I may not be blogging for some time. I feel hugely bad about this. There I was promising you a blog about my experiences going back to yUK and giving you wonderful little insights into how it feels to ‘re-visit’ one’s old country whilst trying to make a new living during the Credit Munch. I was going to thrill you with comparisons between Tescos (UK) and Carrefour (France) and you were going to accompany me whilst I sampled curries, fish & chips, warm beer, binge drinking and maybe the odd mugging or two.
Unfortunately, a totally unforeseen circumstance has arisen. 'Goliath' has raised his ugly fooking head once again and he’s heading our way. UHugh and I have tackled Goliath before. He was in a different guise in the past. But we tackled him and pulled through. “Did you win?” you may ask. Well, define winning first. If winning means sleepless nights, working every hour possible, talking and thinking about Goliath at every given opportunity when one wasn’t working, huge expenditure, a constant feeling that the proverbial sword of Damocles is hanging over one’s head and yet finally surviving with our assets intact then yes, we won. Do we want that again? No.
Once the initial battle commences, things will inevitably die down, it’s the way of these things. At which stage I will have ‘got used’ to it, as one does. It will just be a part of our lives – lurking in the background and having to be dealt with from time to time as skirmishes break out. By then I may be in a position to think about blogging again.
I’m truly not moaning or feeling sorry for myself. It could be much worse. Goliath could be in the guise of cancer or some other terrifying disease. Thank goodness it isn’t. I can deal with this.
Unfortunately, when you play in big business, as UHugh did in the past, there are often Goliaths – it’s part of the game, and I accept that, so does UHugh. C’est la vie.
I can’t go into detail. But what I can say is that we truly believe this Goliath is a result of some people trying to protect their own sorry arses for extremely bad decisions they made just before everything went pear-shaped with the economy and that UHugh and others are being targeted as potential scapegoats. This time we don’t have any fighting funds but we do have UHugh’s good brain and my research skills and way with words. I’m good at drafting an argument. This Goliath’s action is a direct result of the Credit Munch and terrible decisions that this Goliath took in the past. This Goliath probably expects UHugh to roll over and admit defeat because this Goliath must know how difficult things are for him right now. Unfortunately, what this Goliath has failed to comprehend is that UHugh and I have nothing to lose by going all out for the jugular – we are therefore extremely dangerous.
However, I cannot justify spending my time blogging whilst this is going on. I am the only one who can help UHugh with this and he is more important to me than anything else. I spend a lot of my time reading other blogs as well as attending to my own, all of which can take a couple of hours a day (and more) and I need to concentrate all my efforts and energies into fighting Goliath. And I’m not a multi-tasker. I’m not a mother. Only mothers can multi-task. I can only truly concentrate on one thing at a time. On top of all this, we still need to continue with our efforts to try and find another way to earn a living.
As for Henry, I’m not sure. I’ll have to see about him. In between my visits to the UK, he may continue blogging, but I don’t want to promise, because I like to keep my promises. Please don’t ask me to continue blogging or make me feel guilty. I can’t right now, my mind’s not on it. I need to be very selfish for UHugh’s sake and start focusing in a different direction.
I don’t do long farewells. So ‘au revoir’
I won’t pull the plug on the blog – I’ll keep it open just in case. As I said, things often die down for a time with these type of troubles.
xxxxx
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Staying in sunny France for another week - oh and 10 more things about me....
This was going to be a quick one-liner to let you know that UHugh and I are not going to the UK this Sunday, we’re staying here and going on 30th March instead.
Sorry folks. No photos of the insides of Tesco or Sainsbury’s this week, which was my plan – comparing supermarkets in France and the UK – I know you’ll be GUTTED.
That means my Henry Hound will continue blogging this week, which is better because he’s funnier than I am.
As I said, it WAS going to be quick, but then I remembered that my pal Detroit Dog had given me an award.
The rules of receiving the award are that I must reveal 10 honest things about myself.
This is going to be difficult because I think I already revealed quite a bit about me in the first post of this blog, and I’m not sure there’s much more to tell you. I’m really not that interesting. But I’ll give it a go. Detroit, if I don’t manage 10 things, can I have the award anyway????
1. My nickname at school used to be Rubber Lips. It gave me a bit of a hang-up for a while but as I got older, they started fitting in with my face more and became less noticeable.
2. My naivety, gullibility, whatever you want to call it, is LEGENDARY. I am not streetwise. I have been the butt of so many jokes, I have lost count. I’ve had my leg pulled so many times it’s now loose. I believe what people tell me. I’m much too trusting. I try not to be, but it’s hard. For some reason I find it difficult to believe that people will ‘have me on’. At the age of 44, I’m getting a bit more astute, but not much. After 20 years with UHugh, I’m just beginning to spot when he’s having me on, and when he’s being serious.
3. I cannot lie. I mean that. I truly cannot. My feelings are etched on my face. My friends know not to ask, “Does my bum look big in this?” I have given evidence in court twice in my life, in civil matters not criminal. In both cases, in their summing up, the Judges actually said “I happen to believe the evidence given by Miss D****”. I can only tell the truth and if the truth will hurt, I say nothing.
