Holidays!

French customer service is just as wonderful as always. I was in H + M this evening, or "ash et em" as it's called here, and I was at the till spending around 65€ on a few articles. The dress I chose didn't have a bar code but I remembered the price from the rack. The trousers I wanted had a button missing. Despite all of this I still chose to buy the clothes as I'm not one to spend hundreds of € on high-quality goods. (Starting to sound a bit mean on this site now...)

First of all I asked the sales 'assistant' if she could discount me 10% from the trousers as they had no button. She pointed out the spare button that was sewn into the label at the back and explained that she couldn't do a discount because there was a button. I explained that the button was supposed to be spare and to be sold as an extra button but this didn't make any difference. She said she could go and ask her manager but it would take a long time. I chose to forget it.

She then asked me why I hadn't chosen a dress with the price tag on. I explained it was the only one in my size and that I'd remembered the price. Even after that she couldn't run it through the till because of "the system". So, I had to go and pick up another dress from the rack on the other side of the store. I'm sure one of the managers thought I was an employee by this point.

Just another example of France's wonderful customer service. If I'd been in the States I'd have had free garlic bread.

Anyway, I'm getting very excited now because I've packed up my office for the week and I'm not going to do a minute's work until a week on Monday - it's holiday time! I'm going to Sicily with G for a romantic break around the island.

We don't have any plans as yet, so I would really appreciate any advice that anyone has. The only advice I've managed so far was for the wrong country.....

I was on the RER A line, reading my Sicily Lonely Planet book and a man sitting opposite me.

"Greece is beautiful in September".

Not really being sure what to do with that comment, I looked up and said "OK that's nice".

"You'll have a wonderful time".

"OK thanks, but I'm actually going to Sicily as it says on my book."

He then proceeded to tell me he knew nothing about Sicily but Greece was gorgeous after all the tourists have gone in late August. I thanked him and my lucky stars as he got off at the next stop. He wasn't a crazy, bum pinching métro maniac but I didn't really feel happy with conversation on public transport.

Maybe I'm becoming too cynical, but at least I can now practise my sewing skills.

Bourgeoisie

I'm not a member of the upper class. I realised this many years ago when I bought a pair of jeans for less than 10 pounds from Doncaster market and was proud of that fact. Even though I'm approaching my thirties, am doing quite well in my career and have a wonderful boyfriend who would buy me what I want, I still blanche at the thought of spending more than 20€ on a T-Shirt or more than 35€ on a meal.

So you can understand my embarrassment when I was invited to partake in a Monday night dinner with G's family at Mori. Mori - Venise Bar is a new trendy Italian restaurant opposite the Bourse in the centre of Paris. Typically frequented no doubt by financial executives and rich business people, this restaurant was exactly what I had feared it would be.

Decent white wine was spoiled by the cheesy veal slices I mistakenly ordered. The promise of delicious mushrooms with the sauce was quickly dashed when I saw the lonely mushroom head bobbing around in the sauce early on in the meal. A couple of sprout-sized potatoes completed the disaster and my lovely mother-in-law went home 33€ poorer because of it. I have to admit that the tiramisu that G ordered was pretty good, but with it being more than 10€ a portion I couldn't let the Yorkshire lass inside me waste hard-earned cash, even if it wasn't my own.

I have to admit to preferring the more food-oriented eateries in Paris like the Potager du Père Thierry - don't know who Thierry is but he's a damn fine cook - or the Epicérie. Both of these places fail to disappoint and you don't have to budget for the rest of the week.

I also have to admit that today I had lunch in a certain golden-arched fast food 'restaurant' even though I have not set foot in one for more than a year and felt fat and greasy on my way out. Sometimes you need contrast.

Bruges

I've just yanked myself back to the reality that is the Paris métro system in all its glory after a wonderful weekend in Bruges with G, my parents and my aunt and uncle. Bruges is a beautiful city, nicknamed the 'Venice of the North' with its canals and cobbled streets. There is traffic in the city, but the bicycles, horses and carts and pedestrians equal them in number.

We stayed in the centre of town in a gorgeous hotel made up of three houses all joined together. Our room had wonderful wooden beams and a very high ceiling - all in all an extremely romantic place. Mussels, beer and chocolate are Belgium's specialities and we sampled plenty of all three.

So now it's back to reality and in less than twenty four hours I'll be back at work, ready to enforce my omnipotent language on some more unsuspecting frogs.

