Really a lot. Drop a bomb in the midddle of the town and you're going to destroy more than lives and property. You're going to destroy wads of valuable information on opinions of somewhat similar yet mildly different forms of bland cheese, and essential remarks on laundry liquid smell. So just put away the TNT you crazy anarchist.
Oh yeah, and anarchy. Whatever they might be saying about the riots where you are - the students are just complaining - big signs, catchy slogans, nothing much else to do because we've effectively blocaded ourselvers out of our own universities (oh, did you not see that one coming - and now you're worried about your exam results aren't you?) The burning cars and riot police? Thats all down to tagalong anarchists. Probably the same ones who've found themselves at a bit of a loose end since last November.

Bric à Brac

Today is my last day at this current temp job, my other nature guide summer job ain't so certain anymore with all the damn sneezing birds (some of the nature parks may not even open if things don't improve)

That said, I'm still eating chicken (mostly out of spite, and because it's cheap cos MAN are people susceptible to media fear-mongering these days.)

Will be moving into my new digs in the next few days - so I'm off to Paris this weekend to have a fun time dismantling furniture thats probably been dismantled and remantled (makes sense as a word in my opinion) one too many times. I participated in a vulture-like raid of an evil grandmothers (not mine, mines nice) house last weekend as she's downsizing (no, that's not a euphemism for 'died'). It was like a bric a brac free for all. Pity she had such crap tastes then.

lumpy cat

le chat blanc
Originally uploaded by Nyx.

Here I am possums, not to fret (for anyone who is not fortunate enough to understand that cultural reference, I should direct you here).
Karma has been giving me something of a pick and mix assortment of latey. Probably cos I thought I was strong and worldy enough to deal with an online booking system whose call centre appeared to be located somewhere out in Tajikistan and used up all my phone credit trying to sort out the whacky but inevitable fallout (which they obviously refused to sort out anyway but devised to keep me on line while they avoided sorting out the problem for as long as possible). *

So still in my bad karmic loop, the next morning I got stuck in the train thanks to an epic door fail at my stop, so I was an hour late for work (who I couldn’t call because...? See above...) Then I had to make up the time, and get a little telling off for good measure. Yet another reason that temp work can be a drag.

Then, THEN we should add in the joyful (and semi regular) experience of my bfs parents going through one of their “episodes” who managed to extrapolate some series of events scenario via a series of imaginary leaps that ended up with me as a villan and them as some unfortunate victims of circumstance. You know, it’s taken me the best part of 30 years just to get my OWN parents under control, I am SO not ready to start again with a couple whose kids have obviously not taken the time to decently manipulate them into behaving correctly.

Finally my karma balance shifted (conveniently coinciding with the partaking of cocktails). Spent the weekend playing tourguide in Paris, even in the face of craptacular weather. Came to the realisation that my 'cool bar in Montmarte' is in fact shite and expensive, aaaah - disillusionment!) shopping, drinking, the Musée d’Orsay, sharing my physical space with Angelina Jolie and very nearly trampling on her child, drinking...

* Fret not dear readers; I managed to get it cancelled through a sneaky process of calling someone more competent

urban vibes

Hey all
Is been a while (I'm too slack for anything - posting to the blogs, writing emails, taking photos...whaddeva)
How’s things then everybody? Keeping well? Hale and hearty (speaking of, after a godawful track run that all most got me admitted to the quarantine ward last year, I’ve had nary so much as a sniffle this winter. Thus it’s as I suspected, and the Paris metro is in fact a biohazardous zone. In fact if they decided to any kind of biohazardous terrorist dumping (are these key words that are going to get me in trouble somewhere along the line?) the chemicals might actually clean the place out a bit.
So, I'm sure this year is going faster than last year, make it stop, make it stop. Already its national ambivalence day (buy the flowers, and conform, or don’t conform, and don’t buy the flowers, but make bloody sure you buy the flowers the rest of the year or your girlfriend will kick you harder than she really needs to when you start to snore, or say its all a pack of hooey because you don’t have a partner anyway, and damn hallmark spite spite) My boyfriend has decided to conform this year because I’ve probably started kicking him harder than he needs – and it’s not like he really even snores much anyway.
I found an apartment yesterday. We’d left it too late – as usual – so for a March availability it’s either the ones that no-one else wants…or well, maybe they just aren’t trying very hard (if you're lucky). So I picked one that I might end up bitching about later (this, evidently is a special sort of hex I'm putting in place - either I end up being proven right - and being all righteous about it, or I end up being wrong, and happy about it - hex fairies get all confused in this situation) – but it does have a lot of classic art nouveau add ons, and I am a sucker for the art nouveau. I think its been a student artist haven for at least as long as its existed, so needless to say for the surprisingly large size, extreme proximity to the city centre and (suspiciously) low price, its going to have a few little problems.
Rising damp is, I suspect, high on the list. I’ll see what I can do to dehumidify the place (a prolonged history of pot smoking artists probably hasn’t helped – but they’ve left some nice doodles on the wall here and there) but considering I’ve already got two ‘could pass for a wetland’ places under my real estate belt since moving to France, you never know, I might be good at dehumidifying…I’ll probably keep the windex company in business for the time I’m there though, there’s a frightening amount of glass in the place. But it’s in the CENTRE people. I’m going to be one of the city centre folk! I’m going to be one of the cinema and bar and other forms of city centre entertainment persons who don’t have to worry about what time the last train leaves, how much a taxi costs or how many standard drinks I’ve had in the last hour. I’m also going to spend most of march with a washcloth in one hand and a bucket in the other I imagine.