Max is 16

We celebrated Maxime's 16th birthday with Max-like discretion and frugality: two games of bowling followed by Indian take-away.

Following Mathilde's example, Max and Emma were keen to achieve the lowest scores possible, thus preserving the pins from trauma.

Celia - Part 6 - Happy Xmas

The French like to call it the "Merchants' Holiday" but Celia, age 16 months, does not entirely agree with that assessment.

Emma's 14th Birthday

The future pj harvey, having now decided to be the next Annie Fratellini, conjured up two birthday parties this weekend, one for her pals of the 3rd and 15th arrondissements, and one for family and old and young fogies.

Emma was as gracious as always, and a splendid time was had by all.

More evidence here.

Speaking of Annie Fratellini, in January we'll be going with Emma to see the Grand Céleste.

Hotel Rooms - Part 9 - The Hammersmith Novotel

Had intended to sleep there for three nights. However, thanks to Golden Girl's zealous efforts on behalf of esteemed Chinese client, managed also to work there for two days.

Cuisine and staff are 'international' and mangle diverse cultures with equal proficiency. Rooms are soulless. It's a Novotel.

Many rooms enjoy unobstructed view of London Ark.

Encounters with Musician's Fiend, FedEx and Canada Customs

Early in November I was summoned to Chicago for an impromptu meeting. Though all my stolen guitars had been replaced by then, I succumbed to an attack of GAS (Guitar Acquisition Syndrome.) Having briefly toyed with the idea of buying something from the Dark Side (i.e. a Gibson Les Paul) I settled on a Rickenbacker 330.

Now Rickenbackers, aside from being one of the world's most photogenic strain of guitars, are also one of the most esoteric. They are still handmade in California, feature two trussrods (instead of one) inside a baseball bat-like neck, as well as a small cavity which may be responsible for their jangly sound. The Beatles used Rickenbackers for their early hits (I Feel Fine, Hard Day's Night...) and, more recently, Peter Buck of REM uses Rickenbackers almost exclusively on stage.

So I placed my order with Musician's Fiend (MF) ten days ahead of my trip. Eight days before, they confirmed my order, and gave me a FedEx tracking number with 2-5 day delivery guaranteed... A week later, the guitar had still not arrived, and I was not planning to stay in the States for more than a couple of days. MF then offered to send out a second Ric 330 with free overnight delivery. Two days later, I left Boston for Ottawa in the Great White North and neither guitar had shown up.

Once in Canada, I carefully studied the options available for shipping a guitar overnight from Boston to Ottawa and dove into the on-line paperwork: customs declaration, commercial invoice, certificate of origin...I'm glad that NAFTA serves a purpose.

The day before I was scheduled to leave Ottawa to fly back to France, our friendly Boston office manager shipped the first guitar to arrive, via Fedex, overnight to Ottawa, guaranteed delivery by noon, which was fortuitous, as I was scheduled to leave Ottawa at 2 PM with the Air France bus.

That morning, FedEx rang me to announce that my package had arrived, was clearing customs and would be delivered shortly. At noon the guitar still hadn't arrived. So my parents and I drove out to the FedEx facility, where we were informed that the guitar had been impounded by Canada Customs. I went over to see the Customs officer, built like a lumberjack, who informed that that was an awfully pretty guitar. I could only agree. He thought the declared value was understated, and I had to show him my original invoice, which I had fortunately kept. When he learnt that I was leaving for France that afternoon, he graciously offered to waive all duties, and sprang the Ric free.

The next morning at CDG, the French customs officers barely glanced at me.

The Café Society - Part 7 - Miscue in Paris

Having grown up in the Middle Empire, before moving to Australia, this was my pal Ms Q's first trip to Europe. It's not the most flattering picture of her, for which I apologise, but I like the juxtaposition. (Dan Brown, eat your heart out.)
Taking visitors around Paris is always a treat, as one rediscovers the city through their eyes. Touring with Ms Q was was almost hallucinatory...and likely more cost-effective than LSD.

