Off To See My Godmother

A short posting today as I’m flying off to England to see my godmother. She’s my mother’s sister and since my mother died in 1965, we’ve seen very little of Aunt Win. She moved house just about the same time as I moved house and as that was long before mobile phones had become prevalent, we simply lost contact.

And then a couple of years ago, my cousin, Sue who also lives in Kent, England, decided to try and trace me but as I’d moved to France (she didn’t know this) she was unsuccessful but she did manage to trace my brother, Robert, who still lives in Glasgow. Coincidentally, just about the time of year I pay my annual visit to Glasgow, my cousin and my godmother were just outside Glasgow at a christening and so we were all able to meet up for the first time in years. It was a great weekend and prompted another gathering this coming weekend.

Amazingly, my cousin (Sue) worked just 50 yards from my BT office in London and even more astonishingly, she used to use BT’s restaurant for lunch and over all those years we’d never bumped into one another. Anyway, maybe she wouldn’t have recognized me in a suit and tie!

So this morning I fly into London from Nice and my brother from Glasgow. By good fortune (planning ?), our flights arrive at exactly the same time and then we head off for England’s south east coast. The last time I was in Margate was 52 years ago – I bet it’s changed a bit!

Halo

I’m hooked again. It’s been so hot and humid here that the one area of the house where I can be really cool is my bar/games room and why be in there and not play Halo – probably the best video game ever.

I’ve always been a fan of virtual reality games. In San Francisco there was a really high-tech games centre across from the hotel we were staying in and wandering in one night I found that for $5 (this was about 10 years ago) you could put on a helmet which transported you into another world. It really was quite incredible – you actually thought you were there – in the streets fighting gangsters. It was all done, of course, with 180 degree projections inside the helmet but for the 15 minutes the $5 lasted, it was one hell of an experience.

Fast forward to 2001 when I arrived in France and ‘inherited’ a new family. Struggling to work out what sort of present to buy the kids, I settled on an X-box thinking the kiddy games would be an instant hit and so they were, but not for me. Making fairies jump from toadstool to toadstool just didn’t get my adrenalin going and so I discovered Halo.

I won’t bore you with the details of Halo but needless to say it involves saving Earth, or what’s left of it from hordes of marauding alien life forms. Halo 1 was enormously successful, then came an equally amazing Halo2 and nearly 2 years ago, Halo 3 arrived. To put how successful these (Halo) games are into perspective, consider this. On the first day of its release, Halo 3 sold $170 million worth of DVDs of the game. That’s just the first day. The biggest grossing picture of all time is supposed to be Titanic (although methinks Mama Mia must have overtaken it by now) but that has ‘only’ taken $1.8 billion in the 12 years since its release. 12 years ! Halo is phenomenally successful – so much so that there is reputedly a movie being made to try and replicate the game’s success.

But back to my ‘addiction’. When I first got into Halo1 I would be up until 4am playing on the console trying to eradicate those pesky aliens. Halo2 wasn’t quite as good as it was supposed to be and when we moved into the new house, I had almost given up playing it but then Halo 3 came along with a whole new set of creatures to kill and a whole new set of weapons with which to kill them, but what has made the experience all the better is that in my bar/games room, there is no natural light. With the lights off it is absolutely pitch black and by projecting the console onto one wall of the bar, the aliens are now 4 feet tall – virtually life-like. So much so that on quite a few occasions, as I have been ‘wandering’ through some dark alien planet structure and have been the recipient of a surprise attack by a gang of these nasties, I have actually pulled away from them to the extent that I have fallen over backwards on my seat. That’s when I usually switch off and go and have a drink! Problem is, I’m so shaken up I can’t hold the glass!

Riviera Radio And Harry The Husky

I was a bit taken aback to find an article in the Times this week which referred to Riviera Radio which is our English language music station in this area. Broadcasting out of dingy little offices in Monaco, it plays U2, James Blunt and Amy Winehouse ad nauseum but it also has a ‘community chest’ where listeners can advertise things for sale etc. It’s a broadcasting version of AngloInfo, the web based forum which does much the same thing down here on the Côte d’Azur. What took me aback was that somebody writing for the Times had even heard of Riviera Radio, never mind knowing that it had a listener’s forum for buying, selling and exchanging goods, animals, cars and houses.

