A Burst of Activity

I’m sure watching the Olympics caused it but on Friday lunchtime without any warning to the family I decided we’d get some exercise and have a picnic down at the river. I’d had a ‘boy’s lunch’ planned but it didn’t happen and so the alternative was to try and get the family out in the fresh air.

The usual moans and groans greeted my suggestion but I wasn’t having ‘NO’ for an answer. I started making some sandwiches, threw some drinks into the cool bag, got some pickled onions from the fridge and grabbed some biscuits for Shadow. If the truth be known, this was Shadow’s day out as he badly needed a swim in the river. Although we have a pool, Shadow does not like it at all because there are no steps. If you mention swim, he immediately heads for his basket, lies down and literally covers his eyes with his paws hoping it was a joke. If however, he finds a pool with a shallow end and steps Shadow is there in a flash, indeed we’ve had complaints before with people finding a black dog wallowing in their shallow end, acting like he owned it.

Off we went up the Gorge du Loup, no more than 15 minutes drive. The first few spots we normally go to were busy, either by lovey-dovey couples or canyoners. What a great business canyoning is. You buy some wet suits, get some idiots to climb into them, charge them 40 euros and then throw your customers in the river. Minimal overheads, the river is free and people go in their own transport. You don’t supply any food and your office is a cheap hole in the wall with a telephone number on the side. In the next day or so I will recount the tale of my one and only canyoning trip.

Anyway, the canyoners had just finished. You could tell. They were sitting on the wall beside the road looking utterly exhausted, Some had tried to get out of their wet suits but didn’t have the energy to complete the task and they looked like some sort of mythical creature - half seal, half human. Unfortunately it would be at least an hour before they got the energy back to clear the car park so we continued up the river for another mile or so.

The Loup is just a normal sort of river in his area – quite small in the summer but a raging torrent in the winter and the temperature is never less than ….absolutely freezing. We found a spot which was quite difficult to get to and I hope she doesn’t read this posting but J crossing the river to get to the picnic spot on the other side was a test of patience – the sandwiches had almost gone mouldy by the time she got across. An 85 year old, blind geriatric on a zimmer frame would have got across quicker !

However, once settled we had a great time. We made dams to create our own pool, encouraged Shadow to have a swim in a deep bit, and I completely soaked Guy by throwing huge boulders in the river right beside him. Kitty just wandered about singing to herself and J just did what J does – she couldn’t wait to get home and made it clear that that’s what she wanted to do.

I just sat there looking at the 2000 feet deep gorge through which the Loup runs. It’s amazing to think that this little river has carved its way down through the rocks to create one of the most stunning sights on the Riviera…….and it’s just around the corner. We’re very lucky.

See pictures of canyoning in the River Loup here:

http://www.descente-canyon.com/canyoning/canyon-photo/2932/photographie.html

I’d Be As Sick As A Parrot

So you’ve cut out all the great comfort foods like burgers and chips. You’ve almost completely eliminated alcohol and now drink water and energy drinks. Your body doesn’t have an once of fat on it but despite it looking sensational you’ve not had a serious relationship for years. You need to train up to 6 hours a day and sometimes your bones hurt so much you just want to cry. Your coach is now the most important person in your life and you don’t see your parents or your friends too often. You spend your life living in soulless hotel rooms travelling to places you never see. And you’ve been doing this for the last 4 years…..and all to win an Olympic medal.

Your day comes, the crowd are cheering, you are in great form. The bell goes, the gate falls and off you go……and then you crash ! 4 years of hard work down the swanee.

One can only sympathise with these athletes who go through so much for so long only to fall at the final hurdle. What must it be like ? What is our equivalent ?

I can relate this to business where I’ve worked on deals for maybe 2 years. The team have lived in those soulless hotels and have grabbed food when they could. We only saw our families at week-ends and even then we we’re usually working. We’ve ruined family holidays and we’ve been short tempered. We’ve taken those mind-numbingly boring conference calls at all times of the day or night and we’ve missed out on many corporate events …… and then the client decides to do something else. No sorry. No apology for time wasted. Just a brief letter which is like a dagger to the heart.

It must also be like those people who need to diet but do it on their own. They cut out all their favourite foods and walk to the post box at the end of the drive instead of taking the car. They cut down on their glasses of chardonnay and resist the urge to buy chocolate at the supermarket check-out. They stop tasting their kids’ food cause it tastes too good and refuse many invitations to parties and barbeques. The Friday lunch invitations are ignored and anything resembling food is removed from the fridge. And then….after 4 years you weigh yourself….and……..you’ve put weight on ! Aaaaagh !

