tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43835031201449652832024-03-19T06:10:26.375-07:00Ma vie ParisienneI'm always travelling, I love being free,
and so I keep leaving the sun and the sea,
but my heart lies waiting over the foam,
I still call Australia home.
All the intricacies of my favourite home away from home...
ParisSamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-13861720332739311982008-12-02T11:17:00.000-08:002008-12-02T11:47:06.908-08:00A Happy Union<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0S4RTS2vt9VMW3fiiSKFErlKD29NttNiDK3t7u4kmfuwMD232IjhQ83IOQtvLXwLRBZJ86h1ZaNXN18PkHZ9uJXOqkpyQhxqdu-LA308aYCDkMaDDm_4WqVcZoCkxEG4Qpj3d7zoExme5/s1600-h/croatia,+stockholm+and+paris+010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0S4RTS2vt9VMW3fiiSKFErlKD29NttNiDK3t7u4kmfuwMD232IjhQ83IOQtvLXwLRBZJ86h1ZaNXN18PkHZ9uJXOqkpyQhxqdu-LA308aYCDkMaDDm_4WqVcZoCkxEG4Qpj3d7zoExme5/s320/croatia,+stockholm+and+paris+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275275461656393426" border="0" /></a><br />In the 19th arrondisement of Paris you will find none other than the 'vélo et chocolat' shop. For those non-French speakers, you can probably guess from the picture that this translates as 'bike and chocolate' shop. I don't know about you, but the first thing I think of when I want to rent a bicycle is 'I wish I had some chocolate to go with this bike'...And who said that the French were close-minded and unoriginal? Whilst I'm unsure of the financial success of this particular venture, I consider bikes and chocolate to be a happy union...<br /><br />A not so happy union involving bikes in Paris has come to my attention since the introduction of vélibs (city bikes). Back in July 2007, the mayor of Paris thought it would be a good idea to introduce a system of city bikes in Paris as an easy, cheap, healthy, and ecological means of getting around. I agree with him that this was a good idea, what was perhaps not so well thought out was where all of these bikes and bike riders would go? Paris streets are not the most spacious of places, and Parisian drivers are not exactly known for their consideration of others on the roads...Given a lack of bike lanes, someone had the ingenious idea of providing a safe place for cyclists to ride - the bus lane!!! That's right, in Paris the bike lane is in fact the bus lane and taxi lane - What safer place could there be to ride than alongside buses and taxi drivers? And people wonder why I haven't tried out a vélib yet...Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-49724132191273676182008-11-21T21:51:00.000-08:002008-11-23T22:47:38.792-08:00Be careful of the Bitch Switch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO4CcujYkI4diTX6H1yXeuhQY9uLXHLLt3T1_iNvMli5zJ9UQdqRIWmfCG8veRwL7hHfGWLcxLAcuTUMW-9enIGLSLG2JVzOnAN6-CkmuxLtiJiF80Brtr_SnOvoZL9VsVwliSZ_IUX2mC/s1600-h/bitch+switch.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 98px; height: 74px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO4CcujYkI4diTX6H1yXeuhQY9uLXHLLt3T1_iNvMli5zJ9UQdqRIWmfCG8veRwL7hHfGWLcxLAcuTUMW-9enIGLSLG2JVzOnAN6-CkmuxLtiJiF80Brtr_SnOvoZL9VsVwliSZ_IUX2mC/s320/bitch+switch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271367343637564194" border="0" /></a><br />The Bitch Switch is a mechanism that females living in France must possess. It is something which appears to be inbuilt amongst French women, inherited at birth from their French mothers. For us foreigners it is something that must be developed as early as possible to make everyday living in France more bearable.<br /><br />When I arrived in Paris I spent the first month of my life here being harassed by sleazy men. Walking in the streets, wandering around museums, sitting in parks, even sitting peacefully in Notre Dame, I was hit on time and time again by dodgy men. I hated Paris in the beginning. No matter where I went it appeared the concepts of personal space and minding one's own business were alien to these people. When I had really had enough of the unwanted attention and was considering returning home, my sister rightfully pointed out that there must be a method for dealing with this harassment and that I should watch how the French women behaved and tolerated these psychos.<br /><br />So I became an avid observer of French women and that is when I soon discovered an inbuilt Bitch Switch. When a French woman walks down the street she is confident and strong. She exudes an attitude which warns men and random psychos that they should not mess with her. If however, this confident attitude does not have the desired effects, and she is approached by a sleaze, psycho or stalker, she very quickly flicks the Bitch Switch. This switch is slightly different for every woman, but appears to have 4 main functions. The ignore function, death stare function, cunning comeback function and threat function. Depending on the level of psycho that presents himself before her, the woman can choose which function of the switch she needs to activate. Does this sleaze need to be ignored? Looked at with utter disdain? Put in his place with a feisty line? Or actually threatened?<br /><br />Identifying that this switch existed and learning how to use its functions was an incredibly important process and it has totally changed my everyday life in Paris. First of all I'm approached much less frequently by pscyhos to begin with - this however was not a result of the Bitch Switch, but rather started when I lost my 'tourist eyes'. Tourist eyes are those easily identifiable eyes which flutter about gazing at everything in awe and becoming slightly unfocused due to overloads of beauty. The eyes of someone new to a city, soaking in everything and becoming familiar with their surroundings. The weirdos in Paris can spot tourist eyes a mile away - they see their target and they begin their assault, so you'd be wise to either feign apathy or invest in a pair of sunglasses. When this is not enough and you are approached by an unwanted sleaze, it's now time to turn to the Bitch Switch. I have found it to be incredibly effective - my personal option is to begin with the ignore function and then use the successive functions in order if need be. Generally I find that the ignore function works quite well, although I have definitely had to use a death stare and cunning comeback in my time. So far I'm proud to report that I haven't resorted to threats.