4. I love sunflowers – oops, already told you that (is that cheating, can I keep it in?).
5. I’m mad about necklaces. The funkier the better. I have over a hundred of them. I can’t really call them necklaces – that sounds too delicate – they’re long, dangly things with chunky bits, most of them. Here are some of them:
My god, that’s five…..this is getting hard.
6. I left home (in Yorkshire) and moved to London when I was 18. I wanted to be an actress and truly believed I would be ‘discovered’. I wasn’t. I quickly gave up wanting to be an actress.
7. I find it hard to stick at things. My past is littered with things I’ve started and never finished. I don’t have much staying power. It amazes me every time I finish a post for my blog.
8. I went to live in Australia for a year when I was 22. I went with a one-way ticket and a desire to ‘find’ myself. I didn’t. In fact, I lost a bit of me there, my appendix.
Wow! Nearly there…..thinking…thinking…
9. I’ve never been big on birthdays and don’t normally take much notice of my own but on what I thought was my 40th birthday, I’d asked a couple of my friends out for lunch, thinking that I ought to celebrate the big four O milestone. Then UHugh did the math. “Hold on,” he said “You were born in 1964. You’re not 40, you’re 39.” Math has never been my strong subject. Had either one of my parents been alive at the time, had I still been in contact with my one remaining brother, perhaps I would have found out earlier. However, it was quite nice to discover that I was younger than I thought I was. I still went for lunch with my pals; we had a good laugh about that one.
10. I cry every day. At least once. It is a problem. I no longer watch movies or listen to music in public, in case there is something that triggers the tears. I cry when I’m happy, I cry when I’m sad (strangely I don’t cry when I’m scared), I cry when I'm angry, I cry when I see something beautiful, or cute, or magnificent. I’ve cried at adverts, I’ve cried watching Crufts, I’ve cried watching Top Gear. I’ve searched the internet to try and find out what is wrong with me. People who know me are now used to it. UHugh now knows EXACTLY the type of things that will trigger the tears. It is something I struggle with, and I can’t find a way to stop it. It started in my early thirties and I’m wondering if I’ll ever grow out of it….pass the tissues!!!
So, that’s it. 10 honest things about me and taking into account my very first post, and all the things that Henry Hound has revealed in his blog, you now know everything there is to know about me other than my blood group, boob, waist and hip measurements, weight, IQ ….. all of which I will NEVER reveal.
I’m not going to pass this on, because like Henry I don’t believe in passing on stuff. It makes me all anxious. I’ll be back on 29th March, or thereabouts.
xxxxxx
Sorry folks. No photos of the insides of Tesco or Sainsbury’s this week, which was my plan – comparing supermarkets in France and the UK – I know you’ll be GUTTED.
That means my Henry Hound will continue blogging this week, which is better because he’s funnier than I am.
As I said, it WAS going to be quick, but then I remembered that my pal Detroit Dog had given me an award.
The rules of receiving the award are that I must reveal 10 honest things about myself.
This is going to be difficult because I think I already revealed quite a bit about me in the first post of this blog, and I’m not sure there’s much more to tell you. I’m really not that interesting. But I’ll give it a go. Detroit, if I don’t manage 10 things, can I have the award anyway????
1. My nickname at school used to be Rubber Lips. It gave me a bit of a hang-up for a while but as I got older, they started fitting in with my face more and became less noticeable.
2. My naivety, gullibility, whatever you want to call it, is LEGENDARY. I am not streetwise. I have been the butt of so many jokes, I have lost count. I’ve had my leg pulled so many times it’s now loose. I believe what people tell me. I’m much too trusting. I try not to be, but it’s hard. For some reason I find it difficult to believe that people will ‘have me on’. At the age of 44, I’m getting a bit more astute, but not much. After 20 years with UHugh, I’m just beginning to spot when he’s having me on, and when he’s being serious.
3. I cannot lie. I mean that. I truly cannot. My feelings are etched on my face. My friends know not to ask, “Does my bum look big in this?” I have given evidence in court twice in my life, in civil matters not criminal. In both cases, in their summing up, the Judges actually said “I happen to believe the evidence given by Miss D****”. I can only tell the truth and if the truth will hurt, I say nothing.
4. I love sunflowers – oops, already told you that (is that cheating, can I keep it in?).
5. I’m mad about necklaces. The funkier the better. I have over a hundred of them. I can’t really call them necklaces – that sounds too delicate – they’re long, dangly things with chunky bits, most of them. Here are some of them:
My god, that’s five…..this is getting hard.
6. I left home (in Yorkshire) and moved to London when I was 18. I wanted to be an actress and truly believed I would be ‘discovered’. I wasn’t. I quickly gave up wanting to be an actress.
7. I find it hard to stick at things. My past is littered with things I’ve started and never finished. I don’t have much staying power. It amazes me every time I finish a post for my blog.
8. I went to live in Australia for a year when I was 22. I went with a one-way ticket and a desire to ‘find’ myself. I didn’t. In fact, I lost a bit of me there, my appendix.