For us mere mortals, we can usually start again. Join a slimming group or start work on another deal. We can change the way we do things and aim higher.

For many of these failed athletes this will be their last chance. London 2012 is too far away for some of them. Their bodies cannot stand another 4 years of gruelling exercise regimes. Mentally, they’ve exhausted themselves and during those next few years, new young stars will arrive to take their place.

So, as the Olympics draw to a close, an Olympics in which Team GB has done amazingly well, let’s think of those athletes who didn’t win a medal. Those athletes whose life’s work has just evaporated in Beijing and who may never have another chance to show how good they really were.

Cars and The French

Yup – you’ve guessed it. It’s another diatribe against the French. So what – I live here and I have to put up with their behaviour. If you don’t like it don’t read any more. If you’re French and you get upset – tough – this Blog is not for you anyway so no comments please.

The French drive like absolute nutters. Complete morons with a 1 ton steel weapon in their hands. Why do they drive like this ? Why do they feel the need to try and assert their supposed superiority on all other road users ? Here are my questions about the French, their cars and their driving:

Why do they have to drive so close to you that you can clearly see their nicotine stained teeth in your rear view mirror ?

Why is it a French woman needs to drive with a cigarette in one hand and her mobile phone in the other ? Are they taught this way ? What do they steer with ?

Why is ‘giving way’ such a complete non-no in France. Is it something to do with their history perhaps or are they just thick, or worse, ignorant ?

Why do they open doors in such a manner that they make a dent in the car next to them – every time ? Is it a macho thing ? Or are we back to ignorance again or do they not care about the damage they are causing to other people’s cars ? Our Honda now has so many door dings that you need a calculator to count them.

Why is it that when you are on a very narrow road that the French never ever slow down to make passing each other something less than a gladiatorial battle ? It’s probably no accident (pun intended) that the market for replacement wing mirrors in France is the biggest in the civilised world.

Why do French drivers feel the need to get into their cars and then try and get the rev counter needle into the red zone as quickly as possible and keep it there as long as possible ?

Why is it that every French car which really pisses you off is a white Renault Clio ?

Why do the French government have a two year MOT cycle allowing absolute wrecks onto the roads ? Sometimes there is so much smoke belching out of the back of these things that you would swear they were running on chip fat.

Why is it that the prettiest French females are the worst drivers of all and therefore whilst you would normally smile sweetly at them you actually give them ‘the finger’ ?

Why do French drivers on the outside lane of a roundabout think they can go all the way round causing absolute havoc to those correctly turning right ? Is this not covered in the French driving test which I suspect might just be a case of driving into and out of the nearest supermarket.

Why do French women think that their dogs must sit on their laps whilst they drive ? Sometimes the dogs look prettier than their owners and I bet most of them could actually drive better.

Why do French drivers stop right in the middle of the road to talk to someone coming the other way ? Are they absolutely oblivious to the fact that they cause a tailback in both directions ? It’s not as if they haven’t seen the person they are talking to for ages, they probably did exactly the same thing, in the same place the day before.

So there it is. They are crap drivers, totally ignorant of any road etiquette and totally devoid of any semblance of driving skill. No wonder they have one of the highest death rates in Europe which is almost twice the UK statistic.

Scarface….. and it’s not Al Pacino

I phoned my brother Robert last night. We try to talk once a week but sometimes things get in the way such as my trip to Normandy. Usually we talk about family matters or football but last night’s call was dominated by his latest news – he’d suffered an ‘industrial accident’ when a pump coupling broke loose and hit him square in the forehead, knocking him unconscious and giving him a rather large dent in his skull. Taken to hospital, he was given 8 staples to put his head back together (it all seemed a bit dramatic to me) but despite the pain and embarrassment, he felt as if this unfortunate accident was some sort of sign, a lucky break so to speak.

Like millions of others watching the Olympics he was aware that the opening ceremony began at 8 minutes past 8 o’clock on the 8th day of the 8th month in the year 2008, 8 being the lucky number in China. So he figured the 8 staples he received was a lucky symbol and he’s now going round Chinese restaurants in Glasgow making sure they see his wound, hoping they recognise the significance and offer him a free meal. I told him that using superglue to change the shape of his eyes and getting the Chinese flag tattooed on his cheek was just a bit over the top.