<br /><br />I strongly advise anyone traveling in or moving to Paris to become familiar with their own Bitch Switch and decide which of the functions work best for them. However, I need to be clear that there are certain malfunctions to this switch and that it should be used with caution. I came across a particular malfunction not long after I had moved into my new apartment. Living in a new area had caused me to be on high Bitch Switch alert - after all a new area means a terrible combination - new psychos that you are not familiar with, accompanied by those dreaded tourist eyes. When your Switch is on high alert, you sense sleazes approaching from a long way off and you prepare yourself for activation. This is why one normal Thursday night, while I was buying some groceries in what would become my local supermarket, I almost misused the switch. I could sense a man was walking behind me and following me in the shop, I activated the ignore function but he continued to follow me. Then he made his move, coming closer I heard a man almost whisper 'hello' in my ear. I continued to use the ignore function, however it was of no use, the man wouldn't leave. Becoming more frustrated that I had looked so much like a tourist that he had said hello and identified me as an English speaker before I'd even spoken, I whipped around to activate the death stare function, only to be confronted by my lovely new landlord looking back at me. I quickly tried to turn my death stare into a pleasant smile, not an easy task under pressure and I must admit he looked confused.<br /><br />Having narrowly escaped an embarrassing situation - ignoring and sending out a death stare to a perfectly lovely man whose nice apartment I was renting, I vowed that I would issue a warning to fellow women living in France. Be careful of the Bitch Switch - embrace its functions but apply them with caution.Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-14502576590993567062008-08-02T16:31:00.000-07:002008-08-08T19:55:30.061-07:00Parisian Parks<div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieRhyphenhyphen2sn0RTkd20Xe-SDJruQQjecoq8ka8jz-BRPr7w4GeLSh57Eh0qIyOb1lxLOECVRnUh60wdpx_65zd2NLuI6k0ScimSyliBevCSu-le3NGW6XkmQsL-i8MvQAz9HeY2QznxAh4fQsZ/s1600-h/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+006.jpg"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ></span></a>One of my favourite things to do in Paris is to admire the parks. Whilst a glance through any guide book will give you a rather substantial list of parks to explore - the Jardin des Tuileries, Jardin du Luxembourg, Parc Monceau, Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, Jardin des Plantes to name just a few, there is one thing that these guide books forget to mention - the really interesting parks - those that people perform with their cars.<br /><br />That's right - parking in Paris is somewhat of an art form (or perhaps chaotic mess would be more accurate) and it never ceases to amaze me to see the creativity engaged in by Parisians in order to fit their vehicle into a space that is significantly smaller than that of their car.</div><div> </div><br /><div>I remember vividly whilst holidaying in Paris in 2005 the shock I experienced as a passenger in a car being parked by a Parisian. As we slowed down next to a tiny space on the curb I was totally unaware that the driver was about to attempt a reverse park in this 'space'. As we reverse parked I remember being so worried that we were going to hit the cars behind and in front of us. As I heard a loud bang and then another, I realised that this was exactly what was happening. In my state of shock I let out a gasp to which the driver reassured me that in fact hitting other peoples' cars in Paris was completely normal, that it wasn't a problem, and that Parisians actually factor this in to their parking and leave their handbrake released so that their car moves slightly backwards or forwards when bumped and therefore doesn't incur as much damage from the offending vehicle. Lesson number one for a foreigner - leave handbrake released when parked in Paris...<br /><br />For those of you not lucky enough to have witnessed these Parisian parks, I have included some photographic evidence for you to peruse. I would also like to point out that all of these photos were taken randomly on one particular night in my street in the 12th arrondisement - so this is just one night and one street!<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieRhyphenhyphen2sn0RTkd20Xe-SDJruQQjecoq8ka8jz-BRPr7w4GeLSh57Eh0qIyOb1lxLOECVRnUh60wdpx_65zd2NLuI6k0ScimSyliBevCSu-le3NGW6XkmQsL-i8MvQAz9HeY2QznxAh4fQsZ/s1600-h/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230088024022640434" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieRhyphenhyphen2sn0RTkd20Xe-SDJruQQjecoq8ka8jz-BRPr7w4GeLSh57Eh0qIyOb1lxLOECVRnUh60wdpx_65zd2NLuI6k0ScimSyliBevCSu-le3NGW6XkmQsL-i8MvQAz9HeY2QznxAh4fQsZ/s320/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+006.jpg" border="0" /></a>Park #1 - The butt rub - ok butt sounds terribly American, but bum rub and backside rub just don't sound right...<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFgvc6dRYyttDHT4RaFVxDPNOMsf8gZ9HgJID0c4r0WCin2McDdZfzcp2oMHnQnudWVvLzaLKUlY5MQhhI8ROxxyk42BqsVrLVmzDMIhyphenhyphenWtnTBZjMp_8IYGD1uKPcaS0vRRqwKGjmYp9g/s1600-h/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230071904909526978" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFgvc6dRYyttDHT4RaFVxDPNOMsf8gZ9HgJID0c4r0WCin2McDdZfzcp2oMHnQnudWVvLzaLKUlY5MQhhI8ROxxyk42BqsVrLVmzDMIhyphenhyphenWtnTBZjMp_8IYGD1uKPcaS0vRRqwKGjmYp9g/s320/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+001.jpg" border="0" /></a>Park #2 - The nose rub<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEc2HiPNSKvMm68xuEnq9MI1Rqo_5ey2kZ6mhrYHzNA0wz6X7YUwYvmRDMC96sPCZkHiTs4z7w8rWANLs1yZY1KXjnFr9C57ljtvJqZH2VMVHLQDll6sbVcVf2CXppclaOGaDVYr0Cs3I/s1600-h/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230071917135825522" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEc2HiPNSKvMm68xuEnq9MI1Rqo_5ey2kZ6mhrYHzNA0wz6X7YUwYvmRDMC96sPCZkHiTs4z7w8rWANLs1yZY1KXjnFr9C57ljtvJqZH2VMVHLQDll6sbVcVf2CXppclaOGaDVYr0Cs3I/s320/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+003.jpg" border="0" /></a>Park #3 - Kiss on the lips!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHg6GD03fuEQrA4lI9nqHnUen09BDYAHgDoKopmS-8hth80O6a_LFIs1D3_1sfeDKgPV1MNw20zUp7aYCKuXvfSJcByoeXKMdNbh8VtGnhEDtIRGonX28OzTx7h4F2Yu2p3b2D3DHvBL8M/s1600-h/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230071919020398866" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHg6GD03fuEQrA4lI9nqHnUen09BDYAHgDoKopmS-8hth80O6a_LFIs1D3_1sfeDKgPV1MNw20zUp7aYCKuXvfSJcByoeXKMdNbh8VtGnhEDtIRGonX28OzTx7h4F2Yu2p3b2D3DHvBL8M/s320/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+005.jpg" border="0" /></a>Park #4 - Loving the curb<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSUiIacGlQxLQ2ES6E7fdzF8JQf0hKQmQFS5lBRt4AIFygCvxhbKMIaCSEyHQJTP3r1qLirfdjFxH4fHOha22nKyatk_kQEhGqAtqIam_NzZ92oRtXtCSqRYkNGuIyXFRxKD17QmR6Qu0Y/s1600-h/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+002.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230071922343006082" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSUiIacGlQxLQ2ES6E7fdzF8JQf0hKQmQFS5lBRt4AIFygCvxhbKMIaCSEyHQJTP3r1qLirfdjFxH4fHOha22nKyatk_kQEhGqAtqIam_NzZ92oRtXtCSqRYkNGuIyXFRxKD17QmR6Qu0Y/s320/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+002.jpg" border="0" /></a>Park #5 - Anything goes<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As you can see even the cars in the city of romance get in on the action, a nose rub here, kiss on the lips there....whoever said it was impossible to get a park in Paris just wasn't being creative enough.