The '72 Custom

The Telecaster was Leo Fender’s original electric guitar, designed for ease of production, maintenance and repair. From its original launch in 1951, its simple design survived nearly unchanged for 20 years. In what most guitarists view as Fender’s dark ages, the ‘seventies, when CBS owned the company, they did attempt to innovate, almost as if to compensate for the less than consistently good workmanship that characterised the era. The best-known innovation from that period was the 1972 Telecaster Custom, viewed by some as a work of genius, and by others as a mongrel.
The ’72 Custom was probably the closest thing ever to a Fender-Gibson hybrid (with the possible exception of the now-forgotten Gibson Marauder.) Gibson-like features included a front humbucker pickup, and individual volume and tone controls for each pickup. It was the only Telecaster to feature Fender’s controversial three-bolt neck assembly and micro-tilt mechanism.

In its day, the ’72 Custom was poorly received by most Telecaster aficionados, possibly because it was such a radical departure from Leo Fender’s original design, and more probably due to the poor quality image enjoyed by Fender under CBS management. One well known guitarist did make the Custom his primary go-to guitar for a while, not surprisingly, given his propensity for replacing Telecaster single-coil neck pickups with humbuckers, and that was Keef Richards.

In the late ‘80s Fender Japan began re-issuing the ’72 Custom, followed in the late ‘90s by Fender Mexico. The ’72 has become an Indie band icon; Thom Yorke uses one as his main guitar on the rare occasions that Radiohead gigs. Ironically, the Reissues are generally much better made than the originals ever were, and in fact many more Reissues have been crafted than original ’72 Customs.

I have a soft spot for my Custom. When the house was burgled this past summer, it was the only guitar to escape, as it was still on vacation in Brittany. Three days later at the Stade de France, Keef launched the Stones’ show with Jumping Jack Flash, playing his original black ’72 Custom. An omen, or what?

The Café Society - Part 6 - Coming Soon, to a Mall Near You

On a lunchtime stroll recently, along rue de la Verrerie, I came across a new shop, strategically located at the border of the trendoid Halles area where I work and the very gay Marais.

The boutique had a rather chic look to it, and in fact at first glance I thought I was looking at a new Geox outlet, until I saw the prices, and the curious logo on the storefront, and on all the
labels. Geox now manufactures its famous Respira soles in China, but this was clearly an all Chinese brand, with China-like prices, and a personality cult to boot.

So I wandered in, and found a dazzling array of pretty fashionable shoes, nicely stitched, in cool colours.The two shop assistants, who barely spoke French, or English, explained that the shop had been open for two weeks, and was the first of many. I bought the urban strollers, for all of €38.

We'll be buying the rope next.

Happy Birthday Mum!

Today is my mother’s 47th birthday, or something like that. As my friend Michel Trébitsch said more than once, “Despite her gentle manner, your mother is the rock on which your family rests.”

In many ways, Michel was quite correct. In the unspoken division of labour that characterises most couples, my mother has kept the enterprise’s feet on the ground. When De Gaulle said that “l’intendance suivra,” he was no doubt referring to my mother. She has successfully and loyally shepherded many of my father’s visions to reality, such as the Big Move last year. She has been a Soccer Mom before the term existed, tennis instructor, or Chief Purchasing Officer of model aircraft.

Happy Birthday, Mummy!

Celia - Part 5 - Now we are 53...

MVI_0011

...weeks old. Celia has learned new ways to entertain her Cousin Roseline, come all the way from her birthplace, Mauritius, and her Auntie SylVie, straight from Scandinavia via Normandy.

The proud parents are still learning the word "No."

La Hacquinière - Part 13 - The New Alain Prost

Robin came by this morning with Claire, and honoured us with his first drive outside Paris.

I trust he shiftedd out of First Gear on the highway.

La Hacquinière - Part 12 - The Sheep Look Up

The shadows are growing longer, and the sheep getting fatter. They didn't go back to school and neither did I. Our paths will keep on crossing all winter long.

I once took a colleague home with his luggage along this footpath, forgetting that it was less than ideal for his rollerbag. I don't know whether he's forgiven me yet. The sheep certainly found it very funny.