CPE and all that

"You're fired!" is a statement not often heard in France, despite the high pressure of some executive positions in major companies that have their head offices in La Défense. Even petits boulots (which could be translated into 'dogsbody jobs' in English) are not easily lost. There are all kinds of laws protecting the vulnerable employee from the ruthless employer and you really have to do something serious to hear that immortal phrase. Of course companies making cutbacks and handing out redundancies to people approaching retirement age is another reason to lose your job, but frankly, in France, with a contract in your fist you're pretty safe. I know of no other country (but please correct me if I'm wrong) where employees have as many rights as here in France.

So you can understand when young people start marching the streets in protest against a contract which will effectively make them as expendable as workers in the US and the UK, not to mention the rest of the world.

You can understand when the young shout out in protest that it wouldn't be fair to employ them with the threat of firing for no valid reason for two years hanging over their head.

You can understand when they scream that it's not fair to apply this rule only to the inexperienced under-26 population.

What I cannot understand is why, after being so strong, tough and almost Thatcheresque in his previous discourse, Dominique de Villepin has now retreated under the table trembling with fright that he may not be able to wear a nice tie and speak to his "chers compatriotes" as Monsieur le Président by the time the elections come around in 2007.

As an English person, I really believe that the most sure-fire way to guarantee more strikes in the future and nation-wide chaos is to give in to strikers. I am certainly not saying that I agree with the conditions of the CPE, I think he never should have put it forward in the first place, but what I'm saying is that if you're going to push something through, push it. Nobody respects a scaredy-cat.

The answer, as far as I can see is to focus on training issues. Let's teach the young how to communicate better in English for international communication, how to use computer software more easily, how to give presentations, negotiate, how to do effective job interviews, CV writing and all the other skills that we never realise are important until we're faced with reality.

Let's train the youth of France to perform on a higher level with more marketable skills, perhaps then at least the demonstration banners will be more interesting to read.

Metro Madness

I've never loved the métro in Paris, but I've never had a particularly scary experience on it either. I take it daily, eyes fixed on the middle distance not looking at any of my fellow passengers or caring what they wear, look like or do. I try to let people get off before boarding myself, I don't push or tut like some and I generally get to where I want to go with minimum hassle (strikes permitting).

Such a good citizen then surely does not deserve the freakish incident which happened to me on Tuesday evening in the bussle and noise of St Lazare station.

I felt a sharp pinch on my backside as I began to go down the stairs leaving the line 3. I turned around abruptly (not easy with a fold-up push scooter over one shoulder and a duffle bag on the other) to see a girl in a pink hat about my age, in her late twenties, looking at me. Thinking it was obviously not her I asked her if she had seen who it was "Vous avez vu qui viens de me toucher?"

She just stared and I thought maybe she thinks I'm crazy and it was some random guy who's well out of sight by now. So I kept on walking and felt like someone was following me. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that it was Miss Pink Hat. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and walked right along to my platform and right to the end of it. Of course there she was behind me. I changed direction and went all the way back to the other end and there she was again.

At this I turned around, looked her straight in the eye and asked her if she was following me and what she wanted. "Vous me suivez? Qu'est-ce que vous voulez"? She didn't respond, just stared at my fold-up scooter (it is rather fetching) and my coat (nothing special) and looked crazier as the seconds went on.

When my metro arrived she was still right next to me so I pretended not to take it and then jumped on at the last minute. When we pulled away her face was almost touching the glass door and her eyes were staring right at me. Crazy Miss Pink Hat was no match for Mr Metro so I managed to rely on my Parisian friend to get me to my destination without further event.

I have now put my unremarkable short beige coat safely in the wardrobe and have pulled out my equally unremarkable long beige coat. I know I can't prevent crazy pinching ladies altogether, but at least I can make it more difficult for them to get their hands on my derrière.

Detox Diary - all done!

Finally on Thursday night I abandoned my detox. Not because I wasn't enjoying its benefits but because a good friend from university and his wife came to visit G and I in Paris. So, now I'm back to cooking delightful things with meat, dairy, wheat and alcohol, all the sins I was previously denying myself; and yes, it's fantastic.

No more springing out of bed and dashing to the pool at 8.30am at the weekend, but I very much enjoyed the oysters, magret de canard with mushroom risotto and concerto au chocolat I had with G and our friends at Les Grands Marches in Bastille yesterday evening. Balance is very important in life, isn't it?

Today we had planned to go to Versailles but I'm not sure we will because I'm looking out of the window right now and there seems to be a tropical storm right outside my Vincennes window. Are we in France or Brazil? The French have a wonderful expression which is les giboulets de mars, which is roughly the equivalent of April showers. I suppose everything has to be different for the French!

Detox Diary - day 9

I went out for dinner last night to a Japanese sushi restaurant and was a little nervous about keeping to my detox regime because I really love soy sauce with sushi and as it's extremely salted, it's not allowed. Anyway, the fish tasted so fresh and melted so deliciously in the mouth that I really didn't need any sauce. Wasabi and ginger are so tasty anyway I didn't need anything more. With a portion of rice, soup and salad all washed down with thé glacé (iced tea but not from a can) I was stuffed and really happy I'd managed to keep to my programme.