<br /></div></div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-67766123937592408332008-07-26T09:12:00.002-07:002008-07-30T17:42:27.917-07:00Parisian Logic<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzmghyphenhyphenfkCQJ0l7oxNdzp36Eqc_BVpUyRk4sFdBX4qJcA2KBnwnpG160SjW6E8MEDekBBZ5FU2EZoqSFsStAjbRC_gmSNzALkRceYjXrncwB-nZdLgn9U-8KxYzPo1TTrO9wpJKiHVERVP/s1600-h/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+128.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227372862664433986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAzmghyphenhyphenfkCQJ0l7oxNdzp36Eqc_BVpUyRk4sFdBX4qJcA2KBnwnpG160SjW6E8MEDekBBZ5FU2EZoqSFsStAjbRC_gmSNzALkRceYjXrncwB-nZdLgn9U-8KxYzPo1TTrO9wpJKiHVERVP/s320/malmo,+portugal+and+paris+128.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Sometimes I get the distinct feeling that everything in Paris is done backwards. Whilst many would argue that I'm not the most logical person, I pride myself on the fact that at least I'm not as illogical as Parisians.<br /><br />To describe the hunt for an apartment in Paris as hell would be a massive understatement. Undoubtedly searching for an apartment in any city is a difficult process, but in Paris it seems like an additional layer of unnecessary administrative crap is thrown in to test your strength. Being a foreigner on top of this really is the icing on the cake. I guess Parisians feel their city is so good that if you really want to live in it you have to be able to prove to the French that you're strong enough to withstand the apartment searching torture.<br /><br />The first problem us non-millionaires come across is how to convince real estate agents or landlords that we earn enough money to pay the rent. This sounds like a relatively simple process, surely some recent payslips as proof of income would suffice? Unfortunately this is not even close to good enough for the French. They need a guarantor to be satisfied that when you can't pay the rent anymore, someone else will. Fair enough. This person however has to be someone who is French or has lived in France for a substantial period of time and earns a net salary that is 3 times the amount of your rent. If I were the daughter of Bill Gates this wouldn't be enough to secure an apartment in Paris. France doesn't want anything to do with some American computer nerd. My family in Australia certainly aren't up to the French standards and despite their more than adequate income, are of no use to me at all in this case. There is only one solution it would appear - find a French guarantor. Easier said than done. A mental search of all the French people I know brings up a list of people around my age who earn roughly the same, if not less, than I do and are therefore useless as guarantors. Those few friends of mine from work who do earn enough to cover my ass have been living in France for less than 2 years which means they do not have a copy of their French tax return - therefore useless again! Determined that there must be a way around this guarantor problem I decided to go to the HR department at work and ask them for help. They came up with some good advice - for young people or foreigners like myself the government has recently introduced a system called 'Locapass' which works on the principal that if I don't pay my rent, the state will, and then money will be deducted out of my pay at a significant rate of interest until I have paid back the government. I'm happy to use this system as a guarantor for me is a mere technicality since I will always be able to pay my rent. So, I fill out all the forms and sign my life away only to find out that real estate agents and landlords don't accept 'Locapass' because apparently it takes too long for the payments of rent to be made by the government. So the so-called help for foreigners is in fact not helpful at all because it is refused by everyone! Fortunately for me, after a long search I'm able to convince a friend of a friend of mine (who barely knows me) to agree that she will pay up to 6 years of my rent (totaling over 50 000 euros) should I not be able to.<br /><br />The problem of guarantor aside, here are the other issues one comes across when setting up a life for oneself in France. To be able to rent an apartment, you need to have a copy of a gas bill in your name, and yet to be able to have a gas bill in your name, you obviously have to have an apartment which said gas is connected to. To be able to rent an apartment in France you need to have a French tax return. To have a French tax return you need to have lived and worked in France for at least a year and a half. Where oh where you may have been living (given the fact an apartment is out of the question) for that first year and a half, is apparently not the French's problem - that's for you to figure out. To be able to purchase electrical appliances in France you need to have a gas bill (yes a gas bill to the French is like pure gold!). To have a gas bill you need to have lived in your apartment for 2 months. So apparently you are supposed to live in your apartment with no appliances (such as a fridge - hello a person needs to eat!) for the first 2 months. To be able to open a bank account in France, you need to have a gas bill (I'm not kidding!) and a permanent job. To have a permanent job and a gas bill in France, you need to have a bank account. Sound logical to you?<br /><br />As a fellow aussie Bryce Corbett puts it in his book 'A Town Like Paris', he believes that this whole process is actually;<br />'a canny immigration control mechanism - a hidden test of a person's intelligence, enterprise and cunning. If you aren't clever or conniving enough to work out how to wheedle you way<br />around the system to get a gas bill - if you can't work out the riddle - you have no business<br />being in France.'<br /><br />NB. The reason I have not blogged for almost 3 months now is due to another French riddle - apparently it takes the French no less than 2 and a half months to connect a phone line and the internet in one's apartment. After all, if you're lucky enough to have managed to get an apartment, it's a little too much to ask that you should also have contact with the outside world. Apparently instead of communicating with others you should be spending your time sitting in your apartment all day and contemplating just how lucky you are to be in Paris in the first place.Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-63472437885348632762008-04-29T08:53:00.000-07:002008-05-22T05:18:07.042-07:00Drugs anyone?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbyxPSyVRE0VLz4OLNxH6gE_agSWMUaD5GyvxfIzhN1aTYA2IbVs0PX6Iqa97ho-jm0isdb3f0gSz6LzuV_ZMRsCjg48PApmQqca75JObD74EhRkffYIoiXeUUhF-O-Nby8ncCAkIMV_CM/s1600-h/drugs.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194710837491715794" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbyxPSyVRE0VLz4OLNxH6gE_agSWMUaD5GyvxfIzhN1aTYA2IbVs0PX6Iqa97ho-jm0isdb3f0gSz6LzuV_ZMRsCjg48PApmQqca75JObD74EhRkffYIoiXeUUhF-O-Nby8ncCAkIMV_CM/s320/drugs.