The Power of Blogging

I’ve said many times why I blog. It’s my amazing, wildly extrovert personality which feels the urge to write each day (apart from weekends) and share the incredibly varied things I do with the world. Yeah right!

Nope – I do it for a variety of reasons, one amongst many, is of course, my therapist telling me that in order to retain some degree of sanity (note the ‘some’), I must live out the weird and wonderful fantasies which dominate my every waking hour – hence why I’m writing this at 4.24am!

And so, from that you may deduce that many of my blogs, the things I’ve said and the things I’ve said I’ve done are total bollocks. It’s all a fantasy. It’s like the Fantasy Football thing I do every week. You live out your dreams on a newspaper website – it doesn’t matter what you spend in order to get the best team, it’s all an illusion, a figment of your imagination.

OK – enough of this literary crap. I really just wanted to say that one of the great things about blogging, especially on the Google site (I don’t really know if others do it),  is that you can automatically follow other blogs. You don’t have to remember to look up a particular blog each day, the Google system seems to know when somebody you’re interested in has written something and lo and behold, when you log onto your blogging site, there it is – Allison has posted something fascinating about her life in the USA. Jon who runs a gite or something down in South West France and whose Blogs, unlike mine, are short and sweet, has written something witty about life in the Vendee. The various football writers, whose blogs I follow and who all try to outdo each other, post articles throughout the day and keep me bang up to date on all things to do with the round leather ball – actually they’re plastic now!

It’s terrific. It’s like having a newspaper which only contains the things you want to read, delivered to your door on the hour, every hour, day and night. And, this is the Scottish mean git coming out in me. You don’t pay a thing. Bingo!

And so, this short posting is to encourage those of you who don’t particularly want to share your innermost thoughts, dreams and fantasies with the world, to consider starting a blog – even if it’s just to get all those things you’re interested in reading, delivered automatically right to your LCD.

One example. I would have missed the following article in the newspaper as it was tucked away in the deepest recesses of the sports section, but as it was a blog I ‘follow’, it was sitting there looking at me the next time I signed on. It’s football related but I’m sure non-footie fans will still find it very funny, especially the video at the end, and the one about Beckham is hilarious.

 http://timesonline.typepad.com/thegame/2009/01/footballs-top-1.html

Banks – Aaaaaagh!

A few weeks ago I sent a letter to my bank in the UK over their complete inability to stop the name on my account changing every six months or so. If you read my blog of that date you’ll see that this name-changing problem caused me enormous problems and lost me loads of dosh.

Read the original letter here: (http://tomsfrenchblog.blogspot.com/2008/11/letter-to-my-bank.html)

I thought I’d update you as to the progress – if it wasn’t so troublesome, it would be hilarious!

One of my gripes to them was that as I lived abroad, it was difficult for me to do anything in person (the Abbey don’t have any branches in France), so it was quite a surprise for me to get a response within a couple of days of my original complaint letter asking me to pop into my local branch where they would deal with my complaint! Great!

I called them to ask if anybody had actually noticed that they’d sent the letter to France and they were most apologetic and informed me that my letter was now the subject of an ‘internal inquiry’.

A week or so later, my ‘formal’ letter arrived. It was nearly as long as my original letter of complaint and went into great detail about the number of computer systems which needed to ‘synchronise’ before all my accounts (all three of them ??) would have the same address. It was quite clear from this that they had some crazy system where each account was on a different computer.

They then addressed my utter frustration at having to deal with Bangalore when it was quite obvious that the people there had no idea how to fix my problem and did not have the tools to even see what my problem was. The solution was to call a ‘special’ UK number.  Round one to TC.

They went on to apologise for all my problems and frustrations and whilst acknowledging that I was ‘inconvenienced’, only offered the usual token sum of £50 to compensate me. Now I know from business life that ‘consequential loss’, which is what I suffered when I could not transfer my money, is not recognised when working out compensation, and therefore I accepted the £50. Round two to TC.

A few weeks passed and I noticed that the £50 had not been credited to my account so I called them on their ‘special’ UK number. Guess what ? they’d only gone and paid the £50 into somebody else’s account! The girl was so embarrassed she could hardly speak and I was so gobsmacked I could hardly speak, so there were long periods of silence on the call.