Robert has an unfortunate history of accidents and illnesses, dating back to the days when we were boys playing with our train set at home. As usual he did something to annoy me and I just threw the first thing which came to hand. Like I did, I’m sure he saw the bit of curved railway track fly through the air in slow motion and stick right in his temple. I patched him up and we carried on playing with our train set, but to this day there is a scar on his left temple with the unmistakeable shape of a Hornby Dublo curved track section. Any model train enthusiast would recognise it a mile away.

Years later and having left his job at the steel mills, he received a letter telling him that a UK wide compensation scheme had awarded him £3,000 for loss of hearing. Now Robert had never claimed for loss of hearing nor had he lost any of his hearing ability but nonetheless off he went to the lawyers to pick up his cheque. On his way home, probably after celebrating a little bit too much, he fell over and smashed all his teeth. It cost him almost all of his £3,000 to get them fixed !

Move on another few years and he was rushed into hospital and had his appendix removed which was not very significant until 12 months later when his doctor wanted to rush him to hospital again……………with a severely rumbling appendix ! Needless to say, Robert changed his doctor.

He’s lost the tip of his little finger in a slamming door, has a bad back and probably has severe liver damage caused by an unhealthy liking for WKDs – vodka and Irn Bru to you and me. He suffers regular heartbreak (when his football team loses) and probably has emotional problems because he doesn’t see me too often. He’s been the innocent recipient of a flying bottle in a Glasgow pub fight and probably has hardened arteries from the deep fried pizzas and similarly cooked Mars Bars which are a speciality north of the border. To say he is unfortunate (from a health point of view) is stating the obvious.

The problem is he still looks better and healthier than I do !

For those that do not recognise the food in the picture accompanying this blog, it’s ……….deep fried Mars Bars !

Home Alone…….Again

A few weeks ago the family decamped to Spain. I did not go because; (a) I’d had a wonderful holiday in Florida and New York only a month before and (b) I quite fancied staying at home and getting some peace and quiet. The kids were only home a few weeks after returning from Spain when they went off to Southern Ireland with their father for a month. Sorry – that does not mean he’s only been their father for a month – it means….aw you’ll work it out. Anyway, there they’ve stayed for the last 2 weeks giving J and I a wonderfully quiet and relaxing time and the chance to visit our friends in Normandy last week.

On our last day in Normandy I got a call from Clive, the kids’ father. He needed to speak to J urgently and of course we thought something had happened to Guy or Kitty but it was an accident to his wife, Teresa, which prompted the call. Teresa, a keen horse rider by all accounts had had a fall and had badly broken her ankle and wrist and needed operations. With all the running about that Clive needed to do it was therefore decided to cut short the kids’ holiday, but how to get them back to France ? Julie needed no further encouragement. She spent about 8 hours on the internet yesterday getting flights and hotels arranged and the result is that she left this morning to go and pick them up and so I’m home alone again….but only for a day or two.

I love being home alone. Take today for instance. Read the papers on the internet. Do some e-mails. Have a laddish lunch of ravioli on toast with a glass of wine and a cigarette for pudding. Stick the telly on and watch some Olympics but then notice that MTV have got Girls Aloud on for 1 hour – great ! The biggest load of crumpet in one place since I was last in a Greggs Bakery. I’ll maybe play some golf on the Wii and if I can rustle up the energy I’ll empty the dishwasher. I’ll talk to Shadow and check my wine stock. I wont shower or shave and I’ll wear the same boxers I had on yesterday. I’ll have burgers for dinner and generally slob about. Bliss.

I could quite easily be a hermit. It wouldn’t bother me to have smelly armpits and a greasy pony tail. I even did without TV for the whole of last week so it can be done. My car lies in the drive for weeks without moving and I don’t use the pool that often. I had training years ago on eating off the land so could quite easily rustle up a toadstool omelette with eggs stolen from the house up the hill. The occasional rustled lamb would not be a problem although I’m not sure if I could do anything nasty to it in order to satisfy my appetite….and I mean food appetite ! Water from the mountain streams tastes as good as wine (as long as there’s nobody upstream) and….you don’t get a hangover. There are no unannounced visitors and no carpets to vacuum. There would be no recycling to do and no bills to worry about. And no phone calls in the middle of the big match.