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Yesterday I was reminded yet again of why one should avoid going to the doctor in France if at all possible. After having gotten over my unpleasant experience of the 'visite medicale' which I have to go through every 6 months to prove that I am fit for work, I thought I would make an appointment with my local GP to see if she could do anything for my back ache or sleeping problems. I have been putting this off for a long time now, as I have had a bad back for months and have not been bothered to go to the doctor to get a referral to the physio so that I can get my back massaged and put back into its correct position. Now it is all too clear to me why I was putting this off in the first place.<br /><br />After waiting for almost an hour in the waiting room because the doctor was running late, I was then told I would be having an appointment with her assistant, who was apparently qualified for 'normal' consultations. Having only been to this doctor once before I had no real attachment to her, and so was quite happy to go with the assistant into another room and get it over and done with.<br />I told her that I had come for 2 reasons - the first being a problem that I was having with my back. I explained that I had pain in my back and muscle ache as well as tension and pain in my neck. I further explained that I had experienced back pain before and that I used to go to the physio in Australia for this very problem and that the physio had told me that I have scoliosis and as well as this, my pelvis tilts when I walk and therefore I need realignment of my pelvis every once in a while because when it is unaligned it causes pain in my lower back. After this animated conversation involving many actions and gestures given my lack of medical vocabulary in French, she decided that she would examine my back to see if she could see any signs of what I had described. She poked and prodded me, asking where it hurt, which she soon realised was pretty much along the entire length of my spine. She then examined my hips and told me that even she could feel that my right hip was lower than my left and that it was not aligned. Afterwards she got me to bend over and straighten up again, to which she discovered that I did have scoliosis and that I wasn't just a French hypochondriac. After completely agreeing with the diagnosis that I had just given her, she then decided that she wasn't qualified to make that diagnosis and that I would have to see a Radiologist to have a series of x-rays to see if I have scoliosis - even though every doctor and physio that I have ever seen, including her, has told me that this is the case.<br /><br />I should have known through the doctor's lack of confidence in her own judgment that it was not worth discussing my second problem with her, but I stupidly decided to ask for advice regarding my sleeping pattern. I described that I work at night and that I have a bizarre schedule where I continually change the number of days I work in a row and the number of days that I have off. I told her that I hadn't found a good rhythm, that I was very often tired and that I slept at different times every day. I also explained that I didn't like the idea of keeping my strange sleeping hours on my days off because I didn't like being awake all night if I was not working and that sleeping during the day on one's day off can be depressing because you never see the light of day. This is where she came up with what I like to call her 'stroke of genius'. She told me that what she thought would be good for me is a medication that is used for people suffering from jet lag - given that it seemed my job was a bit like being jet lagged all the time. She wrote down the name of the drug on a piece of paper and gave it to me - I thought that a post-it note was a slightly unconventional way of writing a prescription, but took the paper nevertheless. She then told me that the drug was not sold in France - therefore something incredibly useful and convenient for me (rolls eyes). She asked where I was from and when I said Australia, she said she had no idea if it was sold there but thought that maybe someone could try and buy it (melatonine) for me and send it on over. However, given that prescribing a medicine which is unavailable in France was not very efficient of her, she then decided she would prescribe me some other drugs in the meantime.<br /><br />She tapped away at her computer, clicking on every kind of sleeping pill she could find and adding it to the list for my prescription - given that my problem is not actually the fact that I can't get to sleep, I was wondering what the hell she was doing. It was like watching a little kid play with a new toy - every 30 secs she would read the description of a drug in her computer system, get excited, make a noise to express the excitement and then add it to the list. Then she would find the next drug in the list, realise that it was even better than the one before, remove the one she had just added and replace it with the latest.<br /><br />After a good 10 minutes of this little game she had finally made her selection and was very proud and satisfied with it. She explained to me that she was giving me a prescription for Doliprane (which is like prescribing someone mild panadol) for the pain in my back (even I know that's not going to do anything), a drug which relaxes the muscles and sends you to sleep (thereby apparently curing both my tight back and my sleeping problem) and then a drug which boosts your energy and wakes you up which I'm to take whenever I get up....<br /><br />Noticing my concerned look and probably picking up on my disapproval of her, she then said to me confidently that the best thing to do would be to fly to the United States where the jet lag drug is readily available and buy it there! I'm not even kidding!! I did not want to point out the fact that maybe there is actually a good reason why it is not sold in France 'the land of the drug' and that perhaps it is not very good for the body. Or the more obvious fact that perhaps it's not safe to take a drug that is designed for people experiencing jet lag on a regular or every day basis. I guess the good news is that were I to spend hundreds of euros to fly to the U.S to pick up this drug, then at least when i get back and am incredibly jet lagged from the whirl wind trip, bingo I have the medication required.<br /><br />So after this supposed normal consultation I was sent away with a referral to a radiologist, some paracetamol, a drug to send me to sleep and a drug to wake me up - sound healthy to you? All I had gone there for in the first place was a referral to a physio and some advice on when the best time to sleep is when one has a working schedule like I do.