La Hacquinière - Part 11 - Z3025591 & Z4029215

Fender US Special Telecaster N° Z3025591 & Fender American Series Stratocaster N° Z4029215 have left the building…unfortunately in the hands of burglars, late July. The Tele is three-tone sunburst, with a black pickguard (which replaced the white pickguard in the picture) and a rosewood fretboard. The Strat looks like Eric Clapton’s Blackie, with a black body, a white pickguard and a maple fretboard.

I had come back from vacation a couple of days before and had gone to work for the day. When I got home, the garage door was suspiciously ajar, and the bedroom windows wide open. I found that the thieves had attempted to hack the front door open using my axe (no more tools will be left in the wood shed) and had resorted to jimmying open a window using a screwdriver of mine (I repeat: no more tools will be left out.)

Fortunately, I’d taken the Alfa to the station that day, because the spare key disappeared, and the 156 was no doubt the reason the thieves partially forced open the garage door. Equally fortunately, the ’72 Custom Telecaster was still in Brittany and, in their haste, the thieves overlooked the Gibson Flying V. Indeed, the thieves were in such a rush that they took the guitars without their cases.

Since then, I’ve done the inventory and, given the photographic documentation and sales slips, most items stolen will be replaced by the insurers. There’s now a remote surveillance system in place, as well as motion-detecting floodlights in the garden. I’ve been restrained from installing landmines, out of deference towards the local wildlife.

So, if you come across Fender Telecaster N° Z3025591 or Fender Stratocaster N° Z4029215, my insurers and local gendarmes would love to hear from you.

The Café Society - Part 5 - The Limits of Camera Phones

The gentlemen in the centre of the picture bearing a Gibson ES-335 (trust me, that's what he always plays for "It's Only Rock 'n Roll") is Keef Richards. The gentleman on the left, with the purple shirt, is Sir Mick, July 28th, at the Stade de France. The manufacturers of cameraphones have much to answer for.

By the way, if you must attend stadium concerts, I wholeheartedly recommend the cheap tickets standing in front of the stage. You might actually see something.

The Café Society - Part 4 - Captain Mercier

Emma’s first jazz club experience at Le Baiser Salé, on jazz club row, rue des Lombards, near our new offices. She had been to arena shows, and has seen what it’s like to share Eric Clapton with 15 000 other fans and corporate guests. This was a much more intimate experience: 50 spectators and a 10-piece band.

Captain Mercier are made up of session musicians, studio sharks, who do about 20 gigs a year, more for fun than anything else. Their brand of funk sounds something like Bootsy Collins and Parliament. However 9 out of ten of them are white, and they are tight… Having discoverd them by accident, SylVie and I have now attended a half-dozen concerts, including the DVD recording.

Anyhow, Emma got to see them up close (having seen their DVD at home) talk to one of the two lead singers (the younger, good-looking one) and tell the bassist how much she enjoyed the soundtrack to Cabaret Paradis. If only it hadn’t been a school night...

The Café Society - Part 3 - Council Housing

The Kids (Emma, Max & Robin) live in a council flat in the 15th District. Now Council Housing may conjure up images of squalor, abject poverty and rampant violence; unfortunately these images are often not far removed from the truth. However, thanks to Claire's determined lobbying efforts, the council flat in question is a penthouse on the 8th floor with an unobstructed view of an oversized model of the Crystal Palace radio tower.

The 8th floor terrace has already been the setting for several parties, sleepovers, or dinners. It is also the home of Claire's urban garden, where various herbs, flowers, fruit and vegetables provide proof that the Parisian remains a farmer at heart. Finally, the boys' intimidating looking telescope also takes root on the terrace, enabling lunar exploration.

I understand that the telescope could also be used for Parisian bedroom exploration.

The Café Society - Part 2 - The Great Leap Forward

After nearly nine years in Gentilly, it was time for a change. Gentilly had been, at the time we moved there, quite a step up from our warehouse in the infamous "9-3." Here, we finally had real offices, with an elevator, a real phone exchange and ready access to the RER 'B' line. Within one week of moving in, we had enjoyed two burglaries.