However…….I would miss cuddles in bed. I’d miss my neighbours Tan and Angie and their coterie of friends as well as little Violet. I’d miss the microwave and my Calvin Klein Eternity after shave. I’d miss toilet paper and switching out the bedside light and just falling asleep on my Ikea super-hard pillows. I’d miss my arguments with Guy and my cuddles on the sofa with Kitty. I’d miss my X-box and the aliens I blast to smithereens. I’d miss my garden and my chainsaw. I’d definitely miss my scooter.

So on second thoughts whilst I could be a hermit, it’d probably only last until I ran out of Marlboro Lights.

L’Hostellerie du Château

This posting is a bit of a departure from the others. It’s a restaurant review. I think we’ve all fancied being a food critic, all that free grub and the chance to absolutely crucify an establishment which has given you poor service. Or, the chance to tell others about a great meal you’ve had or service above and beyond what was expected.

This review is of a restaurant we visited with Brian and Lynn in Normandy. It is the L’Hostellerie du Château and is situated in a town called Briquebec.

Brian and Lynn had kept telling us about ‘the Château’ and as it was to be our last dinner of the holiday we were kept in a state of gastronomic anticipation all week but on Friday night we finally set off for the 30 minute drive to Briquebec (or brickabrack as we called it). Like most French towns and villages in Normandy there is always something just around the corner and Briquebec was no exception. A quite ordinary town was completely transformed as we turned one of those corners and the most magnificent 11th century castle stood there, right in the middle of the town. We made a quick tour of the grounds, took some photos and then headed into the hotel reception somewhat early. We had no sooner made our arrival known than we were whisked by a very efficient waiter to our table in the Knight’s Hall resplendent with 12th century pillars, suits of armour and all the other brickabrack (get it ?) you get with an establishment which is 1,000 years old. Our table was right in the centre of the hall and in the best position for people watching and despite the fact that Friday night dining in a gastronomic restaurant should be a dress-up affair, the French were there in their Levi’s and t’shirts. Although the French have some (most ?) of the best restaurants and restaurateurs in the world, their male customers seem to treat them with total disrespect or am I being overly stuffy ?

Anyway, aperitifs were offered and ordered promptly which was welcome and something of a novelty as French restaurants are usually very remiss in taking pre-dinner drink orders. There’s something calming in having a sip of Kir or Champagne when faced with a large, complex menu.

Menus were presented just after the aperitifs arrived and for someone who can usually decide on a 4-course dinner in seconds, the variety of delightful-sounding dishes and range of fixed-price menus (with options) was mind-boggling.

A small, but sufficient plate of appetisers were placed on the table along with a basket of hot bread rolls and orders were taken. I am always amazed at the value presented by fixed-price menus. On the a-la-carte menu I had noticed Slow Braised Lamb which had been cooked for 7 hours. The price of this dish was 17 euros and yet I was able to have this dish in the Menu du Terroir (this is like a country fare menu) with an additional 3 courses for the ludicrously cheap price of 21 euros. My wife and friends all chose the Menu Gourmande which provided a mixture of fish and meat dishes. Me – all I wanted was good wholesome country food and I wasn’t disappointed.

Our host, Brian ordered a bottle of very pleasant Haut Medoc 2005 and shortly after the waiter poured the tasting glass, our first courses arrived.. I had ordered the Tower of Pressed Tomatoes, Feta Cheese and Country Herbs (it sounds better in French) and true to its inclusion in the ‘country’ menu it was deliciously fresh and chilled to exactly the correct temperature. The tartness of the cheese offset the wonderfully marinated tomatoes and just as your taste buds were beginning to become accustomed to the mixture of flavours, the herbs made their presence known, with the basil and mint battling one another for supremacy.

The next course was my long awaited 7 hour, slow-cooked lamb which was accompanied by another tower, this time of potatoes topped with a parmesan crust.
The lamb was simply delicious. It is a testament to the cooking process, and the chef obviously, that I did not need to use my knife once to cut the lamb, it simply fell apart as soon as the fork touched it. This is not to say that it was without texture. It shredded beautifully and tasted even better. My fellow diners had all chosen the steak main course and I could not help but feel their eyes assist me devour my lamb. The potato accompaniment was a trifle dry and may have been sitting around rather too long waiting for my 7 hour lamb ! The dish would also have benefited from a jus, the chef presumably thinking that the lamb juices would be adequate which they were not. All-in-all though it was a wonderful dish for someone who likes to get back to good old fashioned earthy food once in a while.

I passed on the cheese course, preferring to keep the flavour of the lamb on my tongue just a little longer but I did notice that the cheese portions offered were particularly small. It was as if the waitress was on some sort of bonus scheme which paid her for the amount of cheese she retained on the cheese board.