<br /><br />And for those of you thinking that this is a one off strange occurrence, it's not! Going to the doctor in France always results in a list a mile long of prescriptions. I confirmed this when talking to a friend about it last night and she told me that the last time she went to the doctor for a cold, she was sent home with a prescription for aspirin, two pain killers to alternate between, an inhaler, cough syrup and eye drops!!! it was a cold people - what happened to bed rest and a honey and lemon drink.....Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-53139200873416266722008-02-04T15:44:00.000-08:002008-02-04T16:32:31.828-08:00Moto Man<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Q-wfzzAbK5fQ1zCljgm4rSdsuqMyFsRbaUoSeY6nu_pm3sSRfAneqysNHABUbJCORUvOe7vulgCqrx5JxQz8AVnEr64_ykK2U3iGIfYYbKcelj0YbVPHIhe2JoIpRmZrzp25ZSqmTIPv/s1600-h/DSCF2790.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163287025892935762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Q-wfzzAbK5fQ1zCljgm4rSdsuqMyFsRbaUoSeY6nu_pm3sSRfAneqysNHABUbJCORUvOe7vulgCqrx5JxQz8AVnEr64_ykK2U3iGIfYYbKcelj0YbVPHIhe2JoIpRmZrzp25ZSqmTIPv/s320/DSCF2790.JPG" border="0" /></a>Place du Tertre, Paris 18ème </div><br /><br />Last Friday night I agreed to accompany my friend Sarah to a soirée at her friend's apartment in the 18th arrondisement.<br /><br />The 18th arrondisement in Paris is known for a number of things; the Sacre Coeur, Montmartre, the Place du Tertre, the Moulin Rouge, cute little streets and somewhat shifty characters hanging about. However when these last two elements combine, as Sarah and I experienced, it can be an unpleasant mixture - that is of course until you are saved by Moto Man!<br /><br />So we were on our way to our soirée in Rue Lepic - an incredibly cute street which winds around what seems to be the entire 18th arrondisement. We had already looked at the map and were ready to make our way there from the metro when suddenly we were spotted by two dodgy men. These disgusting men, who hang around tourist areas trying to find poor unsuspecting females to harrass, heard Sarah and I speaking English and decided they had found their next target. Being thrown off by the sleazes, we took a wrong turn, however we were determined to continue on confidently, without checking the map again, as we knew that Rue Lepic was definitely not far away. We were being followed the whole time by our 2 admirers, who quickly turned into hecklers when they realised we were ignoring them. There's something about walking along the street with a girlfriend, minding your own business, being followed by dodgy men who yell obscenities at you and refuse to let you out of their sight, that screams FRANCE to me. It is the horrible, yet somewhat true, stereotype of Paris which thankfully, I don't come across as often as I did when I first arrived here. So as we walked along and tried to pretend as though we couldn't hear the abuse that was being yelled at us, quick-thinking Sarah saw a man in the distance who she decided she would ask for directions. Lucky for us it was Moto Man!<br /><br /><br /><br />Moto Man, as the name suggests was the owner of a motorbike, and therefore had a helmet on as we approached him. To our pleasant surprise, when he took the helmet off, Moto Man was also incredibly hot. So Sarah went about asking for directions, to which he was ever so helpful, giving us a detailed description of exactly how to get to Rue Lepic. Realising that we weren't French, he asked us if we were trying to get to the Amelie cafe (as the cafe in which Amelie works in the renowned film is also in Rue Lepic) to which we replied that in fact we were just trying to find our friend's apartment. Meanwhile our stalkers had crossed to the other side of the road, but were patiently waiting for us to finish our conversation with Moto Man, so that they could continue following us. So Sarah decided to tell Moto Man that in fact, while we had taken a slightly unwanted detour, we weren't really lost, but were just trying to escape our night stalkers. Moto Man then kindly offered to accompany us so that the crazy men would leave us alone. Touched by this sweet gesture, we walked with Moto Man until we came to his apartment, he told us to come inside the foyer area to make it look like we were going to his place, so that the stalkers would give up hope. He then apologised for not having an apero for us, as he would have invited us up otherwise. We thanked him for his lovely help and left his place, back on track for Rue Lepic but this time without our visitors (Moto Man's cunning plan had worked).<br /><br />And so, as another friend Ann pointed out, the moral to this story is, if you want to find a sexy man in Paris who will invite you into his apartment, you firstly need to find a dodgy looking stalker (much easier to come by in Paris) and pretend that you're lost - and voilà - easier than we thought!<br /><br />So thank you to Moto Man for adding a lovely element to our Friday night and for restoring our faith in French men!Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-5748693697308387692008-02-02T19:26:00.000-08:002008-02-04T15:44:17.636-08:00Self denunciationDenounce : to condemn or censure openly or publicly<br /><br />I write today to denounce myself. I refer to the dictionary definition of denounce for good reason, as the following post will show that the very nature of my denunciation relates to my terrible use of the English language, particularly in regards to spelling and grammar.<br /><br />I'm sure that those of you who read my blog would have noticed that I often make spelling and grammar mistakes that I myself, consider unforgivable. As someone who used to pride herself on her correct use of the English language, it's painful to see how many mistakes I now make. I often read over previous posts just to check the spelling and grammar, and very often I find glaringly obvious mistakes that I missed the first time. Or there are those times when readers actually pull me up on my terrible errors and feeling embarrassed I check my blog and realise that they are indeed correct and I have been writing crap once again. Of course I log in straight away and correct the errors, but it still pains me to know that I'm making them in the first place.<br />It seems that my biggest problem is in fact with homophones - something which I have never had a problem with before. Having been an English teacher for a year, I'm well aware of what a homophone is, and as English is my native language it has not been something that I've ever had to grapple with or think about in the past. I can understand why people learning English may struggle with homophones, given that there are over 400 examples, however for someone with English as their mother tongue it is somewhat disturbing. I have already been pulled up on using here, instead of hear, new instead of knew, where instead of we're and the tragic but typical example of your instead of you're. This last example is a shocker, and I'm ashamed to admit that I've fallen into the category of people who sometimes make this mistake. I, more than anyone, wanted to join the facebook group which condemns the misuse of these very words, however I felt as though it would be hypocritical and hence I refrained.