Les Chats sont arrivés!

Yippeeeee! We have cats! The day after we moved (which was also my birthday) was a busy day. We had Virgin come over to do technical broadband-y stuff, my parents visited for a couple of hours to wish me a happy birthday and have a look round the house, a lovely man from the local Cat Rescue Centre popped over to do the home visit, and then another really nice guy from Nature in Balance came over to rid us of a wasps nest we found in the bathroom wall cavity.

Fortunately all these visits were over and done with by 2pm, which meant we still had time to go to the Cats Protection place and see the cats! When we arrived we were shown around by one of the staff who introduced us to various kitties – some of them were extremely timid, but given that my mum has a Springer spaniel, we would probably need felines who are slightly more outgoing and more prepared to show the dog who's boss!

We met a 7 month old black cat who was so friendly that we pretty much straight way decided that he would make a good addition to the new house, and then we met a litter of 12 week old kittens. Most of the kittens were beautiful, but very shy, staying at the back of the cage…but a little white one with blobs of black on its face and a black tail came straight up to us when we went in, rubbing itself against our legs and purring like a tractor – it didn't take much to decided that this was the one that we wanted to adopt!

They're getting on fairly well together, sometimes it's hard to tell whether they are playing or fighting (and the older one is three times as big as the little one…although I don't think he realises it!), but they are both lovely and good natured (the older one can be a bit sulky at times, but then again he is the equivalent to a teenage boy, so I guess it's to be expected!)

Merveilleux! We're in!

So, here we are in our lovely new home in Haslemere. The house is wonderful and we're really pleased. The move itself went swimmingly – removal van arrived at 11am, loaded up our boxes, furniture and plants, then met us down here in Haslemere an hour and a half later.

The first afternoon was mainly spent dismantling our bed because it was too big to fit up the stairs, then putting it back together again. We also managed to get the important things done such as reassembling the sofa and going to get some beers from the supermarket!

At around 9pm we realised the time, and that we still hadn't eaten. What better thing to do on your moving in day than trying out the local chippy? We went outside, I closed the uPVC door behind me… and the key wouldn't turn in the lock, nor would it open… Ah, this could be troublesome. 

After trying everything we could think of that might make the lock work (such as desperately shaking the key in the lock, shaking the door, putting our hands through the letter box to see if we could reach the handle or key inside…) we caved and called a locksmith out. £100 later (plus fish and chips) we were back in, having been given a full explanation of how to use our front door correctly. Boy, did we feel stupid! At least it was on one of the hotter days of the summer, and thank goodness I had my phone on me! 

However, I do feel these types of adventure are necessary when moving into a new place….character building or something like that (and possibly bankrupting!). A bit like when you buy a new phone or watch… the deep scratch you get on its face during the first few days (despite treating it with the utmost care) almost 'christens' it!

The Trees of the Canal du Midi

Yesterday, I came across some saddening news. Apparently the French are being forced to chop down all of the beautiful trees that line the famous, quintessentially French, Canal du Midi. These trees go hand in hand French waterways, offering shade during the day and a truly atmospheric light at dusk.

Photo by Yishac - Isaac Alvarez i Brugada on Flickr

The 200 year old trees are suffering from a fungal infection, which was introduced into France by the contaminated wood of ammunition boxes by American GIs during World War II. There is no way to prevent this fungal disease from spreading, which leaves the French authorities only one option: to chop them down and burn them.

Photo by Nirgal Ksi on Flick

The Canal du Midi is a Unesco World Heritage site status which it could potentially lose (though hopefully it won't) if all the trees are destroyed.

However, the French will be re-planting trees from the end of the year...but they estimate that it will take between 30-40 years to replant along the entire length of the beautiful 200km waterway. 

Moving...finally!!

Finally, after six months of waiting we are finally, finally moving to Haslemere. It's taken a lot of time, three different buyers for the flat - of whom two dropped out, and oodles of patience. And, of course, good stress management skills!

So, instead of working to tide me over for a few weeks, I ended up working for four months. I had an excellent time though, and I'm so pleased that I got to work that little bit longer - did some interesting work, met some lovely people and could walk in (...a long 2.7 miles walk in!). We move next week, so the flat is full of half packed boxes...boxes I'm meant to be packing as I write, but I'm managing to find all sorts of far more exciting - and less important - things to do instead!

Shortly, I am going to move my blog (which I have thoroughly neglected for the last few months!) over to the Camembert website, but it will still feature on Blogger too.

Over the next few months I'm really looking forward to a number of things: teaching a spot of French, adopting a couple of cats, decorating the new house and planning for our wedding next April. So much to do! Fortunately it's all pretty exciting and interesting stuff, none of your run-of-the-mill mundane happenings for me over the next year!

Right, well I'd best crack on with the packing. Next blog coming soon!

Why I Want to Move to the Country

#4

Sirens. Sirens. Sirens. In the countryside the sound of sirens is a more un- than usual occurrence. Unlike here in London. Every two minutes there is a siren, in most cases helpfully timed with when I am walking along speaking on the phone, trying to get to sleep or already asleep, so waking me up at 4 IN THE MORNING.