This morning I sprung out of bed with tons of energy and felt so motivated to exercise that I jogged down the street to the piscine Hector Berlioz and did 40 lengths of the pool. I'd bought a new swimming cap in the Neuilly pool on Friday along with goggles and a nose clip and was very excited about trying them out. I felt like a professional swimmer but then soon realised that grannies were overtaking me, sporty guys in tiny speedos were actually swimming underneath me to overtake both me and the grannies and so I felt a little less proud of myself!

Voices had a concert this afternoon so I had to jet back out to Neuilly and prepare for a 3.30pm performance. This evening I'm feeling exhausted and not quite so smug about my boundless energy as I was this morning.

It's time like this that I miss Horlicks!

Spring has sprung!

Today the temperature is almost 13°C and Paris is alive with the joys of spring! It's about time because up until last week everyone was huddled up in scarves, gloves and hats along with their winter coats. I thought March was supposed to come in like a lion and go out like a lamb? The lamb was a little shy to get going this year and the lion very much outstayed its welcome.

The spring picture is from my window, a friend gave me some bulbs in a pot several weeks ago and now they're finally flowering. Can anyone tell me what the name of the flower is? I have to admit, in 29 years this is the first time I have managed to keep some form of plant-life alive! I should probably also admit that the idea for my window photo came from a fellow ex-pat, the delightful petite anglaise, whose blog is well established and makes fantastic reading.

Bon weekend!

Detox Diary - day 7

So, it's been a week of Jane and her crazy detox ideas, but I'm actually feeling pretty great. I went swimming today and yesterday and have never before managed sport on consecutive days. *small pat on back* I actually did 35 lengths at the pool in Neuilly yesterday and 40 today, which I was extremely pleased about. My belly is less rounded and more flat than curvy now, these are definitely the results I wanted.

I am however getting a little bit tired of brown rice. I've eaten a portion of it every day since the beginning, and it's a little, well, fibrous, let's say. Plus you can only get Uncle Ben's brown rice in Monoprix and I think Jane meant for detoxers to go for organic rice. Not sure that exists, but still...

Other than singing in Voices and Mumblers, and doing the detox I haven't really been out this week. No alcohol is one of the most difficult rules to stick to (no coffee after lunch either) and so I've decided to stay out of bars until the end of the detox. Probably best not to dangle temptation in front of my eyes.

Quite a busy weekend coming up, I'm starting to sing with a jazz trio on Saturday then there's another concert at St Jean Baptiste Church in Neuilly Sur Seine on Sunday to support Retina, the charity for the visually impaired.

Right, time for an infusion I think. Who's for mint and who's for camomile?

Detox Diary - day 3

I've decided to clean up my body and get in shape. I'm fine at the moment, but I want to try a programme that a friend recommended to me. It's a book called Detox Yourself by Jane Scrivner. The programme is based on cleaning out the digestive system (using anything from brown rice to colonic irrigation...) and giving you more energy. Plus I've heard it makes you good with numbers - well it worked for Carol Vorderman. So I'm doing Jane's detox and very much looking forward to healthy skin, flat stomach and blonde hair - well I'm sure at least two of those are possible.

I have decided to do this because :

1. A person's alcohol consumption should not outweigh their fruit juice consumption
2. Nobody loves a spotty thirty-year-old
3. Nobody's face should be allowed to have wrinkles AND spots - it should be one or the other
4. Walking up 2 flights of stairs is not a good reason to feel smug and does not constitute exercise
5. The potato has never nor will ever be a green vegetable

So, in fact today is day three, I started on Saturday with a breakfast of sheep's yoghurt, apples and grapes, then brown rice, courgettes and broccolli for lunch and mackerel and red beans for dinner. I tried to follow Jane's advice and drink 3 litres of water but I'm not sure I made it today. You're supposed to have two kidney tonics, two liver tonics and a varying degree of exercise between 30 minutes and an hour (not so hot on that one yet) every day.

On Sunday I did better, I ate more beans, nuts and pulses than I've ever eaten before and wish to again. I think I should focus on balancing the detox rather than pigging out on the filling stuff.

How am I feeling?
I'm feeling pretty good today after three days of total detox. Exercise was better today, I ran up to the 7th floor (from the ground) and back down then I ran instead of walking around Paris and in the metro. I'm not sure that counts, but it made me short of breath so I'm thinking it does. I'm going to try to push harder in the next few days.

Tomorrow should be easier because I have my band rehearsal and I can dance for 2 hours.