<br /><br />I would like to think that these mistakes are due to the fact that I now live in France and speak French a lot of the time. This in a way is partly true, however one would think that my French should be improving significantly if my English is quickly deteriorating, surely that would be only fair - and yet it appears that for a very long time now I have been at the same level in French. I have hit a big plateau and have stopped moving up, and yet the English has suddenly taken a downhill slide....<br /><br />So there you have it everyone - I apologise for my poor writing standard and encourage everyone to continue pointing out my errors in hope that one day I'll be able to speak and write like the good old days.<br /><br />Self denunciation complete.Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-8924153671536781122008-01-31T04:56:00.000-08:002008-01-31T06:27:33.536-08:00French MusicLately I have been thinking that I should listen to the radio more often, in an effort to listen to more French music. Whilst it is true that most of the music that people seem to listen to over here is actually English spoken (sung) music, there is still of course a substantial amount of French music out there, and it seems only fair that I make an effort to familiarise myself with these songs.<br /><br />Due to a law passed in 1986, 40% of music broadcast on French radio must be French. Whilst this is a significant amount, it still leaves a massive 60% of 'un-french' music on the radio. This proportion means that whilst my ability to improve my French through listening to the radio is somewhat limited, thankfully I can still keep in touch with the new artists that the rest of the world are listening to. I wonder though whether songs by French bands, that are peformed in English, are included in the French music category, or if this law (which I believe was originally designed to protect the culture and the language) specifies that French music must be sung in French and that the mere origin of the artist is not enough to classify something as 'French'. For there are many French artists who prefer to sing in English, in order to reach a larger audience one would assume. Artists like Phoenix, Air, Daft Punk, Bob Sinclair, and Justice to name but a few.<br /><br />So over the next few months I'm going to make an effort to listen to some French music and see what pleasant discoveries I can make. To begin with I thought I'd share with you 2 nice examples of French music. I chose these 2 songs because they are totally different in style, the first is in French, the second in English, I really like both of them and the 2 clips are awesome. Just so that I don't misrepresent the French, these songs aren't the latest things to hit the airwaves. The first song 'Ta Douleur' by Camille was released in May 2005, and the second D.A.N.C.E was released in May 2007. You guys may well know D.A.N.C.E as it's a catchy tune in English and since it was released during my time living in Paris I have no idea of it's international release or success - but in case you didn't know, these guys are French. Happy listening and viewing.<br /><br /><div align="center">Ta Douleur - Camille (May 2005) </div><br /><p align="center"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwkws1Xu7ee7-FTV-09MYplsgaMcevrGUH1VQXNfT7QPgByJGDOPtRV6yhjslrJ9avrk5zQqBlFkdMJ2y_Rcw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p> </p><p align="center">D.A.N.C.E - Justice (May 2007)</p><p align="center"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzpIRt_RJEfkNLp39sGyNliOUTXqyiU7cTh3dS-v5Bds320vsdLKZ63zTfrnMYoXThdg6yPX_4WrtoT74EZuw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-29808266828455175222008-01-26T07:10:00.000-08:002008-02-02T18:59:52.838-08:00For Heath<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbj8iC-VVCDzdis8D6A_btVlhwUp0DQYQwEOuIeP70WJ4F_H_fHGkz2lHvunE1t8riIv8Xumocpt-WJezB9IuCLDc28WqFEW-Tv80oinjJSGNkglaMVpMANYmie1SJwSWHCMuN81qCo3X8/s1600-h/hot+crop.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159825256482555938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbj8iC-VVCDzdis8D6A_btVlhwUp0DQYQwEOuIeP70WJ4F_H_fHGkz2lHvunE1t8riIv8Xumocpt-WJezB9IuCLDc28WqFEW-Tv80oinjJSGNkglaMVpMANYmie1SJwSWHCMuN81qCo3X8/s320/hot+crop.bmp" border="0" /></a> <div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqI29O8F7kJKSXhofp2EBooXN7k7Cdgsi0Gt5xXveEalo4JOPBCtWl0AqaNCkVDqyDeKch7EyOtI-kgFb1v4CtZsCifPYKnptkHBEiG537odUBkYb2tDuwvI9IcVK8jKc4IcuzkyGlRNut/s1600-h/heath+hot.jpg"></a>This week has seen the loss of yet another great Australian. On Tuesday night, the 22nd of January, I arrived at work for what I assumed would be a normal shift. My shift starts at 11pm, and so I arrived in the newsroom right at the moment when we went on air to broadcast the 11pm bulletin. I looked across at one of the hundreds of television screens, that are on every second desk in our office, to see the very familiar face of Heath Ledger. Being proud of all great Australian things, and thinking that perhaps this picture had something to do with the daily oscar nominations, I said to my fellow colleague - ''He's Australian you know'' - to which she said ''Yeah I know, he's dead''...<br /><div></div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159820209895983074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG5V9nhpup0Tz61MF6WYcrXslxr27RdoZpZ-_iSiBd5YGstRUHgzn_EQd8pwFT6WwNI-FMGElSC9fZP7RKieqise2nLd9ODR0uy2BSXOK9bEx_SaTuH1ZPf6hAECS6MyvrFOMoCkhMs7AR/s320/heath+and+michelle.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>I couldn't believe it - I stared back at her and said ''WHAT?'', and she said ''Yeah it's crazy, they found his body a few minutes ago''. Without even thinking I dove into my handbag to grab my mobile phone -only one thing on my mind - I needed to speak to Hayley. As I found the phone I saw that I had a missed call, and a voicemail message - it had to be her.</div><div></div><br /><div>Sure enough as I listened to the message I could hear the voice of my sister, choked-up by her own tears on the other end of the line. I grabbed the phone and I called her.</div><div></div><br /><div>For anyone who actually knows me, they know that I have a little sister Hayley - and anyone who is anyone, knows that her hero is Heath Ledger. </div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159829822032791618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZWPgFQ7wI5ir9oNPoyY_Dfngn1RjAOPbZDllT7n5zH7HPngn8mJZ5228Xby0XS4R3jMdvuNFNMnFllt_J5Vzh40QjOHlUrh_nJ-_-aXkdxhIvgXgUIOeCXYZ5EmhVe-noeemni9nSZ7TJ/s320/hayley+heath+crop.bmp" border="0" /><br />To me the news was shocking, but I could only imagine what it must have been like for her. It felt in a way like I was losing someone I knew, not because I actually knew him, but because through Hayley I felt like I did. I knew a number of ridiculous details about his life, who his family and friends were, and he had become a part of our family in a way for a number of years. Every morning back home in Australia, I used to wake up to pictures of Heath on our walls, and hear stories of Heath, hear about the latest film and the next time he would be coming to Australia. I'm sure for Hayley, who had met him on several occasions, she really must have felt like she had lost a friend.