Wow! Nearly there…..thinking…thinking…
9. I’ve never been big on birthdays and don’t normally take much notice of my own but on what I thought was my 40th birthday, I’d asked a couple of my friends out for lunch, thinking that I ought to celebrate the big four O milestone. Then UHugh did the math. “Hold on,” he said “You were born in 1964. You’re not 40, you’re 39.” Math has never been my strong subject. Had either one of my parents been alive at the time, had I still been in contact with my one remaining brother, perhaps I would have found out earlier. However, it was quite nice to discover that I was younger than I thought I was. I still went for lunch with my pals; we had a good laugh about that one.
10. I cry every day. At least once. It is a problem. I no longer watch movies or listen to music in public, in case there is something that triggers the tears. I cry when I’m happy, I cry when I’m sad (strangely I don’t cry when I’m scared), I cry when I'm angry, I cry when I see something beautiful, or cute, or magnificent. I’ve cried at adverts, I’ve cried watching Crufts, I’ve cried watching Top Gear. I’ve searched the internet to try and find out what is wrong with me. People who know me are now used to it. UHugh now knows EXACTLY the type of things that will trigger the tears. It is something I struggle with, and I can’t find a way to stop it. It started in my early thirties and I’m wondering if I’ll ever grow out of it….pass the tissues!!!
So, that’s it. 10 honest things about me and taking into account my very first post, and all the things that Henry Hound has revealed in his blog, you now know everything there is to know about me other than my blood group, boob, waist and hip measurements, weight, IQ ….. all of which I will NEVER reveal.
I’m not going to pass this on, because like Henry I don’t believe in passing on stuff. It makes me all anxious. I’ll be back on 29th March, or thereabouts.
xxxxxx
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Home Sweet Home and a few other things, including an Award....
Well, it’s been a right week, and I’m so glad to be home. I can’t believe I’ll be off again in only seven days time. I’ll make the most of it in between.Ok, before I go I have a few things to talk about and a favour to ask:
I GOT AN AWARD
Off Dumdad from The Other Side of Paris, one of my favourite blogs. Henry loves him too, but he’s a bit scared of Dumdad’s cat – Scabby. Henry got one as well, but I’ve not told him yet. Oops. I forgot. He’ll be dead chuffed when he finds out. Only really special people get a ‘Dummy’ apparently. So, Kate Winslet, you may have your ‘Oscar’, but you ain’t got a ‘Dummy’ yet. Thanks Dumdad, I’m very touched.
A few other things:
FRIDAY 13TH IS BRILLIANT FOR FLYING – East Midlands Airport was almost empty, as was our plane. Normally I hate airports because of the endless queuing, the crowds of folk looking self-consciously uncomfortable in their new holiday clothes and the ‘stag do’ crowds getting inebriated at the bar. So, having one almost to myself was dreamy. I’ll definitely fly on Friday 13th again. I’m not superstitious. In fact, I think 13th is now quite lucky for me. It was the 13th January when we had the engine failure in the little Cessna, and we survived…..Hold on….13th….engine failure….now some might think that was a bad thing! Well, I’m looking at it this way – I lived, so for me 13th was lucky.
A bit of a Henry the Dog Digression - I often wonder what it is about the Brits and queuing. I know that queues are necessary and I hate queue jumpers. But I don’t understand why, in airports, the majority of folk start to queue for the plane long before it’s even arrived – and at East Midlands airport it’s easy to spot if it’s arrived or not, because it’s small. There’s only one terminal. At that airport I’ve seen folk queue before the plane they’re queuing for has even SET OFF at the other end. And why oh why do some folk think that whenever they fly, everything that belongs to them has to have a label attached to it? It’s as if they have a strange belief that things mysteriously vanish at airports unless it has a magic address label attached. I once saw an old dear who had one on her spectacle case, and her hubby had one on his walking stick. Bless…..
COMIC RELIEF RAISED MORE THAN £57 MILLION FOR CHARITY – respect. We’re in a recession and they managed to raise that much. Wonderful. It kind of restores your faith in humankind doesn’t it?
LAST BUT DEFINITELY NOT LEAST - A REQUEST FOR SOME HELP – can you help our friend from Meryl’s Musings? I love that blog, it’s always full of interesting, fun stuff. Well, she’s written a book and she wonders if you’d help her edit it. Have a look at it here Think Tank Edit – go to the start of the blog, and it’s explained to you. I think we should always encourage people to write. Let’s encourage and possibly learn from it too. It’s a good way of exercising your own creativity.
I’m off now to walk my lovely little lad – he looks gorgeous. If you haven’t popped over to his blog, you should. He looks a right little cutie.
I’ll be back on Sunday 22nd but will be catching up with all the blogs next week, and Henry’s back on his blogsite too.
Take care xxx
A few other things:
FRIDAY 13TH IS BRILLIANT FOR FLYING – East Midlands Airport was almost empty, as was our plane. Normally I hate airports because of the endless queuing, the crowds of folk looking self-consciously uncomfortable in their new holiday clothes and the ‘stag do’ crowds getting inebriated at the bar. So, having one almost to myself was dreamy. I’ll definitely fly on Friday 13th again. I’m not superstitious. In fact, I think 13th is now quite lucky for me. It was the 13th January when we had the engine failure in the little Cessna, and we survived…..Hold on….13th….engine failure….now some might think that was a bad thing! Well, I’m looking at it this way – I lived, so for me 13th was lucky.
