Shopping

I remember the first time I came to Paris, the highlight of my aunt and uncle’s visit was to go to Fnac. I wasn’t sure what was special about it, it just seemed like the biggest ever Our Price to me (a chain of record shops when I was a kid). There certainly were a lot of records there, but at fifteen I was unable to see its full potential. When I lived in Madrid there was a Fnac off Sol near the Corte Ingles (a department store). I still wasn’t over enamoured with it then. It was a good place to get concert tickets, but I couldn’t see how it had claimed that space in the European psyche. And then I arrived in Paris.

Fnac is as much a part of French culture as the baguette and the French language. It sells ... things. I bought my first mobile phone in Fnac and then my first DVD player. I bought my i-pod there, my digital camera. I go there to stand in the presence of really expensive, really shit hot speakers. Sometimes when no one is looking I stroke those speakers. I stand in front of the guide book section and wonder whether to buy the Lonely Planet or the Guide Routard. I go there to wander by the piles of CD’s that are there to tempt you. ‘Look at me,’ they rustle as your fingers glide over their wrapping. There’s a spot in every Fnac where a little space has been provided, music is piped and there are French men lounging around on the floor with their heads buried in the latest BD (Comic book).

Fnac is one of the only stores that can legally open on Sundays. Fnac sells culture, so Fnac can sell.

I wondered past Fnac’s magnetic field yesterday and could not resist its pull through the doors and up the escalators. I glided around the camera section, CD section, DVD section, past the tills. I was on that golden high of clutching a Fnac bag. I got home and manically ripped off the cellophane wrapping, whacked up the sound on the CD player and then realised I had intended to buy salad!

Anyway here are some other things that you can buy in France.

Phoktober 23^rd

Phoktober 24^th

Phoktober 25^th

Phoktober 26^th

Phoktober 27^th

Phoktober 28^th

Phoktober 29^th

Phoktober 30^th

Better than Blogging?

So I’ve been tagged again... although again it’s quite a ‘thinkerly’ one, so here goes. This meme doesn’t seem to have a title, so I’ll go with 3 things that are better than blogging! What you mean there’s meant to be life away from the computer screen? Well apparently so. Anyway there are rules first, so here they are:

1. After your intro, copy/paste this line and the rules below it: The originator - one Damien Riley - wants to see how far it goes so please keep his link intact: http://rileycentral.net/

* 2. Encourage people to post with the incentive of a link by including those who have passed it along here: Audrey, Celtic Angel, JM, Romance Writer, Deep Thinker, Absolute Vanilla.

* 3. Visit at least 3 on the list who’ve written and passed this meme. Leave them a comment.
And then you are supposed to, “pick three things that enrapture, consume, fascinate, or otherwise enliven you more than blogging. Then write a few lines about each to explain what the nonblog activity does for you, why and how.”

So I was thinking about this on a particularly long metro journey all the way across Paris and I was making some notes and I realised that I had to intro with this story.

Many, many moons ago when I still lived in Spain and there was a thriving Dutch community out there, talk sprung up about this weird but apparently fantastic new programme. A bunch of Dutch people had got onto a bus and travelled around that tiny country with many canals and windmills and the next thing you knew the ‘Big Brother’ phenomenon had begun. After Holland the next country to air Big Brother was Spain. In the spring of 2000 Gran Hermano hit our screens and using the pretext that it would improve my terrible Spanish I turned on. The next thing I knew on Thursday evenings me and the girls would whip up some cocktails, some guacamole dip and what not and we would not be moved for the three hours it was on. On the night of the final, there was a whole bunch of us there and you’d think it was a cup final or something the cheers that went up around the building (not just in my apartment) when Ima... (mmm seems I’ve forgotten his name) won.

Despite the fact that we watched this (let’s face it – AWFUL) programme for three months, one thing we were all dead certain about was that we would never in million years want to do it. It was our worst nightmare incarnate. Stuck in a house with a bunch of strangers and cut off from everything we held dearest.

1. I could live without blogging, in the end I did it last year when I was cut off from civilization by FREE (bastards), but what would really send me over the edge is not being able to explore my creativity. Be it writing which is probably my biggest output, but also the painting, sketching, designing costumes and stages, taking photos or making bad pottery. It’s simply what makes me me.