</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159824466208573458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWCMhuaq1EzeW7NQmSmmXJlOu5rLzjlrP97uJLb8yqc79LjO248tR4lgSf9VuiAhYgtk5fxp_vdY-ryNU0RlRJVwUCvAItWzRVRojove13CZjFxa6wojRS5CmQTNCJEcdpT6x0dw1dengL/s320/crop+heath+test.bmp" border="0" /><br /><div>To be sitting on the other side of the world to my little sis, editing pictures of her hero's body being loaded into an ambulance was an absolutely surreal and somewhat horrible experience. I couldn't believe that the pictures of Heath I was seeing, that I saw on a daily basis for a number of years, were now pictures of someone who was no longer with us. I didn't want to be there, in front of that computer, editing those pictures for the world to see - I just wanted to be home, to see how she was doing.</div><br /><div>Instead I used the opportunity to try my best to edit the best pictures and make the best montage of Heath I possibly could and to pass on the live news information on the details of the death, direct from the press agencies, to Hayley back in Sydney.</div><div></div><br /><div>It's strange how death affects us in different ways depending on our context and our reference point. For me it seems that since I've been in Paris, the death of a famous Aussie has a stronger effect on me than it would were I back home. There's something strange about being away when it happens, you feel isolated and that no one really understands what you're feeling. I know I felt this way when Steve Irwin died. Being here and knowing that no one over here even knew who this guy was, made the whole thing very bizarre - I couldn't explain it to anyone, I was alone in my shock and I couldn't talk about it with people, like I knew they would be doing back home. I had the same experience when Belinda Emmett died - once again not being able to explain who she was and why I cared and why I wished a was home for a moment just to be able to say goodbye. And with Heath it was the same feeling but multiplied to the extreme because this guy had been such a big part of my sister's life, and through extension, my own. </div><br /><div>The comfort with Heath was that at least he was well known outside of Australia, which meant that I actually got to hear the news, talk about it with people and read some articles to attempt to make sense of it all. Although that being said, the press over here covered it just for the day (which is totally understandable) and so I can only imagine what it has been like at home and in a way I miss that. Not because I'm morbid and want to read all the horrible facts, but because I think being surrounded by the media frenzy and having so many stories of that person's life in some strange way gives you the time to come to terms with the facts and to say goodbye...A public grieving in a sense.</div><div></div><br /><div>And as I don't get a chance to go through the public grieving, I thought I'd try and explain my private grieving, in public, through this blog.</div><div></div><br /><div>And so Heath, It's always a tragedy when someone dies, but a young man, with a beautiful little girl, is even more difficult to swallow. There are so many things I could say, but the only thing that seems important is to thank you. If there was one man who could light up my sister's face, and make her happy, that was you - and for that I am truely grateful.</div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159820205601015762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYGLnCHRY7qjX2gKjjmqfPCzBJSOfT86og0enXhhcS-CaSFF19ANZIeo-X83cVn-xGCss2VpS4jN3GYzZGbwdcBNUPL1HMwlNToi-vBsd-8YyIZzVNl8LRLt4I02aE_YGFLMwr2zNutepv/s320/heath+and+hayley+recent.jpg" border="0" /></div><div>I'll end this post with Hayley's simple words of how she saw you;<br /></div><br /><div>''a nice person who didn't like all the media attention but had the time to be nice to the people who were nice to him.''<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159825256482555954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6G6lb5GofUqiRSytxk2tlp5lINXcEHZZPHXretOUJrLqh29taHIzPdpbWV8b58yK6h6Tr5OA-YoPCRSV5jlJ2y2nhnNb3i3dv4YtJQDOs5R35DjU3Po0omVo-xIuUT5cJGgkTDnjKLx1D/s320/signing+crop.bmp" border="0" /></div></div></div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-51329749349912343932008-01-16T21:33:00.000-08:002008-01-16T22:43:41.998-08:00Nothing much to saySo during the past week I've been feeling a little bit guilty (maybe not the right word) that I haven't written anything for a while. Every now and then I have the thought that I really should add to my blog. This thought is then quickly interrupted by the realisation that I have nothing to say and hence i refrain from posting anything as I don't want my blog to become a boring dribble of tireless notes on what I do every minute of every day...Somehow though the first half of January has already passed by and I find myself wondering what I can write about 2008? Just this morning I had the realisation that in fact there are enough things that have happened this year that if I put them all together it might appear like an exciting cocktail rather than a mundane vodka orange.<br /><br />So 2008 has begun with continuing a few obsessions that I started in late 2007 - the most notable being my addiction to Grey's Anatomy. After having watched a few episodes in Australia and France and being a bit lost and all over the place in terms of seasons, I stupidly decided to start right again from the beginning. In December my boss introduced me to the wonderful world of internet streaming, where I can get all the grey's I want for free, legally and without clogging up space on my computer....after a month of intense watching, '08 began with the end of Grey's anatomy for me (at least for a while) as I have reached the final episode that was filmed before the writers went on strike and am now waiting ever so eagerly for their return...<br /><br />To counteract this first obsession, my other addiction has been the gym. When a Fitness First opened up at the bottom of my street in October I took it as a sign - even those watching from above must be able to see me getting fat. So I've now become a bit of a gym junkie and go 4 to 6 times a week.<br /><br />January also means one unmissable event in Paris - les soldes!!!!!!! (Sales!) and as of January 9th (day 1) I have been doing my duty as a Parisian citizen and going shopping most days to see just how much money I can save (by of course spending)...Thankfully for my bank account I have been quite restrained thus far, as I've become far more picky in my selections - although this could all change in the 5 weeks of les soldes that remain.