With the installation of armoured doors, entry badges, and an alarm system, we did eventually get the burglary average down to one per year, but nothing we did was going to improve the local catering, nor would it make the juvenile delinquents hanging out at the tube station any less delinquent.

So, after a six month search, and two lease extensions, we decided to move to the heart of Paris, rue Pierre Lescot, in the First District. With the exodus to the suburbs, rents are now barely more than in Gentilly, there's the Movable Feast at the door, and the assorted Goths, Fashion Victims and Web Geeks wandering around downstairs don't look too threatening.



Added bonus, our Gentilly furniture looks better on hardwood.

La Hacquinière - Part 10 - Fun with the White Pages

Ever since the French White Pages went online (or, to be exact, on the internet, since they've been online on Minitel teletext for over two decades) they've enhanced their Paris directory listings with pictures of buildings. This has proven to be very useful when venturing to an unknown location, for instance when a Real Estate Agent has omitted to mention the sexshop on the ground floor.

In the interest of Universal Access, the White Pages now feature aerial pictures of all of France - presumably it would have been prohibitively expensive to take terrestrial photos of every building in the country, though it would have made for an interesting twist on the Domesday Book. However, the White Pages being French, they have not used the same bank as Google Earth, with mixed results.

In the picture above, La Hacquinière (longitude and lattitude hidden to preserve from Cruise Missile attacks) is correctly situated by the red circle, but the summer leaves make it difficult to see much on the ground. Score One for Google.
In the photo below, of my parents' Brittany home, the picture is much sharper than Google Earth's. Unfortunately, the red circle is nearly 200 yards too far north, and has my parents enjoying holidays at the Antony Colonie de Vacances.

And they say the Soviets published incorrect maps.

40th Anniversary of the start of the Cultural Revolution

More evidence that the bad guys often choose the coolest words.

Hotel Rooms - Part 8- Great Expectations

Descriptions of Hobart Hall Hotel, in Richmond, Surrey, range from a charitable “quaint” to a more brutally honest “grotty.” I stay there occasionally, in part because it’s convenient, in part because it’s cheap, and in part because of the place’s eccentricity. I have never seen hotel management, though the two students who take turns manning reception (presumably in return for room and board) are pleasant enough. The hotel is classified as “Three Star” though certainly not on the basis of the general upkeep (leaky roof, worn furniture, dodgy television…) I feel genuine sympathy for those who book looking for Olde Worlde Charme.

What I do like about Hobart Hall is its sense of grandiose anachronism or even decay; old copies of Horse & Hound or The Telegraph litter the smoking room. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the hotel is on the banks of the Thames, nor do I object to the unadvertised free WiFi (unfortunately with all useful SMTP ports blocked.) Pete Townsend, Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall all live literally around the corner, in three separate houses.


On my most recent visit this week I was ‘upgraded’ to the Honeymoon Suite, complete with four-poster bed and enormous bathtub (not to mention the noisy space heater and the leaky toilet.)

Miss Havisham would have felt at home.

La Hacquinière - Part 9 - Comet Watching

The Schwassmann-Wachman comet (or what's left of it, as it's fragmented into 40 pieces) was due within sight this weekend so the Kids made the trek from the city to observe, free of ambient light. There's rarely any ambient light here at night, but the comet was nowhere to be seen, as it's been raining all weekend.
Still, between card games and pyrotechnics, a splendid time was had by all. They're still sleeping.

Celia - Part 4

Celia, age 8 months and a few more days, admiring the red Alfa about to carry away her favourite baby-sitter, Sandrine, from Chemin des Passiflores.

Celia - Part 3

Celia, age 8 months and a few days, shortly before her bedtime yesterday. We made the mistake of arriving with Sandrine just before Celia was taken to bed by her mother. Celia, ever-sociable, was delighted to see us and, from the confines of her cot, expressed her pleasure for the next half hour.

My helpful suggestion to calm her by shutting off the babyphone went unheeded.

La Hacquinière - Part 8 - Card Sharks & Axe Girl

On Sunday, the living room was temporarily transformed into a den of card sharks as Max, Robin & Sandrine shuffled the decks. The boys will return next Saturday, with telescope (assuming Max dares fetch it from TonTon Moustache,) to hail the passing comet.