A bit of a Henry the Dog Digression - I often wonder what it is about the Brits and queuing. I know that queues are necessary and I hate queue jumpers. But I don’t understand why, in airports, the majority of folk start to queue for the plane long before it’s even arrived – and at East Midlands airport it’s easy to spot if it’s arrived or not, because it’s small. There’s only one terminal. At that airport I’ve seen folk queue before the plane they’re queuing for has even SET OFF at the other end. And why oh why do some folk think that whenever they fly, everything that belongs to them has to have a label attached to it? It’s as if they have a strange belief that things mysteriously vanish at airports unless it has a magic address label attached. I once saw an old dear who had one on her spectacle case, and her hubby had one on his walking stick. Bless…..
COMIC RELIEF RAISED MORE THAN £57 MILLION FOR CHARITY – respect. We’re in a recession and they managed to raise that much. Wonderful. It kind of restores your faith in humankind doesn’t it?
LAST BUT DEFINITELY NOT LEAST - A REQUEST FOR SOME HELP – can you help our friend from Meryl’s Musings? I love that blog, it’s always full of interesting, fun stuff. Well, she’s written a book and she wonders if you’d help her edit it. Have a look at it here Think Tank Edit – go to the start of the blog, and it’s explained to you. I think we should always encourage people to write. Let’s encourage and possibly learn from it too. It’s a good way of exercising your own creativity.
I’m off now to walk my lovely little lad – he looks gorgeous. If you haven’t popped over to his blog, you should. He looks a right little cutie.
I’ll be back on Sunday 22nd but will be catching up with all the blogs next week, and Henry’s back on his blogsite too.
Take care xxx
Friday, March 13, 2009
Positive thoughts for Braja,her husband and the Taxi Driver
I've just arrived back in France and heard the news about my lovely friend Braja: http://lostandfoundinindia.blogspot.com/, her husband and the taxi driver. Thanks Lady Fi for alerting me, so kind.
Please everyone, no matter what your religious or spiritual persuasion, please send her hopeful, positive thoughts. I'm not religious but I'm still going to pray for her because she would appreciate it, and at least when she does recover she will know how much we were all thinking of her.
She cares for my little Henry dog too and I'm going to send her a special photo of him.
I'm absolutely shocked. I know I've never met her. I've never met any of you fellow bloggers, but I do feel close to you and if anything happened to any of my regular blogging pals I'd be devastated. So please stay safe. All of you.
I know Lady Fi has already posted the link but here it is again http://www.prabhupada.org/rama/?p=4422
to keep you updated on her progress.
Please everyone, no matter what your religious or spiritual persuasion, please send her hopeful, positive thoughts. I'm not religious but I'm still going to pray for her because she would appreciate it, and at least when she does recover she will know how much we were all thinking of her.
She cares for my little Henry dog too and I'm going to send her a special photo of him.
I'm absolutely shocked. I know I've never met her. I've never met any of you fellow bloggers, but I do feel close to you and if anything happened to any of my regular blogging pals I'd be devastated. So please stay safe. All of you.
I know Lady Fi has already posted the link but here it is again http://www.prabhupada.org/rama/?p=4422
to keep you updated on her progress.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
A daunting task.
The task that lies ahead is daunting and scary. We’re trying to find a way of generating an income in a recession. Yeah – really good idea – not! We’ve now fully reviewed all our options, we’ve got a plan of action, but it’s huge, there’s no guarantee of success and if it fails, what do we do? UHugh is no spring chick. It doesn’t seem right that he’s having to start out all over again when what happened wasn’t even his fault. The banks fooked up, and he’s suffering. He’s still got energy, he doesn’t look 57, he’s still got a creative business brain, but he’s worked like a Trojan all his life and he should be taking it easy now. Why do I feel guilty? I’ve no idea. I shouldn’t. It’s not my fault.
Oh well, I’ve said it before, will say it again – “tough titty”. I can’t get ‘maudlin’ about it. I’ve got to remain optimistic. At the side of some folk, we’ve got it easy – we’ve got a strong base from where to start and we do have assets. I was always a ‘glass half full’ person and I fully intend to try and remain that way.
Now that I’m back working in a business environment and liaising with solicitors and accountants and estate agents and suchlike I must refrain from starting my emails with ‘Hi Sweetie’, ending them with kisses, referring to the Credit Crunch as the Credit Munch (done that a few times) and slipping in a few funny one-liners to entertain them. It is SO difficult to be formal these days. My style of writing has changed, and I’ve got to get my brain back into ‘business’ mode. Not easy.
Life is full of surprises. If, in the year 2000, someone had said to me that I would be living in Switzerland in 2005 and France in 2006 I would have laughed my head off and said “Yeah, dream on…”
If, in January 2008, someone had said to me that we would be back working in the UK and struggling to earn a living in March 2009, I would have been extremely sceptical.
Who knows what I’ll be doing in March 2010, or where we’ll be. So, as usual, or ‘comme d’habitude’ as they say in France I’m not going to worry about the future, I’m going to live day by day.