Now, I know that the emergency vehicles need to get around in a hurry...but, even in London, how much traffic is there really at 4 am?? Not much. Not enough to merit such a large number of sirens blasting forth in the early hours.

It must be very hard driving an emergency vehicle in London - most drivers appear to be in their own little world, or are listening to music so deafeningly loud that if the siren speaker was in their passenger seat, they'd still be oblivious to it.

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Regent's Park on a Sunny Afternoon

Why I Want to Move to the Country

#2

There will be fewer people in the country.

Generally speaking, I don't mind people on an individual basis... but dealing with lots and lots of people, like on London pavements, really isn't up my street (excuse the pun).

One thing that always baffles me is why, when there are three or four people waiting at a pedestrian crossing, everyone assumes that it means that someone has pressed the button. IT DOESN'T. If no-one presses it, it doesn't press itself... the machine does not know that you are there. It's not magical. And it certainly does not mean if three or four people are already waiting patiently at the crossing for the lights to change, that one of them managed to pull their finger out to press the button. They probably assumed the first person who arrived did that, so don't bother checking. Instead they stand there like little lemmings waiting for the intelligent lights to telepathically clock that they are there and change.

The number of times I've arrived at a pedestrian crossing and the button hasn't been pressed despite a number of people waiting for the lights to change. I always wonder how long they could wait there like that before either thinking about checking whether the button has been pressed, or jump out in front of traffic regardless.

Jumping out in front of traffic seems to be a favourite pedestrian pastime at the busy crossroads near Angel Tube Station. Some people must have had the most dreadful days at work for them to want to commit suicide on their way home by throwing themselves under vans, cars, scooters or bikes. Poor souls, especially as none of them succeed. They do however scare themselves, so maybe a near death experience is traumatic enough to convince them that it's too soon to jack all in and life isn't really that bad. Next time they'll wait that extra 17 seconds for the Green Man to appear. Or, maybe not... some of them don't seem so smart.

Not that I can talk - I've had my far share of near misses whilst crossing the road. But I'd like to think that I learn from these - at least as far as I don't make the same mistake twice on the same road or crossing.

I'm sure in the country there are people who are just as annoying, but at least there will be fewer of them, and more space between us.

Why I Want to Move to the Country

#1

 London

Yes, true the sky is pretty impressive... but look at the the lanes of queuing traffic! Arrrgh!

The Country

Promenade

Pure mountain air, blue skies, trees and nothing to do but go for a walk. Can't beat it.

To the countryside and beyond!

Ah ha! So after the non-starter offer that was put in on our flat before, we've now had another one... after a few days of negotiation. So, now with what seems to be a genuine offer in place (the buyers are due back tomorrow to measure up for furniture... so fingers crossed they still like it just as much!) we can start seriously thinking about moving.

So, the first step is finding a conveyancer... hmmm, easier said than done it seems. We've had a couple of high(ish) quotes, both of which have been from conveyancers recommended by estate agents, who I'm assuming get a fair chunk of the money we pay as a thank-you for the referral. This is obviously something we want to avoid... the estate agents will milk enough money from the sale of our flat as it is.

So, tomorrow we're off to have a look around a couple more houses - one we've already seen once (which needs a lot of work and is a bit too pricey - especially when you take into account how much the work will cost to have done, but, on the other hand, has beaucoup de potential) and the other house is smaller but in the centre of the town meaning it will take half the time to walk to the station (and as my boyfriend will be commuting to London everyday, this is a big consideration).

So, recommendations will be very welcome for any good conveyancers! In the meantime, we'll wait to see if this time the offer stays standing - if it does and we find somewhere we like, then we could be out of London within the next 3 months - yippee!

Police bus in Paris

The police in Paris have a bus! Yes, a bus. A real public transportesque bus. 

Now that's très cool.

Crêpilicious!

Right, I know I have already talked about the gorgeously wonderful versatile foodstuffs that are crêpes in a previous post, but as it was recently Shrove Tuesday (or mardi gras as it's called in French) I had to make some more. I had to, it would have been rude not to.

So, to spice things up a bit I recorded, well photographed, the whole process from start to finish. For those 'Shake to Make' addicts out there you will see how easy it is to make them yourself.... and therefore avoiding spending an obscene amount of money on some kind of half-arsed lazy alternative.

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International Women's Day? *gallic shrug* What an idea!

Ah, so International Women's Day, eh? Sounds cute! What's it all about? Some kind of 'us women think we're so special that we need a day to celebrate this'? Bless.

On Tuesday Nicolas Sarkozy decided to air his thoughts (ahem) about International Women's Day which celebrated its centenary yesterday. It's a shame, that yet again, he didn't opt for the more sensible option of keeping his bouche tightly shut.

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Le Word of the Day: Godasse

Godasse (noun feminin): Shoe (derived from the word 'Godillot')

Travelling back in time to the mid 1800's, a chap called Alexis Godillot was living it up as a prosperous Army Supplier. He supplied many things including tents and saddles, but is most well known for manufacturing the ankle boot called the 'Godillot'.

