UKaren

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. J’adore Paris.

I had an amazing weekend revisiting some old haunts / familiar places, as well as having some brand new adventures.

Started with a comfortable and very affordable ride via the Eurostar starting from St Pancras. I’m half-embarrassed at having the need to be corrected - it actually isn’t spelt pancreas. Who knew. Not I.

Got into Paris after typical work hours and got to see how Anne-Laure, a real parisian, got to work. A typical parisian building with high ceilings and small rooms and curvy staircases. Loved it.

After enjoying a drink with her work colleagues (and figuring out it’s been a while since I’ve immersed myself in french!), we dropped off my stuff at her flat.

It’s about a 10 mins walk from the eiffel tower in this typical parisian neighbourhood. Her building is complete with the tiniest elevator in the world, but it works.

She has an adorable flat!! Has everything you would need - including a washing machine! Granted the machine lives in the bathroom, but it adds to the charm. She also has a bigger fridge than me!

Friday evening, we went to St Michel for dinner and found this place that served raclette (we both had a hankering for raclette). Yum. Then stopped by to wave at Notre Dame, and popped into this club that was playing live music. Ah, rock covers sung by (very good) French people. Incredibly enjoyable.

Got in at 2 am. Oops.

Saturday ‘morning’, we made our way to the louvre. I was told to visit this café snuggled away among the arches looking towards the pyramid. We found it - café marly. Posh place with posh food (we both had the tartare and I indulged on a cheesecake while Anne indulged in an enormous chocolate eclair).

We then headed to an area whose name escapes me to this theatre where we had booked tickets for this ’strange cabaret’ (the show’s words, not mine albeit they said it in french). It had 2 modern clowns (quite funny), a painter/magician, and this incredibly athletic man balancing a chair on a pole and himself on rolling things. Being in the very front row, I was imagining the headlines of my death which my poor family would have to read: girl squashed by falling chair.

Heart-stoppingly enjoyable.

We headed to the eiffel tower to have something to eat (we shared foie gras and escargots to start, then Anne ate a hamburger with a knife and fork while I enjoyed a roast chicken). We paid our bill quickly so we could see the eiffel tower ‘glow’ as it does every hour!

We finished up the evening in a beer bar where we were both given roses for our sparkling personalities.

Got home at 3 am. Oops.

Sunday ‘morning’, we walked through her weekly Sunday market - the smells are to die for. We stopped at a brasserie for a baguette taking advantage of the sun.

We then made our way towards the marais district and stopped into a Scottish pub for old time’s sake. After which, we strolled the Jewish quarter and saw a line for kosher falafels. Just because there was a line (I’m speaking the truth), we decided to line up too and have one. Delicious!

Wandering around the area for a while, it was time to head to the bastille area for another live music concert. Although because it was so packed, we stayed for only a few songs and then made our way home. We collapsed at 9 watching Le Parfum (*excellent* film!!!)

Today, I made my way along la rue haussmann and stopped for a very fancy tea (called Marie antoinette), pain au chocolat and orange juice at Printemps. Then I went to look at the opera house for a while, wandered through the Fragonard perfume factory and the Galleries Lafayettes (I adore the building and also the free view from the terrace)

After meeting up with Anne and two of her colleagues from work for a very enjoyable lunch, am hurtling back through the chunnel back home.

What a lucky life I lead.

Booze, Booze, you’re a pest!
You’ve often kept me from my rest!
You’ve often made me wear old clothes,
And often turned my friends to foes!
But seeing you here, beneath my nose,
Cheerio! And down she goes!

It’s been a glorious weekend here in jolly ol’ England. The sun has been shining, the daffodils breaking soil, and the birds twittering away.

What better way to celebrate this amazing English weather than to do something so typically English? Which is go for a walk! The rolling hills, the grazing sheep, the warm wind, the kites & gliders doing their thing… This is what being in England is all about. Just for these types of weekends.

I like polite people. They make me happy. They make me smile.

But I think there’s such thing as over-politeness and now I’m starting to get annoyed by this. I didn’t think it possible.

It stems from the nicety of holding a door open for someone else.

Seamingly a really nice thing to do. But here at C&W, it’s an obsession.

I’ve never been around so many people who take such pride in keep the door open for you.

Typically, I’m in love with this behaviour. But now, I feel horribly guilty if I don’t hold the door open for someone who us still coming down the hall far, far away.

Or I feel horribly guilty by making someone wait for me to trot up the walkway (can’t always walk briskly in heels) as they may wait up to 20 seconds for me.

It really is quite astounding. I suppose I’ll have to get over it since there are worse behaviours out there that should (and do) annoy me way more…

I adore pubs. I can’t help it. They’re warm, inviting, usually decent food, and fantastic local beers. Not to mention the wooden beams, real fires, and fantastic accents.

On Sunday, I joined up with two friends of mine to the Royal Standard of England, a pub that has a 900-year history and sits in the middle of nowhere. This was very much punctuated by the fact that to get there, I drove down a single-track road lined by 3-metre high banks, sheltered by arching tree branches. Couldn’t have been more perfect (except when I had to back up to allow another car to pass….)