There are, they concede, advantages to living outside Paris.

The teen guitar heroine decided that she could deign to play on a Telecaster (she's a diehard Strat Girl) and demonstrated the quietest technique through a 50 Watt Valve Marshall. She also displayed great persuasiveness, as I am now committed to joining her for a parachute jump.

Fortunately, Emma won't be parachute-legal for another five years.

La Hacquinière - Part 7 - We have a New Maid...

NOT!

Sandrine, fed up with her hostel (a French version of the YWCA, but with somewhat deceptive advertising,) moved to La Hacquinière this Saturday. It is remarkable how much clothing and paraphanelia a university student can accumulate, as it took 5 hours for SylVie and Sandrine to pack everything and maneuvre it into a Fiat Panda, which was packed to the gills.

Since Saturday, the washing machine has been working overtime, preparing two months worth of ironing for Sandrine to do.

I'll have to find someone else to do my shirts.

Stochastic Processes

Entropy is a fascinating topic, which is central to much of Thomas Pynchon's oeuvre, including V. and Gravity's Rainbow. (Short Primer: Thomas Pynchon, whose photograph has rarely been published, and who has occasionally been confused with JD Salinger, studied engineering physics at Cornell University, where he also attended a course in Englist literature given by a certain Vladimir Nabokov.)

Stochastic processes are also central to digital communications network planning, in particular packet radio networks, or even fixed packet networks, such as the internet, or its ancestor, Darpanet, whose vagaries used to enchant me as an engineering student.

It was thus with a wry smile that I greeted my Middle Empire Mata Hari's news that her internet randomness had collided with someone else's, as well as mine. Every few months I get an E-Mail from someone taking the internet's apparent ability to bridge time and space a little too literally. I myself wrote to an erstwhile friend a few months ago, whose initial response was "How did you find me?" Notwithstanding the facts that a) it had taken all of a dozen keystrokes on Google and b) I had found her very nice indeed, she did adroitly cast me as Bill at the Wedding. However, I don't think I'm the Man, though I may be mutating into more of a neuromantic.

Entropy is also very useful for conspiracy theorists. Thomas Pynchon enjoys the same reclusive lifestyle as did Greta Garbo, and they have never been photographed together. Furthermore, one of Greta Garbo's most famous roles was that of Mata Hari...

What was Garbo's most enduring quote?

La Hacquinière - Part 6 - La Frileuse

La Frileuse is the tiny stream that (sometimes) runs in front of the house. (Good Feng Shui.) Indeed, l'avenue de la Hacquinière used to be called l'avenue du Ravin de la Frileuse. According to my trusty Robert & Collins, "frileux/se" means "sensitive to the cold" -- another rare example of English being less concise than French.

There were torrential rains for the last couple of days; so torrential, indeed, that la Frileuse awoke from its torpor and almost drowned out the sound of the birds singing as I cleaned the garage.

Now, if I could get dailymotion.com to accept video shot in portrait format...

Airports - Part 1 - Not Leaving

“So many destination faces going to so many places
Where the weather is much better
And the booze is so much cheaper.
Well I help her with her baggage - for her baggage is so heavy -
I hear the plane is ready, by the gateway, to take my love away.
Airport – you’ve got a pretty face,
Airport - you've got a smiling face,
you took the one I love so far away.”

- '70s marvels The Motors

Unlike most people I know, I enjoy going to the airport and not catching a flight. This is possibly what the French would call a "déformation professionnelle." In any case, I enjoy the artificial calmness and the suppressed excitement, the sense that one is at the crossroads of thousands of destinies and, more terrestrially, the women in sharp uniforms. This is represented perfectly in Brian Eno's Music for Airports (must remember to rip this from vinyl.)

On a recent winter morning, due to "Industrial Action" (the French language enjoys the equally oxymoronic "Movement Social") my easyjet flight to Geneva was cancelled. Notwithstanding the fact that I'd risen at 5 AM to get to the airport, I did enjoy my hot chocolate whilst admiring aircraft weaving through the fog on the tarmac.

