Bowling

My first exposure to bowling came via the Flintstones, in which Fred, Wilma, Barney & Betty regularly played in an alley where the pins were live prehistoric creatures, and where the balls were passed back by monkeys.

I later learned that Sir Francis Drake had completed his game of bowls prior to setting sail to defeat the Spanish Armada. This seemed very cool, particularly as I did not yet know that lawn bowling was now a geriatric sport.

When I started my career, in Burlington Ontario, there was a massive alley next to the plant, where we regularly went for Friday beers. There were always more people in the bar than in the lanes.

In honour of Max's birthday, Claire had the brilliant idea of organising a surprise outing to the Beaugrenelle Bowling, with SylVie and me as mystery guests. The birthday boy won (pity there is no bowling in the Baccalauréat) and a splendid time was had by all.

Joyeux Anniversaire Maxime !

Artiste du PHP, protecteur des plus petits, ami des canins, recordman des 60 mètres, pourfendeur de la face obscure de la Force (Windaube), responsable au delà de ses années, aesthète averti et, avant tout, Grand Pote, Maxime a 15 ans aujourd'hui.

Maxime est aussi pour SylVie et moi un filleul, sur qui nous pouvons toujours compter, en espérant qu'il sache qu'il peut compter sur nous.

Que ta 16ème année soit épanouissante et bluffante !

(Photo prise en novembre 2005, lors du pélerinage à Auvers initié par Max.)

La Hacquinière - Part 2

Hotel Rooms - Part 3

The Helsinki Ulla Hilton. If you stay here you're probably visiting the world famous Rubber Boot company - that many consumers believe to be Japanese.

The rooms are spacious - with big windows that open - and the bathrooms have separate shower and bathtub (given that I travel alone, I don't know why I like this, but I do.) The breakfasts are lavish BUT the dinner food makes British hotel fare seem gastronomical. The best item on the evening menu is a microwaved tortilla wrap served with crisps. The hotel must be doing its bit to support the local taxi trade and downtown Helsinki restaurants.

The spa is like the evil villain's bunker in a James Bond film. One takes a lift several levels underground, and then a narrow tunnel under the parking lot, until, around the corner, one happens upon chubby pink Finns frolicking in the wading pool by the edge of the fjord. All wearing bathing suits, mind you.

Hotel Rooms - Part 2

The rather sinister Golden Tower Hotel in Sao Paolo. I think I chose this one because I got a good internet rate and it was within walking distance of my meetings; or it may have been the Asian-sounding name.
I arrived at dawn and had to watch some video prior to my first meeting. It took a platoon of staff to get the rental VCR to work, and I couldn't help, as I don't own one. I'm glad that I'm better at remote internet access.

I walked all of 1 km to my first couple of meetings, before my horrified hosts caught on and started ordering armoured taxis. Heaven protects the innocent.

One evening I walked over to the FNAC, and at the cash register jokingly flashed my French FNAC card. They immediately marched me to the administrative offices and I walked out with a free FNAC do Brasil card, and a 20% discount on a stack of already cheap CDs and DVDs.

It was on this trip that I decided once and for all that I like big windows, the Golden Towers gave me a small suite on the top floor (it was the off-season,) but each room, with its funky 70s basement rec room decor, had one small window. Still, my pal Jean-Luc loves the honeycomb bathrobe I pinched for him and that he uses every time he comes over for a sauna.

La Hacquinière - Part 1 - Le Grand Bleu

(At Emma's request, this post again in French.) Le week-end fut largement consacré au Grand Canapé Bleu du salon. Samedi soir, SylVie eut l'idée lumineuse de passer la soirée et la nuit sur le canapé-lit bleu qui trône au milieu du salon - un îlot bleu au milieu d'une mer de parquet.

Dimanche matin, nous avons couru pour être (presque) prêts pour l'arrivée de nos invités : Fabienne (que j'avais rencontrée le même soir que Michel et Olga, il y a 16-17 ans) et son papa André (qui avait confectionné une succulente amandine aux griottes et nous a fait connaître un Graves velouté,) l'invitée d'honneur, Emma, ainsi que ses co-lofteurs, Maxime, Robin, et Claire (qui avait pensé à créer pour Emma son gâteau au chocolat préféré.) Étant donné le nombre important de parenthèses, toute velléité de cours de conduite avec Frank a été oubliée.

Nous n’avions pas reçu depuis quelque temps, alors les automatismes aguerris au cours de dizaines de repas s’étaient estompés. Néanmoins, j’ai pu me rappeler du fait que, si c’est moi qui ai trouvé la Hacquinière, c’est SylVie qui en a fait un foyer.

On a tout de même rigolé ; Fabienne a effectué une mini distribution de prix (son bel ouvrage sur les pâtes pour SylVie et moi, et son histoire du petit capoeriste pour Emma,) Emma a accepté avec grâce ses cadeaux (dont le trépied Fender que SylVie avait récupéré au prix de quelques kilomètres à pied,) et Maxime a trouvé un sobriquet plus élégant et exact pour Robin : ce n’est pas un pyromane mais un pyrophile.