Some really good things about being back in the UK
1. Being able to communicate. I CAN’T STOP TALKING. I can speak French, to a point. I can make myself understood, but I can’t express myself – do you understand what I mean? I can’t have interesting or meaningful conversations with anyone. Also, I only understand about 70% of what’s said back to me. Here in the UK it’s such a novelty to be back in a land where English is the first language I’m finding that I’m becoming the type of person I used to dread – the friendly ‘chatty’ type I would sometimes meet in a supermarket queue, or who would end up sitting next to me on a bus, or train. The type who wants to talk….and talk…I’m OVER communicating.
2. Marks & Spencer’s food. I just love it. On the way back to the hotel last night we stopped off at a M&S food hall and ended up having a lovely supper when we got back to the hotel.
3. Indian restaurants – as per my last post. I’m going to that restaurant again this evening with an old friend.
4. I’m still thinking….will come back to you on that one. There MUST be more.
This is my last day and our last night in the UK, then it’s back home tomorrow and on Saturday morning I pick my Henry up. We really miss the little lad.
I’ll put my last post up on Saturday, then I’ll spend the rest of the weekend playing ‘catch-up’ with all my favourite blogs.
Speak soon xxx
PS: I was going to post some photos of my new office space and the view from my window but it's not happening. For some reason everything is happening verrrryyyy slllloooowwwllly and as I told you before, I simply don't have any patience:)
Oh well, I’ve said it before, will say it again – “tough titty”. I can’t get ‘maudlin’ about it. I’ve got to remain optimistic. At the side of some folk, we’ve got it easy – we’ve got a strong base from where to start and we do have assets. I was always a ‘glass half full’ person and I fully intend to try and remain that way.
Now that I’m back working in a business environment and liaising with solicitors and accountants and estate agents and suchlike I must refrain from starting my emails with ‘Hi Sweetie’, ending them with kisses, referring to the Credit Crunch as the Credit Munch (done that a few times) and slipping in a few funny one-liners to entertain them. It is SO difficult to be formal these days. My style of writing has changed, and I’ve got to get my brain back into ‘business’ mode. Not easy.
Life is full of surprises. If, in the year 2000, someone had said to me that I would be living in Switzerland in 2005 and France in 2006 I would have laughed my head off and said “Yeah, dream on…”
If, in January 2008, someone had said to me that we would be back working in the UK and struggling to earn a living in March 2009, I would have been extremely sceptical.
Who knows what I’ll be doing in March 2010, or where we’ll be. So, as usual, or ‘comme d’habitude’ as they say in France I’m not going to worry about the future, I’m going to live day by day.
Some really good things about being back in the UK
1. Being able to communicate. I CAN’T STOP TALKING. I can speak French, to a point. I can make myself understood, but I can’t express myself – do you understand what I mean? I can’t have interesting or meaningful conversations with anyone. Also, I only understand about 70% of what’s said back to me. Here in the UK it’s such a novelty to be back in a land where English is the first language I’m finding that I’m becoming the type of person I used to dread – the friendly ‘chatty’ type I would sometimes meet in a supermarket queue, or who would end up sitting next to me on a bus, or train. The type who wants to talk….and talk…I’m OVER communicating.
2. Marks & Spencer’s food. I just love it. On the way back to the hotel last night we stopped off at a M&S food hall and ended up having a lovely supper when we got back to the hotel.
3. Indian restaurants – as per my last post. I’m going to that restaurant again this evening with an old friend.
4. I’m still thinking….will come back to you on that one. There MUST be more.
This is my last day and our last night in the UK, then it’s back home tomorrow and on Saturday morning I pick my Henry up. We really miss the little lad.
I’ll put my last post up on Saturday, then I’ll spend the rest of the weekend playing ‘catch-up’ with all my favourite blogs.
Speak soon xxx
PS: I was going to post some photos of my new office space and the view from my window but it's not happening. For some reason everything is happening verrrryyyy slllloooowwwllly and as I told you before, I simply don't have any patience:)
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
On the way to Bath
I’m writing this whilst being driven to somewhere near Bath. I’m sat in the back seat – a position I’m NOT used to. I normally do the driving, but UHugh’s in the front with his daughter, who's car it is (she works for him – yep, he believes in keeping it in the family) and we’re heading for a business meeting.
The final destination is around 180 miles away, which is about 3.5 hours (sans hold-ups/accidents/animals wandering on the road/car sickness/etc…). In the part of France where we live, the same journey on the autoroute would take about 2 hours 20 minutes, but this is the UK and the motorways are always seriously congested.
I’m a terrible traveller. My bum goes numb really easily and I get all ‘mardy’ (a Yorkshire term for ‘complaining and sulky’). I’m worse than a child, honest. Also, I’ve got quite long legs so on those budget airlines in particular it sometimes feels as if my knees are up around my ears.
“Are we there yet???”
A Henry the Dog Digression: A few things I’ve really noticed about the UK this time:
1. There are LOADS of posh cars around (What bloody Credit Munch? I ask). The hotel carpark was full of Mercedes. The motorway is similarly oozing with them and a few Porsches have passed us by whilst we’ve been driving.
2. Car drivers seem to be so much more aggressive than when I used to live there. Are people getting more ‘angry’ in general? It’s as if they’ve all got permanent PMS, and that’s just the men.