It made me recall the time that J had called the station to ‘advertise’ our stray husky dog, Harry, who had caused such havoc after we rescued him that we just had to find him another home. He would run away with Shadow and I’d have to pick them up at the dog pound and make a donation. This was happening two to three times a week! He ate or dug up all my plants and generally was quite destructive, but - he was absolutely adorable and it took a lot of soul searching to make the decision, but we had to get rid of him. Sooner or later Shadow would be run over by a car as he faithfully and stupidly followed Harry along the main road into the village.

Within hours of phoning the station a lady phoned us and asked us if we could we take Harry down to their house so they could have a look at him. It was a 45 minute drive and every second of the way, I was warning Harry that he’d better behave – or else. This was a done deal as far as I was concerned.

We arrived at this stunning villa overlooking the Med and were met at the front of the house by a very elegant lady (probably in her 40s or 50s). In her hands she had a toy poodle and as soon as she put it down, Harry picked it up between his jaws. I waited for the sickening crunch of bones and screams of anguish but Harry was so gentle. He picked him up, put him down and picked him up again. He was just being friendly. ‘Oh look’, she exclaimed, ‘they’re friends already’.

Immediately after putting ‘Botche’ (the poodle) down, Harry wandered into the front lounge and climbed onto an immaculate white sofa, stretched out and let rip. The smell was appalling but incredibly the lady smiled and said it was obvious that he already felt at home. ‘In fact’, she said, ‘Botche does that all the time – it must be the foie gras we feed him’!

Not long after, her husband appeared in a brand new Aston Martin which he’d been taking delivery of in Monaco. Of course, Harry just had to run over to the car, stand on his back legs and put his paws on the driver’s window. I was waiting for the tell-tale screeching noise of claws on paint but again Harry was perfectly well behaved and licked the husband as soon as he got out of the car. It was love at first sight.

All of Harry’s belongings were unloaded from our car and Harry was formally handed over but as with all ‘dog’ handovers, they are done on 1 week’s approval. If the new owners don’t like or get on with the dog, there is an unwritten rule that says they can hand him back.

Well, J and I bit our nails for a week waiting for the fateful call which would tell us that Harry had been hungry one night and had devoured poor little Botche. Or he’d eaten the leather seats in the new Aston martin. Or he’d crapped on the white leather sofa. And then the call came …… on the very last day. I thought that Harry was on his way back but the lady staggered us and simply asked if we had a picture of him as a puppy – her husband wanted it for a screensaver! Aaaaah!

But getting back to Riviera Radio, the URL below will allow you to play it on your PC.

http://www.rivieraradio.mc/home.asp

A Mother’s Work Is Never Done

J had to fly off last Thursday to be with her ill mother and whilst I sympathized with her situation, I was nevertheless filled with dread at looking after the kids, on my own, for a week. It was rentré after all – the week when the kids go back to school. All sorts of school and non-school activities tie parents up for the week and I had to face this all on my own!

Thankfully J had been down to Carrefour to spend the annual €200 on new rulers, pencils and all the accoutrements needed for rentrée so that was the one task I dread already done. And, in a highly unusual bit of organization, J left me a sheet of paper with all my tasks on it - day by day, for the whole week!

Friday morning – take Guy to the Dermatologist and Kitty to the Orthodontiste. That can’t be too onerous I thought. Silly boy! After Guy was pronounced OK, Madame Plantin decided she didn’t like the look of a spot on my face and before you know it I was flat out on the bed with a -200c lance being stuck in my cheek. And as she did her best to give me frostbite, she said, ‘ ah Monsieur Hellon, I have seen your wedding pictures with you in a kilt’. What she actually meant was that she’d seen my other ‘cheeks’ when I’d lifted my kilt and some snaps had been taken. At least she knew that I didn’t have a spotty bum so didn’t need to lance me down there!

Then there was food shopping to do for the guest J had decided could stay at our place for the week and the Sunday lunch for the other guests she’d invited. After that Guy had to be sorted out for the scuba diving lesson he had booked but before that he had to go for his rentrée haircut. I was exhausted and it was just the first day!

Saturday – start to ready the house for the myriad of guests arriving on Sunday and head to the shops because I’d forgotten J had booked me and the kids with some friends for a BBQ and it’s bad form to appear without a contribution. BBQ finished about midnight – I was totally knackered!