Puis tout ce beau monde a réintégré la capitale, nous laissant sur notre îlot bleu, éclairé par les étoiles des guirlandes de saison, comme si nous ne l'avions jamais quitté depuis le matin. Il faudrait que je relise The Tempest.

Joyeux Anniversaire Emma !

Génie du T-Shirt, Princesse des Chats, Reine du Tiramisu, Chef de Bande, Amie des Ours, Virtuose de la Stratocaster -- Emma a 13 ans aujourd'hui.

Avec chaque photo, c'est un plaisir de constater comment Emma grandit BIEN. Celle-ci a été prise à l'Abbaye des Vaux de Cernay, fin octobre.

SylVie et moi, nous nous permettons de considérer Emma comme une filleule ainsi qu'une copine -- et nous ne sommes certainement pas les seuls. Hé oui, Emma, heureusement que tu sais te partager !

Denmark Street Revisited

"It's hard to write a song with bitter fingers
so much to say so few words to tell you why.
Those old die-hards on Denmark Street start laughing
at the keyboard player's hollow haunted eyes."

(Chorus to Elton John's Bitter Fingers.)

I took advantage of a meeting in SoHo today to pay a visit to Denmark Street. (I also went to Border's, Dickens & Jones, and the new Apple Store on Regent Street, but that part of the itinerary is off-topic.) The excuse was that it's the future pj harvey's birthday tomorrow and she wants a Fender baby guitar stand like the ones I have. These devices are easy to find in Paris for all of € 15, but I thought the London cachet would be appreciated

Denmark Street used to be the haven for aspiring guitar heroes. Keef, Jimi, Slowhand and Pagey were but a few of the known regulars. As a teenager, one could walk into Regent Studios or Rose Morris and almost rub shoulders with rock'n'roll deity. The downside was that one would be treated as less than dirt by the staff.

Today, the closest thing I saw to rock'n roll deity was an S-Class idling while its chauffeur went to pick up a guitar from a technician.. In this new order, every shop greeted me with a "Good afternoon, Sir, May I help you?" I think I preferred the old approach - "Absolutely No Effin' Smoke on the Water or Stairway to Heaven or You Die!" I'll have to go back and experiment without the suit and tie sometime.

Not a single Denmark Street shop had the Fender portable stand -- they're too low-end.

Celia - Part 1

This is my niece Celia, held by her proud parents, Anne-Marie and Frank, shortly after her arrival in Mauritius. I say "arrival" because I have often thought that "les bébés sont des extra-terrestres égarés." To paraphrase Kalil Gibran, children choose their parents, rather than the opposite. Celia certainly has her share of gravitas, and appears to have chosen carefully.

I have decided that I will be Uncle Fun, in an ongoing though unfair tradition of relatives or godparents enjoying childrens' favours, without the responsibilities. I wonder what Kalil Gibran would have to say about that.

In any case, I am sure that sooner or hopefully later I will be called upon to indulge Celia's gravitas - I'll take her to les Bains Douches.

Tontonhood brings about new discoveries, such as the cut-throat world of commercial websites specialising in baby products. What other market can boast such a constant supply of new, irrational, neophyte customers, for whom money is no object?

The Café Society

When I tell people that I live and work in Paris, they sometimes imagine that I lead a worldly existence, going from café to art gallery opening, and from 3-star restaurant to private club. The truth in the City of Light is somewhat different.

This is the view from my office window, today at 2 PM CET. The périphérique is backed-up, the sky is grey, and there's so much smog that you can't distinguish the Eiffel tower. You will note, however, that there is not a burning car to be seen, nor any gangs of marauding vandals. (Note to myself: develop pontificating post on the role of mass-media in aggravating racial tensions.)

Now that you feel sorry for me I'll go back to reading Le Monde, savouring foie gras, and sipping Chateau Yquem. I've given up MacDo for Advent.

Hotel Rooms - Part 1

In my line of work, I travel a lot, which is a mixed blessing, and stay in a wide range of hotels, from a zero-star Spanish Hostal, to a five-star Asian palace. I make a point of taking a photograph of almost every room (I recently learned that Stones drummer Charlie Watts does a sketch of every hotel room he stays in, though I suspect the variety is narrower in his case) with a view to publishing a hotel room page on my still imminent home page.

For the time being, the blog will have to do.

This picture was taken in the Palm Beach Hotel (Florida) last January.

Dad's 80th Birthday

Today is my father's 80th birthday. He doesn't look his age, does he?

He was born on a small island in the Indian Ocean, Mauritius, and since then has married an English Rose (my mother,) taught and conducted research (Classics) on several continents, raised two children and now crosses the Atlantic several times a year.

This is clearly a synopsis of a synopsis of his accomplishments.

Needless to say, I'm quite proud of him.