3. Everything seems so much cheaper than it was (other than fuel). Or is that just ‘up North’?
“Are we there yet???”
Let’s continue.
As I said I’m in the back of the car and UHugh is in the front with his daughter and as I write, they’re arguing. Well, it’s not really an argument. It’s simply UHugh doing is ‘Hugh Bastard’ impression. He has a nasty streak that only emerges when he’s on his way to a business meeting. I think he uses the conflict it creates to get his adrenalin pumping. It used to be me on the receiving end of it in the old days. That would result in a huge screaming match, because I don’t play the role of ‘doormat’ very well.
I listen to them and realise that daughter is holding her own. She knows her dad quite well. She’s very like him actually and she doesn’t play the role of ‘doormat’ very well either. Good lass.
“Are we there yet???”
We went for an ‘Indian’ last night with all his family and it was delicious. In the part of France where we live, there are no Indian restaurants and I LOVE Indian food. (Hold on, three people in a car, for 3.5hrs, all having had a curry the night before - is that a good idea?)
This is what I ate last night:
It looks like baby food gone ‘punk’ doesn’t it? It tasted so much better than it looked, honestly. That’s a combination of Saag Gosht, Mushroom Bahji and Chicken Tikka Marsala (not sure about the spellings) and the coriander and garlic nan bread was the best I’ve ever had – and the chapatti too – both freshly baked on site.
Did you know that Britain’s favourite dish is Chicken Tikka Marsala? The Indian Restaurant is now a British Institution. There’s nothing that a regular British bloke loves more than necking ten pints of bitter and then upsetting his already gaseous innards by attacking them with a huge plate of curry, which they only enjoy if it is the strength of your average paint stripper. Then they brag about it afterwards.
Personally, I don’t like my curry very spicy hot. I like them deep with taste, but not hot. Spicy, yes. Spicy hot, no. If my tongue has been stripped of feeling by enough chilli to wipe out the entire flora within my digestive tract, it’s not going to distinguish the wonderful flavours of cardamom, coriander, turmeric, cumin etc….
“Are we there yet???”
No, we are not…….
The final destination is around 180 miles away, which is about 3.5 hours (sans hold-ups/accidents/animals wandering on the road/car sickness/etc…). In the part of France where we live, the same journey on the autoroute would take about 2 hours 20 minutes, but this is the UK and the motorways are always seriously congested.
I’m a terrible traveller. My bum goes numb really easily and I get all ‘mardy’ (a Yorkshire term for ‘complaining and sulky’). I’m worse than a child, honest. Also, I’ve got quite long legs so on those budget airlines in particular it sometimes feels as if my knees are up around my ears.
“Are we there yet???”
A Henry the Dog Digression: A few things I’ve really noticed about the UK this time:
1. There are LOADS of posh cars around (What bloody Credit Munch? I ask). The hotel carpark was full of Mercedes. The motorway is similarly oozing with them and a few Porsches have passed us by whilst we’ve been driving.
2. Car drivers seem to be so much more aggressive than when I used to live there. Are people getting more ‘angry’ in general? It’s as if they’ve all got permanent PMS, and that’s just the men.
3. Everything seems so much cheaper than it was (other than fuel). Or is that just ‘up North’?
“Are we there yet???”
Let’s continue.
As I said I’m in the back of the car and UHugh is in the front with his daughter and as I write, they’re arguing. Well, it’s not really an argument. It’s simply UHugh doing is ‘Hugh Bastard’ impression. He has a nasty streak that only emerges when he’s on his way to a business meeting. I think he uses the conflict it creates to get his adrenalin pumping. It used to be me on the receiving end of it in the old days. That would result in a huge screaming match, because I don’t play the role of ‘doormat’ very well.
I listen to them and realise that daughter is holding her own. She knows her dad quite well. She’s very like him actually and she doesn’t play the role of ‘doormat’ very well either. Good lass.
“Are we there yet???”
We went for an ‘Indian’ last night with all his family and it was delicious. In the part of France where we live, there are no Indian restaurants and I LOVE Indian food. (Hold on, three people in a car, for 3.5hrs, all having had a curry the night before - is that a good idea?)
This is what I ate last night:
It looks like baby food gone ‘punk’ doesn’t it? It tasted so much better than it looked, honestly. That’s a combination of Saag Gosht, Mushroom Bahji and Chicken Tikka Marsala (not sure about the spellings) and the coriander and garlic nan bread was the best I’ve ever had – and the chapatti too – both freshly baked on site.
Did you know that Britain’s favourite dish is Chicken Tikka Marsala? The Indian Restaurant is now a British Institution. There’s nothing that a regular British bloke loves more than necking ten pints of bitter and then upsetting his already gaseous innards by attacking them with a huge plate of curry, which they only enjoy if it is the strength of your average paint stripper. Then they brag about it afterwards.
Personally, I don’t like my curry very spicy hot. I like them deep with taste, but not hot. Spicy, yes. Spicy hot, no. If my tongue has been stripped of feeling by enough chilli to wipe out the entire flora within my digestive tract, it’s not going to distinguish the wonderful flavours of cardamom, coriander, turmeric, cumin etc….
“Are we there yet???”
No, we are not…….
