Beating back the dog with 3 ingredient cookies

The 3 ingredient cookie has gone viral. Its easy, healthy, low in calories, and I happen to have 2 near rotten bananas in my fruit bowl. I am out of raisons. But I have 2 half eaten apples which might work. Here we go :

Well if they're going to be quick and easy, I might as well put them in the mixer? In go the apples....

And this is what we get....

What can I say? Chewy.... And not quite enough to beat back the barking hound....Although I did eat manage to eat 3 of them.

Black dog days

I can't say I want him here, but am not quite sure how to get rid of him, or if he's going to leave of his own accord.

Having made the pilgrimage to Limoges in search of better family harmony I find that I spend most of my weekends alone, well I am never alone with Anna. Indeed in general I am never alone. Lonely is the word.

I suppose I should be more supportive of Paul, but after 4 months of this, I am now just disinterested. It doesn't help that I have other worries to deal with from afar, and that I am confined to home because my other half is working 24/7 :

I bought a country house outside of Paris on a whim, spent 6 years and all my savings renovating it, and just when my haven of peace was finished, my neighbour announced he was going to divide his land in two and build a house behind mine. It was a strange affair, the neighbour started out somewhat sycophantic, then agressive, then the project just went underground. In July I found out he'd reapplied to sell the land. As it had a whiff of the dishonest, I checked his deeds, and found he actually didn't own the right of way to the land he wanted to sell. I informed the town hall, project gone to ground again. But what is a haven, if you have someone living next to you who fumes everytime he sees you? Even if you have won the battle...

On days like this, this is where a blog loses its usefulness and I should probably resort to some kind of self-help forum where friendly souls can endlessly discuss the do's and dont's. I think I prefer the black dog.

Need a physiotherapist!

All in all I think I have spent 24 hours in trains in the past 5 days. I could have gone to Australia in all that time, and the weather would have been a little less grim. It is cold, it is February, I'm behind on my work, and I have barely seen Paul since November. The life-work-balance is not happening. And my hips feel like someone's driven over them.

Workwise, I am very proud of the new exhibition we launched in Amiens on Monday - hollywood A-lister Tim Yip brought a little of his Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon magic to the city. A massive amount of work, a lot of both grumbling and excitement all around. But we made it.

Home wise, another victory. I have managed to get Anna out of her nylon frozen nightie (it has become a daytime favourite) and into an H&M frozen skirt, which has all the charm but less of the crinoline look about it. Thank you H&M for doing Frozen without the glitter and the frills. 

Eagles of Death Metal in Paris tonight

If I had known, would I have gone down the Boulevard des Capucines to my meeting in Paris? Possibly not. Does it feel like a manifestation of freedom when a concert has to take place in a military lock down zone? Does anyone really feel this will heal the wound?

I couldn't be gladder to leave the city tonight. My train arrives home at 10pm, and I am weary from travel. A story from the desert comes to mind : an ancient tribe of travellers on their camels on a long journey make a stop in the desert – they are neither hungry nor thirsty. Their camels are not tired. An outsider asks them why they are waiting – for our souls to catch up with us, they say.

I must have left my soul behind on many continents, it will never catch up with me. The modern world spins too fast, it is forever outpacing us.

Which takes me to the testimony of a Belgian friend and colleague from the November Paris attacks, from the rue de Charonne : “I recognize the sound of fireworks, I try to analyze what is happening, thinking it was kids joking around… Two meters away from me, I see a man, holding a huge Kalashnikov gun… they are calm, incredibly calm, the gunman next to me is almost smiling…. Now I really want to insist on this: the brain is way too slow in this situation. I finally get that this is not a joke. Something in my head screamed, run as fast as you can, every step you’re alive, you’re still alive. As I ran on, they kept on shooting for way, way, way too long. I guess that most of the people standing on the opposite sidewalk died. They were like mirrors of my stupefaction, I saw them before their last breath”.

Landmarks of 2016

And as we make our way towards March (another year for me, I am no longer counting) I realise that this will be the third landmark I will spend "alone", or partner-free. Anna's birthday, Valentine's day, my birthday... Its hard when you have been brought up by a family who gives great significance to dates and to remembrance, to join another who gives so little. Not that there is not caring or generosity, but a lack of sentiment for numbers, days, months, years that I find hard to reconcile.

Today was the day I first plaited Anna's hair. Today I celebrated the day of love with Anna.

A reminder of the threat to Paris...

There is always a sense of expectation when you arrive in Paris, it's often short-lived, but as I made my way to the Gare du Nord, picked up my Chinese takeaway lunch, wondered at the oddity of the house sculpture infront of the station (why and who?)

I was beginning to enjoy the adventure that lay ahead. Until the unexpected happened on the Thalys platforms. Security there is at airport level, our bags were all Xrayed in ultra-efficient and very un-French style, and the train left on time.

It is a reminder that the threat is arbitrary but real. After my initial alarm I felt some reassurance, tinged somewhat with reminders of events gone past, to which I was far too near on both occasions.

By the time I found my seat on the train, my Chinese takeaway was tepid and the chicken was gristly.  And to fast forward somewhat, on my return to Paris, I arrived ridiculously ahead of time, prepared for the same security routine and found none. Could it be that Brussels-Paris has a lesser security risk compared to Paris-Brussels? It was an uneasy ride back... and the meal was not of much comfort (yes that is purple mashed potato) and the coffee machine was on strike.