If you're at Orly Sud, take the escalator leading towards the chapel/mosque/synagogue, and go up one more level. There's a quiet, reasonably-priced café there, with an unspoilt view onto the tarmac.

Celia - Part 2

By popular request, a fairly recent picture of my niece Celia, at approximately six months.

Aside from her sunny disposition, Celia has no fear of heights, and indeed has a healthy liking for Tonton's shoulder, from whence she can survey the environs.

Tonton also enjoys her being on his shoulder, as the likelihood of being drooled upon is greatly reduced.

La Hacquinière - Part 5 - Easter

I confess: I am spending the weekend with an attractive 18 year-old psychology student from Mauritius. The energy level is rejuvenating, the looks we attract in public ego-boosting.

My cousin Sandrine did entice me to make two vain attempts to go to Easter Mass. The first attempt involved the In Excelsis Catholic Youth site, which told us that there was a Saturday service in the XIth century church at Gometz-le-Chatel, one kilometre away across the fields. This church is rarely open and, as we discovered yesterday, remains closed on Easter weekends. I shall not bookmark In Excelsis. The second attempt was this morning at Limours -- we turned up at 11:00 sharp, to find the church literally overflowing. All was not lost, as Sunday is market day: free Easter eggs on the stalls, and four different lettuces for all of € 2.50.

So now we're back at La Hacq, Sandrine hard at work on MSN and Skype, whilst I deal with Israeli clients, Indian music videos in the background. Tonight is Board Game Night, and the tension and excitement are rising...

Youth is wasted on the young, but the path to youth takes a whole life.

La Hacquinière - Part 4 - Public Service Announcement

I recently noted a grave omission in a Paris area listing of open WiFi access points.

This site claims that there are no open hotspots at La Hacquinière, which is patently untrue, as Grand Céleste is wide open on Channel 2, though it doesn't quite reach the street, meaning you'll have to climb into the woods to log on.

The neighbours' Wanadoo access point does reach the street, however, and if you ask nicely I'll give you their silly WEP code I cracked.

This is clearly another blatant example of Parisians' inability to see anything beyond the périphérique.

(What did you expect, a picture of a base station?)

La Hacquinière - Part 3 - Go West Young Man

Our family home in Ottawa featured a raspberry jungle along the west side of the house, obscuring my bedroom window, but certainly protecting me from burglars and other delinquents. The canes yielded some 30 or 40 pounds of raspberries every summer, or so I believe, as in latter years none of us was ever there during the summer to enjoy them.

When I first bought La Hacquinière, my parents were kind enough to smuggle over some Maple saplings, which I planted at the back of the property, and which the native oak trees appear to be tolerating.

With my parents’ impending sale of the Ottawa house it became urgent to indulge in some more infringement of various farm and wildlife laws. At great personal risk, my parents, on two separate occasions, smuggled in raspberry canes which, planted at the back of the property (where we plant anything we don’t want the Gendarmes to see) appear to have withered to naught.


When the big move finally occurred last summer, my father entrusted me with four last canes, which I carefully packed in one of the steamer trunks with which we had crossed the Atlantic forty years ago. Back at la Hacq, I carefully planted the canes on the west side of the house, and watched the leaves crumble with the autumn. Three days ago, with new leaves sprouting, it appeared that the raspberry canes had survived their travails.

Perhaps there is still hope for my bonsai bear.

Hotel Rooms - Part 7

The Beijing Park View Crown Palace Hotel enjoys a delightful view onto a motorway intersection, but nevertheless it’s a superb hotel, particularly as my pal Ms Q got me in for € 50 a night, simultaneously fulfilling my lifelong ambition of one day working for Big Blue.

A minor drawback is the distance from the city centre (Beijing is BIG) but that’s more than offset by the low taxi fares and the quick trip to the airport.

Hotel Rooms - Part 6

The Mandarin Hotel in gentle Xiamen is one of the few 5-star hotels where one can not only open the windows, but one can sleep with them open, as just about the only sound one will hear is the birds singing. The hotel consists of several buildings and villas set in a park and was a delicate entry to China.