Monday, March 9, 2009
Back in the yUK!
Well, this is home for the next five nights – a hotel just off the M1 motorway, in South Yorkshire, UK, near Sheffield and Rotherham (where I was born – dreadful place). It looks grand, but it isn’t. Trust me, nothing is ‘grand’ in South Yorkshire, it’s a façade. An old place that’s been renovated. It doesn't show the institutional-looking annexe where the rooms are situated. It’s a teeny bit better than some of the other hotels in these parts and good old UHugh did a deal and got it for half price because there’s a recession on and nobody’s staying in hotels anymore. He’s a good ‘haggler’ – something I can’t do. (No, I didn't take the photo, it's a 'catalogue' photo).
It takes me back to the early ‘90’s and the last recession when we regularly travelled up and down the UK on business.
I remember us turning up at a particularly grand but empty hotel and UHugh offering £50 for their best suite. The manager sneered “I don’t think so, Sir Winston Churchill used to stay in that suite. It’s normally £450 per night.”
“Well he’s not staying there tonight is he?” said UHugh, his face deadpan, “I tell you what, I’ll give you £60, plus we’ll eat in your empty restaurant, that’s my final offer,”
That night, we stayed in a suite that Sir Winston Churchill used to stay in. It was lovely, but the restaurant was crap.
The flight wasn’t too bad. It was an evening flight from Limoges to East Midlands. I don’t mind it at night when it’s dark outside. I can pretend I’m on a big bus or something. I was still quite tense but not constantly ‘on guard’ as I usually am – listening out for every tiny, weeny, change in engine noise that might signify engine failure, or wondering if that rattle means that the wings are working their way loose, or “Is that whining I hear actually the hydraulics failing?” or, “Is that really turbulence or is the elevator fooked?” I’m always scrutinising UHugh’s face, looking for any signs of alarm. After all, he’s a pilot, he should know if something’s not quite right. Sometimes I do see alarm in his face and my palms go all sweaty, my heart pounds against my chest and I ask him “What? What?”, then he breaks out into a mischievous grin. The bastard does it every time. I fall for it every time.
I must be tiring to travel with. When I’m not driving at the other end (which is rare), I simply pour alcohol down my throat until I’m comatose.
What I dislike intensely about the UK is the constant wind that seems to be blowing, the one I forget about as soon as I get back to France (there is rarely a wind where we live in France). So as soon as I step out of the airport in East Midlands I curse that I’ve not put my hair in a ponytail, because it is instantly whipped into my lipgloss and stays there. I, having no free hand to drag it away (one pulling case, one carrying my laptop), have to screech at UHugh to rescue me in an “eeechhheekkkkuuuggghhh” kind of way because I can’t form proper words – my hair being plastered over my lips. Why wear lip gloss? I hear you ask. I have thick lips and, without it, they dry and chap very easily. Thick, chapped, dry, flaky lips is SOOO not a good look.
UHugh duly rescues me and tucks my hair into the back of my coat.
The other thing about the UK that I notice is the dark, dour hum of the language. Especially in the north. The hum of flat vowels. So unlike the dulcet tones of the French. I hear no melody in the northern twang. Being a child of the north, I have no love of the accent. In fact, I detest it, whilst knowing my own voice is still faintly scarred with it.
An aside here – when UHugh and I were in Langkawi, in a lovely five star resort that we couldn’t enjoy because we had the shits so terribly (Henry told you all about it), there was a regular couple who liked to spread themselves around and talk to everyone. God knows why – I’m unsociable and hated that. We’ve never made friends on holiday. Anyway, they were from the South of England from somewhere very posh, and spoke the Queen’s English. As soon as I opened my mouth, they knew we were from ‘up’ North. The woman had the cheek to ask us if we were lottery winners. After all, how could folk from ‘up’ North afford to stay in such a resort? She didn’t say that, but I could feel her thinking it. UHugh politely said “No. I had quite a few paper rounds when I was a lad and I’ve been saving up ever since.” I’m not anti Southerners, just some of them (if they were all like Jennysmith , I’d love ‘em to bits).
The truth is we paid for that holiday this time last year when we still had money. And another thing, I started wondering what a lottery winner looks like and felt a bit insulted, which I guess is a bit mean on lottery winners. But I couldn't help it. I don't wear bling, or designer clothes. In fact, I would say my 'look' is bordering on the hippy. Not 'lottery winner'. Surely? I don't want to sound insulting of lottery winners but I ...........I'm digging a hole, aren't I? Ok, change the subject.
The next thing I had to do was to remember how to drive from the right of the car all over again. I have to do this every time I get back to the UK and it pisses me off. I end up going for the gear stick with my right hand and grabbing fresh air. Then I have to set this mantra up in my head in order to stay on the correct side of the road “Left UK, Left UK, Left UK”. When I’m in France it’s “Right is good, Right is good, Right is good.” Hard work when you’re blonde.
It’s fairly easy, once I get into it, because I simply follow the traffic. I did go round a very small roundabout the wrong way once, but it was very small and luckily it was in the middle of a housing estate and there was no other traffic around.
And the other thing about the UK – living in hotels. I hate living out of a suitcase. I like my routines. I like my space and I like isolation. I like having the countryside right outside my door. Well, 'tough titty' eh?