2. The music. When I think back to key events in my life, there’s always a soundtrack. The soundtrack starts the year my parents built the extension on the house and we were packaged off to my cousin's house for the duration of the work. We listened (and sang) to the Grease soundtrack until the early hours of the morning. We moshed to Oliver’s Army. When we came back Waterloo Sunset was on the tape my Dad played while we were decorating. When my first teaching job in England drove me to tears I came home and played Carter USM at full volume (my neighbour’s were sweeties). This morning as I tried to cut off my senses from the over stuffed metro by closing my eyes and plugging myself into the poddy, Ring my Bell brought a big grin to my lips. Be it on my stereo or in a live venue, I need it.

3. And lastly reading. I have a huge pile of books to read, I always have a book on the go (even if it takes me forever to read it). It transports me to other times, other places, other worlds. It began my love for travel (which would be number 4 if I was allowed!) and nurtured my love of writing. When my fingers drop off, I’ll still be able to read.

So now I guess I need to pass it on to somebody else. Mmm... I’m going to ask Jon at Writing in a Vacuum to have a go.

Oh and Phoktober 22^nd

This was the week that was

So this was the week where Cecilia and Nicolas Sarkozy got divorced, I had my knees x-rayed, I was forced to walk across vast tracts of Paris due to the transport strike and England lost the Rugby World Cup Final. I don’t really have much to say about the first and last point, apart from: ‘Thank some divine deity that that is all over.’

As for the x-ray fiasco, well the fact that a month after I went arse over tit in those gorgeous but extremely inconvenient shoes and still can’t kneel down meant that I was sent merrily to my nearest ‘Centre de Radiologie’. The knees were duly x-rayed and as I suspected nada was broken. My final diagnosis was to give up praying!

And so to the Transport Strike. Now in reality I like walking across vast tracts of Paris. I love looking at the ivy glowing scarlet as the sun shines through the leaves. I love peering through the windows of the Tibetan tea shops and reminiscing about how I watched Liverpool beat West Ham in that pub. I thoroughly enjoy walking across Paris when I CHOOSE to do so, NOT, when I am forced to do so by the transport unions. I don’t like not knowing how I am going to get home from work, or considering not trekking across town to meet my friend who has flown in from Madrid, or missing the surprise element of my colleague’s surprise birthday party because I couldn’t get a taxi for love nor money and then got stuck on a metro full of tossers (otherwise known as England Rugby fans). I am particularly pissed off that the one day Transport strike stretched into THREE. I am also slightly miffed that the Transport Unions are beginning to make me question whether unions are a good thing and whether Transport workers should have the privilege of retiring at 50 whereas the rest of us face the prospect of never retiring because by the time we get really old the Government won’t have any money left to pay our pensions. In fact, I don’t even like thinking about getting really old because in my dreams I will win the lottery and buy a flat and become a hermit (who occasionally lunches) and writes all the time. I’ll have a big lounge for cool parties, a really comfy bedroom, a big bathroom and maybe a little garden. Oh and there will be a study too, with a lot of blank walls where I can stick my post-its. You see I have spent a lot of time nurturing this dream and the fact that the transport unions have burst my bubble is extremely unkind of them.

Here are some photos from last week’s Fete de la Vendange. I walked to that; I walked up the extremely steep hill gladly; twice.

Phoktober 15^th

This guy was providing entertainment before I even got to the Fete.

Phoktober 16^th

There were all sorts at this Fete.

Phoktober 17^th

Like I said all sorts.

Phoktober 18^th

And lots of entertainment.

Phoktober 19^th

And then these started showing up all over the place.

Phoktober 20^th

Phoktober 21^st

Blog Action Day

This year Blog Action Day's theme is The Environment. I've done other posts about Climate Change that you can read here, but for today I decided to do something a little different...

Kristin rubbed her wrist as she followed the scurrying secretary and the clip, clip, clip of her mother’s heels; she hadn’t meant to get her teacher into trouble, but she wasn’t exactly sure why this was Miss Tanner’s fault as it was she who had done it.

“Mrs. Colby, Kristin.” Miss Tanner beamed as she turned to face the whirlwind that had just entered the classroom.

Mrs. Colby clattered the biscuit tin onto the nearest desk. Miss Tanner’s smile froze as she looked at it. “The Time Capsule project.”

Kristin had never heard her teacher speak so quietly.

“I presume you gave the children clear instructions?” Mrs. Colby folded her arms across her chest.

“Eh, yes,” Miss Tanner peered at Kristin. “Kristin was supposed to ask before she put anything in it.”