‘Not my problem’, I said. ‘Now you’ve been informed, just credit the £50 into the correct account’. ‘Can’t do that Mr Cupples’, she said.. ‘We’ll have to contact the person to whom we paid the £50 in error and ask their permission to remove it from their account’. Knockout to the bank.

I was almost at the point where the cat was looking a likely target for my frustration (again) but I calmed down, revelling in the girl’s absolute embarrassment and said I’d probably need a laugh in a couple of weeks and would call back then.

You couldn’t make it up  

A Day When History Was Made

I had everything set. The kids would get home from school and we’d sit down in front of the telly and watch history being made as Barack Obama was sworn in to be President of the USA.

 But Murphy’s Law, which states that if something can go wrong it will, kicked in. Some idiot with a chainsaw (no, not me) cut a tree down and straight through the power lines it went, cutting off the whole of Cupples’ Mountain. For three whole hours we were without heating, lighting, the telly and worst of all, the internet, but as we ‘suffered’ we were aware that a whole new chapter was starting in the good old US of A.

We’ve watched it for about a year now. The rise and rise of Barack Obama. The unknown senator, who has probably the most willing and hopeful nation in history behind him as he becomes the 44^th President. Maybe Americans don’t know this, but Barack is given enormous TV coverage in the UK. After Bush, who was tied to the oil companies and didn’t seem to care who knew it and who nobody seemed to trust, Barack has managed to get the world excited by his ‘man of the people’ persona, his perceived honesty and his common sense.

He probably has the highest expectation on his shoulders than any incoming leader in history. This African American has pledged to ‘unite the nation’ and rid the US of the many inequalities which exist in its society, but time will tell what he actually manages to achieve.

I’m not being overly pessimistic in saying this. At the end of the day, no matter how powerful he is, and what sort of mandate he takes into the Oval Office with him, the establishment will often dictate which route he takes and how fast he takes it.

What is the establishment? In the US, I suppose it’s Congress (or The Senate) plus all the President’s advisers and holders of the various Offices of State. Then there are the big business interests (oil, automobiles etc) and possibly the Unions.

In the UK, they say it doesn’t really matter when Government changes from Conservative to Labour as it’s the Civil Service who actually run the country. OK, there are some changes of flavour and emphasis but at the end of the day, the guy with the grey suit and the grey hair, who sits in Whitehall with his job for life and inflation proofed pension will actually determine what we do and when we will do it.

But back to Obama. The whole world, with the possible exception of some of the ‘terrorist states’, is willing him to do well. If ever a man came upon the scene and had the mandate, and the personality, to unite not only America, but the world, then it is he.

Americans probably are not aware of this but we Brits, and I’m being a bit presumptuous here, are more hopeful and optimistic of Barack than we are of our own leaders.

It’s going to be a wonderful ride and we’re all aboard.

 

Sausage Casserole and Mouldy Cheese

Home alone again – well during the day that is. J has gone off to see her mother and stepfather and other members of the extended Hellon family in Manchester, leaving me to look after the sprogs. The weather in the UK has been particularly cold this last week or so and she headed into the airport dressed as if she was going skiing instead of visiting relatives.

The weather here has also changed from being really sunny last week to being more unsettled. Monday started off with light rain which prevents the continuing job of clearing up the millions of oak leaves carpeting virtually everything in sight. And a strong wind last night meant that I was met this morning by a selection of knickers, boxer shorts and socks hanging in the bamboo down the garden.

The menagerie of animals also don’t like the change in the weather. Shadow hates the cold and the rain, and after his morning stroll, he comes into the house to lie in front of the fire. The cats are similarly lethargic, changing chairs, on which they sleep, every 30 minutes or so, only rising to wander into the kitchen to look for even more food.

So, under normal circumstances, with nothing much going on around the house and the weather preventing any outdoor work, you would think I would get bored – not at all.

I love it when J is away because I have full rein in the kitchen and delve into the freezer to see what she bought several years ago which hasn’t been touched. Problem is, when meat is old and frozen, it’s very difficult to determine what it is and so I look for fish and vegetables, herbs and clearly determined shapes, like sausages. So this evening the kids will return from school for some ‘goutet’, which translated, is a ‘taste’ or a snack. Then I will ‘surprise’ them with one of my specials – a sausage casserole, which has already been prepared and is simmering in the oven. The sausages were soooo frozen they took about 20 minutes to defrost in the microwave and didn’t look too appetising when they softened up, but into the pot they went, along with a variety of frozen vegetables and ‘fresh’ ones which had started to sprout in the bottom of the veggie drawer. Barefoot Contessa – eat your heart out!