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Flat offer falls flat...if only we did it like the French

Our flat is on the market. On Monday a chap put in an offer, then decided the next day to come back for another (3rd) viewing with his mother. This rang alarm bells - why would you come back the day after making an offer? Was he really serious? Despite assuring the estate agent that he was, I remained uncertain. Bringing you mother to view a flat which you have already viewed twice, and that both you and your girlfriend 'really liked' is a little odd. We all know how parents can be: interfering and opinionated (and...always right!), and how influenced children can be by said relatives.

So, on hearing the news of another viewing avec maman, we reined in our excitement about the prospect of potentially moving to the country sooner than we'd hoped... And we were right to do so, two days later we get a call from the estate agent - apparently the chap retracted his offer because despite that fact that he and his girlfriend still liked it, mummy thought the bedroom wasn't quite big enough, and that the flat itself is too close to the Emirates Stadium. We are on a road which stays surprisingly quiet when it's match day (plus, I don't mind the proximity and I HATE football... and my boyfriend is a Man United fan).

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Le Word of the Day: Internaute

The internaute (noun): French for someone who uses the internet.

As far as I am aware, the English language does not entertain a word which describes those who use the internet. We should have one. Not because anything the French can do we can do better, but simply because English is missing a very handy little word.

In French someone who watches la télévision is know as a téléspectateur.

Someone who uses the l'internet is a internaute.

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Les Faits: Saucisson Sec

Ah, saucisson sec... one of the many delicious foods that are associated with France. This sausage is truly one of France's greats, up there with the good 'ole crusty baguette, a ripe brie and a sumptuous Bordeaux.

This is really a versatile sausage: it keeps for ages (it can also be frozen), can be easily transported (great for those long walks) and comes in so many different flavours. On any self-respecting French market you'll find a spectacular array of 'saucisson sec avec...' almost any ingredient under the sun.

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Padlocks d'amour

Love padlocks - or cadenas d'amour as they are known in French - are a rapidly growing Valentine's Day phenomenon. The idea is that couples in love take a padlock then scratch or scrawl their initials or names, or a message (a very short one, or written so small you can barely read it), on to the surface. The lovers then attach it to some railings (they're not fussy, but it's more often than not on a bridge), then throw away the key. This act of vandalism is said to symbolise their love for each other. How nauseating. (However, it does also act as a touching reminder when the relationship comes to an abrupt, unpleasant end: you feel sad, empty and alone every time you walk to work over that 'special' bridge and see your 'love-lock'. A great start to the day. Every day. Bet you wish you hadn't thrown away the key now, eh?)

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Marrying a stranger? Le Saint Valentin is the perfect day for finding one.

The old superstition which states that the first man an unmarried woman sees on St. Valentine's day should be her future husband has, in my humble opinion, many flaws.

Let's pretend we were still pandering to this kind of superstitious nonsense in contemporary society. If this was how things worked, then I'm assuming that a vast number of women would outright refuse to leave their homes (which would make life quite challenging considering the great number of women who work), living in fear that they may end up having to marry 'the guy next door' (literally).

Unless of course they have already woken up with their partner and that he or she is the person they would wish to marry. If not they would have had to throw them out the night before, or, failing that, keep their eyes closed whilst getting ready for work in the morning so they don't lay eyes on them...(this in turn would make the other person feel a tad unloved I suspect).

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Merde, London!

Well, well, well.... who'd have thought that in London you would be more at risk of walking in a dog poo than Paris? I certainly didn't think so.

In Paris at the weekend, I came across my fair share of mess on the pavements. Luckily I didn't tread/slip/fall over in it, but this was only achieved by constantly scanning the ground before me, and if I happened to be, I don't know let's say - sightseeing (never!), then it often resulted in a last minute, slightly off-balance skip/hop/dance round the poo. Nevertheless, Paris is famous for this, so you go prepared for, and expect, the worst.

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Fromage and Crêpes... but not together (this time!)

Now, I have been back here for, what, 3 whole days and I have to say that I am already craving (or suffering withdrawal from) cheese.

Cheese on toast Monday lunchtime has done little to curb this desire, and to top it off, what do I stumble upon on Twitter his morning? A delicious recipe for a Reblochon Fondue, this looks wonderful (and I'm saying this at 9.30am). However, after last week's cheese eating adventure, I'm not sure my body is ready for such extreme cheese eating again so soon.

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Lovely Annecy & Cool Paris

Last week we went on holiday. I had a lovely time - it's always a pleasure going to France. I ate well ('well' meaning I ate a LOT of cheese, bread and pain au chocolat...not a healthy 'well') and drank a modest (ha ha) amount of house red, white or whatever they were willing to give us really.

We travelled down by train - Eurostar to Paris, then TGV to Annecy. We decided to do this all on the same day, but it was much nicer when we did the return journey and broke it up with a night in lovely Paris (where we broke free from the fromage, and switched to steak frites instead...).

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