Now both Mrs. Colby and Miss Tanner were staring at Kristin and she could feel herself going red.

“And I also said to put in everyday things.” Miss Tanner’s confidence grew as Kristin’s head fell lower.

Mrs. Colby tutted and turned to Kristin.

“What exactly did you put in it?” Miss Tanner knelt down and looked at Kristin, her eyes asking for permission to open the lid.

“Everyday things.” Now it was Kristin’s voice that was small.

“It was more like my bloody flowerbeds.” Mrs. Colby’s hands flew to her hips.

Miss Tanner had not taken her eyes from Kristin and finally Kristin dared look up and nodded. Miss Tanner lifted the lid and removed the five ziplock bags containing the wilted remains of Mrs. Colby’s flowerbeds.

“I just thought that in the future there might not be any flowers and so people would like to know what they looked like. I thought they’d keep. Mummy puts things in those ziplock bags so that they keep.” A tear spilled out the corner of Kristin’s eye.

“What have you been filling my daughter’s head with?” Mrs. Colby rolled her eyes.

Miss Tanner stood up and looked at Mrs. Colby. “Maybe if you had asked your daughter she could have explained. I’m sure that she did not maliciously intend to ruin your flowerbeds.”

“No flowers in the future.” Mrs. Colby scoffed.

“Well I don’t know about you Mrs. Colby.” Miss Tanner held up the bags for inspection. “But my Mum used to plant bluebells, pansies and snowdrops.”

“So?”

“It just seems amazing what you’ve got in your flowerbed? Not very English country garden are they?”

“Well, the weather’s better now. We can have more variety.”

Miss Tanner raised an eyebrow. “I think that’s Kristin’s point Mrs. Colby.”

Copyright ©, 2007. Verilion

When you're smiling...

It seems that I make people smile; well more specifically Vanilla, I make Vanilla smile. To prove that I make her smile she’s gone and given me this award, which in time honoured tradition I need to pass on to 5 people.

I always find that part so difficult because for a start you want to pick EVERYBODY. But then you go and think about it and the people you have picked have already got the award. The next thing you know you’re no longer smiling. And then you think about the people who you didn’t nominate and maybe they are no longer smiling.

But Susan at Patchwork Reflections, who made the award says, comments make her smile and everybody who comments deserves the award. Oh I see. So the last people who did actually make me smile because they left lovely comments were:

Jon (hobbies include gorehounds, writing children's books and collecting blog awards), Monsieur Moon Topples (who still plays with his spiderman toy, so of course he puts a smile on your face), Scarlett (the most enthusiastic blogger in the history of blogging), Matthew at Common Misadventures (who has got the most gorgeous picture of a woodpecker up, don’t get distracted by the baby squirrels, just keep scrolling down, you can do it), Vanilla (and her reflections), Minx (who has also got a big smiley moment captured on her blog) and Marie (who sings to put a smile on her face).

OK that’s not 5, but where did I get 5 from hey?

For Phoktober 14^th here are some other things that made me smile.

I will do a proper Fete de la Vendange post later in the week, but in the meanwhile here is an erratum. Vendange means Harvest, so although this is to celebrate the Montmartre wine, it seems that because the wine is so bloody hard to get hold of and usually not very nice, now every winemaker is invited (which might be why my head hurts)!

Photo Story

What I like about Phoctober is not the fact that I’ve taken thousands of fantastic photos during this month, but the fact that I’ve had a chance to go through the old and just show them for what they are. I use photos to illustrate, but I rarely do a photo post just for the sake of a photo post.

Having said that there is a wee theme to today’s photos, and no it’s not gargoyles again.

Phoktober 9^th

Phoktober 10^th

Phoktober 11^th

Phoktober 12^th

Phoktober 13^th

This weekend is the France v England quarter final in the Rugby World Cup. According to Women’s Hour on Radio 4 (and I was multi tasking so this may be a bit hazy) since Rugby has turned professional, more women have become interested because the players have become ‘buffer’! Now despite the fact that this is happening in my fair city, that the players are hot and it features my home country, I will be going to the Fete de la Vendange to drink wine, eat, sniff at the 200 bottles of wine that come from the very small Montmarte vineyard (terribly hard to get hold of a bottle and probably not worth even trying) and watching the fireworks! OK, I may pop into a pub if I pass one to check on the scores.