Then there will be complaints when I get into the cheese section and force them to eat all the cheeses which J buys on a whim and which lie festering in the drawer. France has 365 different varieties of cheese and I think we have one of each, clogging up otherwise valuable space in our fridge. I don’t usually worry about a little bit of mould on the cheese as many varieties already come with a healthy dose of green growth on them. The kids however, will complain loudly and threaten to call their mum. It’s only the first day of my all embracing parental duties however and so, reluctantly, they will fall into line. They’d better, otherwise they’ll be sent to bed without supper….which, in their view, might actually be a more preferable option!

 

Hangliders and The Buzzards

 

Good name for a group – don’t you think? But no – just a blog posting about the fact that as the weather seems to be getting a bit warmer day by day, the hangliders have started jumping off the mountain behind our house. See picture.

I can watch them for ages as they swirl and drop and rise and fall with the thermals which are obviously pretty good on Les Courmettes. They must be good because there are a family of buzzards up there in the craggy, rocky outcrops and when the hangliders are out, the buzzards start to fly the thermals as well. I’ve often wondered if the buzzards wait for the hangliders to start jumping off the mountain or do the hangliders wait to see if the buzzards are flying? Or do they both sit there and dare each other to go first?  

A few years ago, a group of us went further up into the mountains and several of us went on tandem jumps where you are strapped to the guy actually doing the hanglididng and all you are expected to do, after the initial run and jump, is to sit there, enjoy the experience ….. and pray!

For logistical reasons I could not do my jump (actually it should be ‘flight’) that day and we went back a few weeks later so that I could join the ‘hangliding club’. Unfortunately, there was quite a gale blowing and when we arrived at the launch point, the wind was absolutely howling, which I was sure would mean another cancelled flight.

Hangliding is quite a dangerous sport, starting with the run and jump off the mountain to start your flight. You either take off and fly, or you drop like a stone and I have to say, in some weird, masochistic way, I was looking forward to the thrill and the adrenalin rush as we ran down the mountain and took off ….. or not! However, my flight started as we just stood there on the slope. The wind was that strong, it just picked up the canopy, filled it with air and we were off.

Once airborne, it is deathly (sorry bad use of word) quiet. You just float around, the skill of the pilot being to search out the thermals so that the flight lasts as long as possible. In my case, the flight was over after about 30 minutes which was fine by me as I was beginning to get bored.  Once you’ve seen the fields from 2,000 feet that’s it – there’s nothing much else to do!

Our neighbour, René, is, or should I say, was a hangliding enthusiast but unfortunately, the one thing all gliders dread, the loss of a thermal and the collapse of the canopy, happened to him. We had met René only a few months previously when he and Cathy moved into a new house nearby. Then, after seeing René around and about quite frequently, he disappeared. We were told his canopy had collapsed and he ended up in hospital with two shattered legs. After rebuilding his legs with various bits of metal and keeping him in the Cannes hospital for six months, René reappeared to tell us that the worst bit of the whole experience was when he knew he was going to hit the ground and was too low to deploy his parachute. He had to decide whether to land on his back or his legs. Given that he is now considerably fitter than I, and cycles miles virtually every day, I would say that he made the correct choice.

Another hangliding story, albeit a bit more humerous, involved J when we were on a skiing holiday in Serre Chevalier in the French Alps. I cannot remember the reason but I bought her a tandem hangliding flight where you land on skis when you descend at the end of your flight.

Me and the kids went to the top of the mountain to watch her jump off with her ever-so-hunky instructor (actually her take off was a gentle run down a very slight slope into the wind) and then when she was airborne we took the lift back down to the landing station. As soon as the cable car reached the bottom, we put our skis on and headed as fast as we could over to the landing field where we saw the final moments of J’s flight. A gentle float down onto the landing ski slope, the touching of the skis onto the pristine snow and then a tangle of arms and legs as something went wrong. Guy, Kitty and I all dashed over, expecting the worst, only to find J, face down in the crotch of the instructor with a huge smile on her face. It took her all of 5 minutes to extricate herself! Dirty little toe-rag as they say in Glasgow.