There's something about Belgian chic though that wins over the French every time. The shops are so tempting, and I made an impulse buy that made my trip worth while. Agreed it doesn't make sense to go to Brussels for Cath Kinston but this is the ultimate work-play bag - practical but funky enough to put your 13" laptop into, and with 2 very clever handles that make it a clutch bag (albeit a fairly clunky one). I am a happy lady. If I could find a matching tote to slip into it for nights out that would make my year.

Limoges-Paris-Brussels

Harder to take the train today than usual. Anna is much chirpier after her 48 hour bug, but I am a little worn down. As I get comfy on the train and settle in, I realise a woman next to me is going to be munching loudly on gum for the next 3 and half hours and I dont think my nerves can take it. I read recently this is syndrome, and I felt a little concerned. Not the chewing, but the being annoyed by the chewing. Surely everyone must find the squelching annoying? A bit like porn without the good bits.

I have become a veteran traveller and am much enamoured of my thermos flask which has become a good travel companion (word of flask wisdom : never put milky tea in your thermos or it tastes rancid for ages afterwords).

I have a little hidey hole in Paris. Called the Picasso Studio Loft. It belongs to artists I work with, and I rent it out at a friendly price. The pictures do it alot of justice! Its actually very dark, but I love the retro furnishings and the ageing paintings.

It sounds glamorous but I actually havent event explored the neighbourhood, which is gorgeous, in the heart of the Marais. I plonk down my suitcase, go the office, come back, watch bad TV and sleep. If all goes well. There’s even a piano if I was feeling adventurous. When I first emigrated to Limoges, I thought that my Paris hops would be moments of freedom, of being a single lady again, I had visions of seeing art house movies, catching up on shows, having dinner with friends. But the reality of a 48 hour journey, of which 8 hours is travelling doesn’t leave much time for glamorous leisure and finding my old self. And the truth of it is I am quite happy with my new self, and my homeliness.

Post PACS depression

I just thought I'd google it to see whether this was a common event. It was in the end quite a Laurel and Hardy moment, one lady with thick set glasses who seemed to know what she was doing, and another not managing to type our details into the computer. They had to cope with an American man born in France, but not French, and then a British woman who's just plain British. Maybe its just the anticlimax of 6 months of document gathering, including a "certificat de non pourvoi" from the "Cour de Cassation" to prove that my partner's ex wife hadn't filed a suit against him in the 5 days following their divorce. It took 2 months to come through. Apparently your divorce certificate isn't worth anything without this document. Anyway, it felt very clinical, slightly tragic-comic and all in all rather depressing...

I am now hitched.

The snag in France is that if the other person dies, your civil partnership dies with them. Make sure your other half writes a will if this is the romantic way you decide to commit to each other for life...

Tomorrow I am due to do a Paris-Brussels-Paris-Limoges in 3 days, and I just want to wrap myself up in my duvet and watch the Bake Off. With a large pack of pink donuts. Followed by a bit of Janet Evanovich....?

I'm getting married in the morning

Actually its a PACS, but thought I would post a celebratory notice?

Sunday - expat day of gloom

The shops are shut, all the families are united around their dinner tables, and the expats fend for themselves.

I have a few cards up my sleeve - the nearby Café Litteraire does lunch and music - either the local star Robert de Miro, who I think uses the same hair dye as me, while we munch. Or recently I witnessed a Bal Dansant, average age about 80, all in sparkles and pearls, and literally having a ball. It was contagious. That happened to be Anna's 3rd birthday and we danced till we dropped.

I have also bought up all available tickets to the local kids theatre, snatched them up in September, as they sell out by early October. Just witnessed a small theatrical marvel, best thing I've seen in grown up and children's entertainment in the past year... Jakart Company, go like them on Facebook, go find them, go see them.

And just when you think you're Sunday hasn't been too claustrophobic, just when you've bumped into a local mum from the nursery and exchanged pleasantries, with hope of perhaps a future cup of coffee or invite, Anna decides to have a melt down over not putting her coat on at the exit, and my hopes of afternoon playdates with Hugo and mum flies out the window...

Weekend, feet on the ground

A travel free week, and now a husband free weekend, so feet firmly on the ground, as we set off today for a parents and kids singalong session in the deep dark French countryside. 4 sets of expat mums with varying numbers of offspring, in a barn, singing and miming to songs from the Sound of Music, The Jungle Book, and some other old favourites. I wonder if it was more for the parents, but actually not, I think we all forgot ourselves in song for about an hour.

This is a rarity, in France where the family rules, and weekends are for kin, not for adventure. And in the same barn we can learn the art of Reiki. This is on my wishlist for my upcoming birthday present, as is the inflatable husband my friend has offered to lend me in lieu of the one I rarely see at the moment.

Live from my attic in Limoges

Life-Work-Play, the biggest damn question of them all. Before I gave birth on 1st February 2013 I hadn't really considered having to give priority to anyone except me.  Then 7lb Anna arrived in my life and nothing was to be simple ever again.

Its about time to record how I balance a full time job, international travel, an office 200 miles away, a husband who pops in and out of the house, and a 3 year old daughter. Before it all falls apart...