As for AFD (alcohol free day) – yep I did think "bugger that" and managed to polish off a cheap bottle of Sauvignon Blanc - I decided I'd deserved it. AFD today, perhaps!
First day at work today. Can’t wait. Yeah, I’m kidding. Will let you know how I get on xxx
It takes me back to the early ‘90’s and the last recession when we regularly travelled up and down the UK on business.
I remember us turning up at a particularly grand but empty hotel and UHugh offering £50 for their best suite. The manager sneered “I don’t think so, Sir Winston Churchill used to stay in that suite. It’s normally £450 per night.”
“Well he’s not staying there tonight is he?” said UHugh, his face deadpan, “I tell you what, I’ll give you £60, plus we’ll eat in your empty restaurant, that’s my final offer,”
That night, we stayed in a suite that Sir Winston Churchill used to stay in. It was lovely, but the restaurant was crap.
The flight wasn’t too bad. It was an evening flight from Limoges to East Midlands. I don’t mind it at night when it’s dark outside. I can pretend I’m on a big bus or something. I was still quite tense but not constantly ‘on guard’ as I usually am – listening out for every tiny, weeny, change in engine noise that might signify engine failure, or wondering if that rattle means that the wings are working their way loose, or “Is that whining I hear actually the hydraulics failing?” or, “Is that really turbulence or is the elevator fooked?” I’m always scrutinising UHugh’s face, looking for any signs of alarm. After all, he’s a pilot, he should know if something’s not quite right. Sometimes I do see alarm in his face and my palms go all sweaty, my heart pounds against my chest and I ask him “What? What?”, then he breaks out into a mischievous grin. The bastard does it every time. I fall for it every time.
I must be tiring to travel with. When I’m not driving at the other end (which is rare), I simply pour alcohol down my throat until I’m comatose.
What I dislike intensely about the UK is the constant wind that seems to be blowing, the one I forget about as soon as I get back to France (there is rarely a wind where we live in France). So as soon as I step out of the airport in East Midlands I curse that I’ve not put my hair in a ponytail, because it is instantly whipped into my lipgloss and stays there. I, having no free hand to drag it away (one pulling case, one carrying my laptop), have to screech at UHugh to rescue me in an “eeechhheekkkkuuuggghhh” kind of way because I can’t form proper words – my hair being plastered over my lips. Why wear lip gloss? I hear you ask. I have thick lips and, without it, they dry and chap very easily. Thick, chapped, dry, flaky lips is SOOO not a good look.
UHugh duly rescues me and tucks my hair into the back of my coat.
The other thing about the UK that I notice is the dark, dour hum of the language. Especially in the north. The hum of flat vowels. So unlike the dulcet tones of the French. I hear no melody in the northern twang. Being a child of the north, I have no love of the accent. In fact, I detest it, whilst knowing my own voice is still faintly scarred with it.
An aside here – when UHugh and I were in Langkawi, in a lovely five star resort that we couldn’t enjoy because we had the shits so terribly (Henry told you all about it), there was a regular couple who liked to spread themselves around and talk to everyone. God knows why – I’m unsociable and hated that. We’ve never made friends on holiday. Anyway, they were from the South of England from somewhere very posh, and spoke the Queen’s English. As soon as I opened my mouth, they knew we were from ‘up’ North. The woman had the cheek to ask us if we were lottery winners. After all, how could folk from ‘up’ North afford to stay in such a resort? She didn’t say that, but I could feel her thinking it. UHugh politely said “No. I had quite a few paper rounds when I was a lad and I’ve been saving up ever since.” I’m not anti Southerners, just some of them (if they were all like Jennysmith , I’d love ‘em to bits).
The truth is we paid for that holiday this time last year when we still had money. And another thing, I started wondering what a lottery winner looks like and felt a bit insulted, which I guess is a bit mean on lottery winners. But I couldn't help it. I don't wear bling, or designer clothes. In fact, I would say my 'look' is bordering on the hippy. Not 'lottery winner'. Surely? I don't want to sound insulting of lottery winners but I ...........I'm digging a hole, aren't I? Ok, change the subject.
The next thing I had to do was to remember how to drive from the right of the car all over again. I have to do this every time I get back to the UK and it pisses me off. I end up going for the gear stick with my right hand and grabbing fresh air. Then I have to set this mantra up in my head in order to stay on the correct side of the road “Left UK, Left UK, Left UK”. When I’m in France it’s “Right is good, Right is good, Right is good.” Hard work when you’re blonde.
It’s fairly easy, once I get into it, because I simply follow the traffic. I did go round a very small roundabout the wrong way once, but it was very small and luckily it was in the middle of a housing estate and there was no other traffic around.
And the other thing about the UK – living in hotels. I hate living out of a suitcase. I like my routines. I like my space and I like isolation. I like having the countryside right outside my door. Well, 'tough titty' eh?
As for AFD (alcohol free day) – yep I did think "bugger that" and managed to polish off a cheap bottle of Sauvignon Blanc - I decided I'd deserved it. AFD today, perhaps!
First day at work today. Can’t wait. Yeah, I’m kidding. Will let you know how I get on xxx
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