It’s not necessarily for everyone, particularly burger lovers, and has a very Asian charm, including obsequious staff who are forever volunteering help – even when one simply wishes to be left alone – and who visit one’s room ten times a day to perform various and sundry services, from polishing shoes, to turning down the bed (and repeatedly shutting the windows that one has deliberately left open...)


The staff must have memory training, for when I returned to the Mandarin three weeks after my first visit, they all jumped up to greet me by name.

Stardom is fleeting.

Hotel Rooms - Part 5

The Hôtel du Sénéchal in Ars-en-Ré, on Ré Island on the Atlantic coast, must be one of the world’s most expensive 2-star hotels.

This is not completely due to the island’s inflated real estate prices, which have made potato farmers paper millionaires, but more to the architect-owners’ less-is-more philosophy. The rooms have no TV, but should one wish to have one, they’re available for the princely sum of 1 Euro per day. The Sénéchal is a cozy sheep in a lean wolf's clothing.

There is no advertising for pay-as-you-go internet access cluttering the rooms, but rather free WiFi, as well as a big white eMac in one of the hotel’s drawing rooms. Indeed, when they renovated the hotel, the owners appear to have placed an emphasis on having many sublimely peaceful common areas. The bedrooms are not much bigger than the admittedly spacious bathrooms, discouraging recluses from staying confined.

Bedrooms are for sleeping.

Hotel Rooms - Part 4

Last week, several nights at the MacDonald Parkside Hotel, in Woughton-on-the-Green, an enclave within Milton-Keynes, "Britain's fastest growing city." Milton-Keynes would also win hands-down in the "most roundabouts per capita," or "best facsimile of the American suburb" categories. Woughton-on-the-Green, however, has mysteriously survived MK town planning, and is a lovely village with un-MK-like character.

The hotel is also quite full of character, including maids who don't understand "Do Not Disturb" signs. Now, when I was a child, my mother had for a short period a cleaning lady called "Anna." I deeply resented having to pick up my toys prior to Anna's weekly visit. This seemed to defeat the whole purpose of employing a cleaning lady. Nevertheless, this early childhood training has stood me (and various maids and cleaning ladies) in good stead, as I usually make a point of doing a touch of 'pre-cleaning.' In hotels, I do this after breakfast, during which I hang a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door, to stave away over-zealous early-rising domestic engineers. At the Parkside Hotel this tactic was applied in vain, as I returned from Sunday morning breakfast to find a Hong Kong native scrubbing away at the bathroom sink. "I clean room" was her tautological justification for having broken the "Do Not Disturb" rule.

Otherwise, Woughton-on-the-Green is a very foggy place, as this pic from my morning jog can testify. Can you see the sheep?

The Double-Gyp

In the secular/pagan Republic of France (where this picture was not taken) few people send Season's Greetings, Happy Xmas or Merry Hanukah cards during the month of December. Instead, they have the entire month of January to trade wishes for a healthy, happy, prosperous new year. (Can you see where this is going?)

Now, apart from having been more than quiet on this blog for the past month (trust me, I've been busy: someone has to read other people's blogs) I've also been somewhat remiss in my new year's greetings. (Isn't this a great way to kill two birds with one stone?)

So, without further ado, I profer my best wishes for 2006 to all those I've so far neglected, including Didier, Aline, Edith & Robert & Ugo, Dominique & Bernadette, Cathie, John & Claudia & kids, Jackie, the Telecaster Cult, Fabienne, Pierrette & Chri, Yoshi, the André's, Albeeeeeeerrrrrt Loupe, Mme Billoire, Steve, John, the family in South Africa, polly-jean harvey, the family in Australia, Jean & Nicholas, Niamh, Fabrice & Cocolle, Mr & Mrs Moustache, Arnaud, my godfather Charles, Marie-Do, Emilie & Anaïs, Jean-Pierre & Betty, Francis, Fabio, Cécile, Mai, Michèle, Grant, the family in Mauritius, Lucciana & Heinz, Amélie, Constanze & Leonie, Tiziana & Luca, Bernard,the family in England, Ian, Julien & Reynald, Miriam, Robert & Myriam...and, because this list has to end somewhere, the Van de Maële's!