The atmosphere was exactly as I love my British pubs (see above paragraphs). Food was all *right*, although the stout stellar. Funnily enough, also a bit of a tourist trap due to the large parking lot (and probably aforementioned history). It is worth noting that you don’t *have* to get to the pub via said single-track road - I think that was just the most direct route for me. But still part of the fun!

Onto the next one…

If you’re looking for a gorgeous town to visit in yorkshire that has amazing Victorian, georgian and modern architecture mixed into one, Leeds is the place to go. Not to mention world-class shopping and amazing restaurants.

This was a first. I hosted my first Traditional Sunday Roast here in jolly ol’ England.

For those not in the know, it’s when you eat a FULL 10-COURSE MEAL starting at 2pm in the AFTERNOON on a Sunday.

For those of you who think this is normal, believe me - it isn’t.

However, what it *is* is a lot of fun to prepare and host (and, of course, eat - if I may be immodest here). I really outdid myself here - timed everything PERFECTLY (except that my two guests didn’t arrive half an hour later which did change the serving time slightly, but everything still remained warm). I did a free-range chicken stuffed with garlic, herbs from my terrace, onions and lemons (of course, with all of the publicity here around battery vs free range, I couldn’t really serve anything but now, could I?). Accompanied by steamed brocoli, mini-stemmed carrots drizzled with maple syrup (go Canada!), roasted potatoes with goose fat (what else?) and haggis. The last dish was in honour of Robbie Burn’s Day this past Friday.

Absolutely scrumpuous. ‘Pudding’ (translation=dessert) was brought over by one of my guests - glorious cheesecake.

It was a great excuse to bring out grandma’s china. This was a set she left for me when she passed away - and as it suited her tastes, it really suits mine. Very subtle and incredibly elegant - seeing as my hands have been my dishwasher here, it doesn’t add anything to my clean-up time by using them, and it’s a great reminder of what I didn’t always know about my grandma. For instance, I never knew these dishes existed until mom told me about them…

I could delve into this deeper thought a bit more, but I think I’ll leave it unsaid.

Now that it’s past 7pm, my stomach is rather confused (although still very happy) that I think I’ll make myself some tea. How British am I today!!

I don’t know a lot about cars. I accept this fact and am not ashamed to admit it. Dad has always come to the rescue when needed, maintained when warranted, and added when little uplifts were nice.

When I moved to England, I was quite aware that this support had gone.

In fact when I bought a used car from a friend, I knew it was a stop-gap until I bought a new one. This was punctuated by the fact that the back door flew open when winding along a dark Scottish road with May in the back strapped in wondering why the gust of cold air.

The windshield wipers squeeked, the gas cap didn’t always undo, and the parking break apparently wobbled.

So after a year, it was time to say good-bye and I bought a new car.

In that pricetag included peace of mind and no worries.

Well.

I have had a tire blow out on the M40 for a really strange reason (still not known to me). The gas cap doesn’t pop open consistently (very frustrating when I only have 30 miles of petrol left in the tank). The oil indicator is now flashing intermittently - how can I need an oil change now?? I hardly use the car!

Finally, last night, I had two separate incidents where people were trying to get my attention.

The first was when driving through a seedy part of slough. I was stopped at a light and the passenger of the car in front got out of his car and started waving at me. I locked the doors and prayed for the light to turn which it did. I drove off. Then still on my way home, wondering if I had another flat but thinking how could they have seen it in the dark with my headlights on, some car going the opposite way flashed his lights several times at me.

I checked to make sure my brights weren’t on - they weren’t - and pulled over. All tires accounted for and nobody was trapped underneath or holding onto the wing mirror.

This morning, I’ve done a walk-around the car and another colleague of mine has done the same. Can’t see anything visible.

Strange coincidence?

Regardless, I want a new car. This one isn’t living up to my expectations.

New company, new job, new duvet, new passport. It’s time I resurrect my repository for thoughts as the bureaucracy and culture that is ‘England’ continues to baffle this little Canadian.

I remember dad encouraging us to go on bike rides as a family. I remember riding up through Hog’s Back, stopping for a picnic (and mom and dad having their beers while kris and I had juice), feeding the ducks, and then walking up Pleasant Park hill. There was no way you could ride up that hill after such a long bike ride!!

I do have wonderful memories of those bike rides. Long ago. So looooong ago.

The last time we did that mustve been at the very beginning of high school. The only other biking I really remember is going to the (quite close) tennis courts for some short games.

I never brought my bike to university. I did get on a rusted wobbly thing while in Cuba during my 2nd year uni to ride off the resort to pick up some cuban cigars. It was the thing to do.

Fast forward to now.

I have been bamboozled into the London to Brighton bike ride. For those of you needing some English geo help, Brighton is 54 miles east of London.

Apparently you should train or something. Oops.

Now here’s the good news.

A) I’m now mentally prepared. Can’t wait. Stoked. I’m so there. Go me!!

B) I now have a bike. A colleague dropped hers off for me. I was getting nervous as the ride is in about, oh, 2 weeks or so.

I have now also officially ridden the bike. For over an hour.

Granted it will take me longer than an hour to do he L2B ride (I have all day apparently!), but a start.

So… Um… Anyone want to sponsor me?