Sunday and thankfully, our guest, Dave, takes the kids off to church to allow me to start preparing the food for lunch. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and peas with Pain au Chocolat Bread and Butter Pudding for dessert. I find an e-mail from J telling me that two of our guests will not be appearing so I reduce the number of place settings. When the mob return from church, I find that yet another lunch guest is not appearing. Is it me ? Was it the threat of a man cooking? Anyway – all the more for me, Dave and the kids.

After lunch, Kitty wants to be transported to her friend’s house for a sleepover. I miss the best bits of the Grand Prix! Bugger and damn!

I was rescued from total mental oblivion by Tan who spotted me in the garden and invited me over for a drink later in the evening. I couldn’t get over quickly enough and actually arrived before they’d finished dinner. A bottle of wine and several cigarettes later and I felt a bit better but probably because I was sloshed and didn’t realize the week from hell had not yet started!

Monday - I wake up feeling a bit groggy but realize I need to look at my ‘task list’ to see what’s to be done today. Ah yes – go to village and get school bus passes for the kids. Also need to replenish Angie’s cigarette stock after last night. Our guest likes milk and orange juice (not combined) and I need to refill the fridge – so off to Leclerc the supermarket. Can’t find the parked bus which is supposed to be issuing the bus passes and the supermarket is manic. I get home to find that Guy needs to be transported into town as he’s heading off to the beach with his pals to ‘hang out’ but thankfully Dave does that task as he’s heading off in that direction. And I’ve given all my cigarettes to Angie – oh I could do with one right now! Then I remember that last night Angie said her downstairs shower wasn’t working. I get my tools together and head over there but it appears that it’s working again so some relief there.

I cook lunch for Dave (Pasta Pesto with Chorizo) only to find that he’s sound asleep downstairs! Still, it should be a quiet afternoon until I spot that Angie’s plants are starting to look a bit thirsty so get the sprinklers out and start the water but I need to remember that it’s on because if I forget about it, it I could be on all night.

I start to prepare dinner but Guy needs picked up from town. I just get back with him when Kitty calls- she needs picked up from her sleepover. Aaaaagh!

It’s now Monday night and at last I’m sitting down with a glass of wine but there’s something I need to remember to do tomorrow. Ah yes – get the bus passes. Groundhog day!

J – please come back – all is forgiven.

Up Close & Personal With The Grand Prix

I’m a bit of a Grand Prix fan and for those of you who cannot work out why people are so enthusiastic about noisy cars running around various tracks bumping into one another, get yourself off to Monaco for a Grand Prix day. Or any circuit on the calendar for that matter.

The atmosphere is incredible. I don’t even think you need to be a car nut – the noise, the glamour, the personalities and eventually, the start from the grid which must be one of the most amazing sights in global sport, cannot fail to grab you.

I was fortunate enough to get to the Monaco Grand Prix a few years ago and there was no way I could have even come close to anticipating what it was going to be like – awe inspiring I would say. Of course Monaco is quite different from other circuits on the tour as they basically have to close the city whilst the GP is on. Residents have to show a pass to get into their own streets but then again most Monaco residents move out for GP weekend, renting their apartments for tens of thousands of euros for the duration of the race.

The other thing about the Monaco GP is that as soon as qualifying has finished, the streets are opened and fans like me can wander around the circuit getting quite close to those things you only ever see on TV. The picture at the start is of my 3 sons standing outside the teams’ motor homes just after chatting to David Coulthard and wishing him well. The following day he won!

And the point is ? The point is that whilst Monaco is probably the only GP where the fans can interact with their heroes by wandering around the circuit, looking at the Safety Car, watching people come and go from the motor homes etc, in general, Formula 1 is very good at that sort of PR. And that’s not something you would expect – I mean these guys earn up to £20m per year driving these cars and yet they are quite accessible. Can you imagine a Chelsea fan having a chat with John Terry just before a game? No chance! And on a slightly wider, but related perspective can you imagine Sir Alex Ferguson inviting all the football press to dinner the night before a big game? And, all his players are there, quite relaxed and talking quite freely to the newspaper correspondents. Well this happens in Formula1. The URL below will take you to a blog for the Times reporter who reports on the Grand Prix races. Have a read at it and see just how close he gets to almost total access to the teams and to the snippets of info which you’d never read anywhere else – even in his column in the Times.

http://timesonline.typepad.com/formula_one/2009/08/at-spa-the-greatest-track.html