Dessert was, yes you’ve guessed it, another tower although I have to point out that this was just a coincidence. My choices could have missed all the towers on the Menu du Terroir but I’m glad they didn’t. This dish was a Normandy Biscuit Tower comprising cream, jellied fruits and topped with raspberries. There was a small amount of Crème Anglaise (thin custard) on the plate. Like my first course, this dish was remarkably fresh on the tongue with the sharpness of the raspberries complimenting the sweet jellied fruits and cream perfectly. My only complaint was that the biscuit was not as crumbly as one would have liked. The previous day I had had the most delicious chocolate tart which allowed me to compare the two pastries. In this case, the café in Cherbourg won.

In summary, I would drive miles to visit this beautiful monument with hotel alongside just as long as I could have the Menu du Terrior every time. Would I get sick of it ? Not a chance.

Visit the restaurant here:

http://www.hostellerie-chateau-bricquebec.federal-hotel.com/page_en_1.html

and pictures of the Château here:

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Ch%C3%A2teau_de_Bricquebec

Shangri-La

Well, our short holiday in Normandy is almost over and most of you will have recognised that my last blog was a bit tongue-in-cheek. In fact it was downright rude but luckily neither Brian or Lynn have managed to read it…..so far. Hopefully they’ll read the latest postings after we’ve departed and even more hopefully, they’ll read this one before the other one !

Look at the picture. A magnificent, racing green Morgan sitting outside a chocolate box cover, whitewashed cottage. Both are stunning but both are surpassed by Brian and Lynn’s (let’s call them B&L) hospitality which has really made our holiday so enjoyable. Nothing is too much trouble for them and I’m getting used to regularly delivered glasses of wine and plates of snacks. It has spoiled me and no doubt will make J’s life a misery when we get home – after all, now I’ve seen how Lynn looks after Brian, 24 hours a day, I’m going to insist on similar treatment – why not ?

Similarly, Brian is allowed, without nagging or interruption, to potter around doing the things men like doing. Like just standing in the shed looking at all his tools. Passing the time of day with BB the goat with whom he claims he can have a better conversation. Looking at the grass growing whilst supping a beer. So, upon my return things are going to change but that’s for later. Back to B&L and Normandy.

Julie and I think we have an idyllic lifestyle and B&L’s is the same but different – maybe better. Normandy is definitely quieter. Even the touristy villages are significantly calmer than in the South where foreign cars are now reaching epidemic proportions. The landscape is obviously different. The highest point I’ve found on the map of this region is 130 metres with mile upon mile of coastline being below sea level and although flat it is far from boring. Turn a corner and you come across delightful villages which despite being immaculately looked after, appear to be deserted. Round another corner are fields of ripening corn bordered by beautiful stretches of river with not a gin palace in sight. Every village seems to have a magnificent church with stunning stained glass windows. There is no litter and you would think the roads had been resurfaced the previous week. It is idyllic.

B&L have been in their cottage over twenty years and we reckoned they must have been the ex-pat pioneers of their day. Nowadays as they cross the water on the ferry sailing between Portsmouth and Cherbourg, they say it’s like a club with all the usual Brits heading towards their Normandy cottages. Life here is obviously spaced out more than in the South where I can bump into other Brits going to the bins to empty their rubbish. Here, B&L live in perfect isolation from British culture. No TV. No British neighbours. No papers. I don’t think Brian even looks at the papers on the internet. The closest they come to hearing about the ‘old place’ is their occasional foray into Radio 2 or when they phone their daughter or Lynn’s brother.

As I sit and write this in their perfectly furnished lounge with antique Chinese furniture gracing each corner of the room, they are sitting on the lawn at the back of the house just sipping wine and passing the time of day. BB the goat is unusually quiet and the sun is splitting a cloudless sky. Tonight we are off to a chateau for dinner and I’m sure it will be superb. Then well return to the cottage, get a few drinks and gather in the lounge where we’ll play charades or we’ll jointly try and complete the Daily Mail quick crossword and after a few hours we’ll admit defeat. Then we’ll sit and talk and reminisce about the first day we met and discovered we had so much in common. Good friends are hard to come by. Keeping them is even harder. The infrequency of our meetings does its best to come between us but this week has been wonderful in allowing J&I to see B&L in their natural habitat. Welcoming friends to their wonderful home in Normandy.