<br /><br />French president Nicholas Sarkozy has also lost his head in more ways than one this year - starting off with his relationship and supposed upcoming marriage to an ex-model, singer, self-confessed polygamist - Carla Bruni...His popularity has plummeted since this new relationship (co-incidence? I think not!) and the French media are making claims that the prime minister could soon become more popular than the president - who the hell cares?!!! But Sarkozy's stupidity did not stop there - on the 7th of Jan came the announcement that Sarko wants to axe France 24 - my dream job could turn back into my dream without the job part in the near future. Apparently it is unthinkable to have French taxpayers paying for a channel in French, English and Arabic - all tv should be in French and if people want to see English or Arabic stations they can bugger off - Sarko who is supposed to be Mr. ''moving forward, keeping up with the times, breath of fresh air for France" has just succeeded in reenforcing the oldest stereotype in the book of the French being arrogant and unwilling to speak English. So now I am once again a bit confused, disillusioned and keeping my fingers crossed that this is yet another case of nothing ever coming of a politician's word.<br /><br />This year I have also experienced another of the joys of French working life - the 'visite medicale', where you get the doctor's go-ahead that you are in fact healthy to work. This is always a strange ritual which involves peeing in a cup, getting undressed so that you can sit in front of the doctor for the following 15 minutes in your underwear in the middle of winter whilst you try to give your medical history since the day you were born in French (and I always forget to do my research - I'm shit on organs of the body and illnesses) which then becomes a game of charades, and you begin to wish you were allowed to keep your clothes on, as naked charades isn't really your style, and then you're told you need to be vaccinated against whooping cough, and polio (should you ever go to Marrakesh) until finally they find out that the group of antibiotics you're allergic to doesn't exist in France, which scares them enough to tell you not to go ahead with the vaccination anyway...and the best part of it all is I have to have this 'visite medicale' every six months...yay France!<br /><br />So, in just a little over 2 weeks I guess quite enough has happened to warrant a post - and to add to all of that I have also made 2 new discoveries - an amazing restaurant called le petit prince, and the best falafel in Paris....not bad considering I had nothing to say.Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-29926029018447044302008-01-01T10:27:00.000-08:002008-01-01T11:53:43.432-08:00Top 7 of '07As 2008 has now officially begun it's time to do a brief year in review - so what better way than with my Top 7 of '07. Just so no one is offended by the following list it has been organised in chronological order as I couldn't distinguish between the top of the top. They were all great moments!<br /><div align="center"><br /><br /><br />1) Mum and Hayley visit Paris (January and February 2007)<br /></div><div align="left"><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150593044603537362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMfRW_AHkRuge2WEYxnrrmF7K4fZWZQcEbvH3vrIMKE_jILUGn2bsWEEoOJT3hV1AdQFaz2JgJQZKhq94oh10Wjm7lZSVkipvvzm8uGFc6gK6iDPu54QPUHopOZfjYKZ_UeAABc5hQ-Kkg/s320/DSCF2769.JPG" border="0" /><br />This was definately a top moment in the year!! It was so great to have my mum with me after having been through quite a difficult 6 months of trying to settle into this crazy city. To see a familiar face and to be mothered after difficult times was incredibly nice. Of course Hayley was an added bonus! She came as a surprise - which turned out to be not so much of a surprise - but it was fantastic nevertheless. One of the most important things for me was to be able to share my new life with my family. It's always difficult when you're travelling, living abroad, experiencing a new lifestyle etc to be able to explain this to the people back home. Words don't really do the experience or the place justice. To have my mum and my sister live with me, see my apartment, my new friends, my French friends (from the ever-so-talked-about Toronto exchange), my new city, hear me speak French and just be around was something I'll never forget. </div><div align="center"><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150593036013602754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE24pCkFQxsgkmJLwD-Uinpgl2MBkYtJScarb3XNdR9Ebbk7CFsnFS2xchioQCmNAem_87IWHY0C9TmpsMQIFFfGabq_fMCJAGQuki1d8cJxgJefl1jwyLkOF_9w5vck8Vl_qlnTHdCGG4/s320/DSCF3130.JPG" border="0" /><br />2) Trip to Malmo (May 2007)<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150593027423668130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLs3-i4kuPMzb2zxezohu3gG2tiWjw4Mk0bxs0I_1pp35XAeDB6O_5yzzSfieY3T7-oLLjCGoWq0l59YZwYvXlZvMrE2W0LAW-S1VfRZUmOuTFAhxfcZhLmXIGZpFZ_7wHPmqj4P0Wc0an/s320/DSC00108.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="left">This trip marked my first time out of Paris since July 2006 - a long awaited break! It is always an absolute pleasure to see Lisa and to spend time with her. It was awesome to see another Swedish city and to stay in the new apartment that Lisa had bought. Malmo is a really great city and it was so nice to be near the water again.....even if it's not the beach. Going to Malmo also meant that I got to spend a day in Copenhagen as it is cheaper to fly into Denmark from Paris. I love Copenhagen and the shopping and I was once again not disappointed. Just hanging out, picnicing, shopping and enjoying the sunshine with friends was enough to recharge my batteries. I must admit, after leaving Paris, even for 5 days, coming back was a rude shock....I forgot how sometimes Paris can feel a bit suffocating.</div><br />3) My new job (July 2007)</div><div align="left"></div><div align="center"><a href="http://images.google.com.au/imgres?imgurl=http://www.andrewcusack.com/francevq1.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.andrewcusack.com/blog/society/&h=415&w=440&sz=31&hl=en&start=3&um=1&tbnid=GE_KplCnlpQV2M:&tbnh=120&tbnw=127&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dfrance%2B24%26svnum%3D10%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26rls%3DSKPB,SKPB:2006-50,SKPB:en%26sa%3DN"></a></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150596562181752850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 217px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 182px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="259" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqMIzs5Lq3_oV0tB7tZv6qMQA0H-akw0vsxL3BB2N37l0hNtU2UMoBFAEJm90nL_K1g_rGFSeKaA4AWxhg5QUjlYhVXVc4Kk3l264wd5bXQtCsuzD13BO75Tk0GXRge1y2HyICyXRQ8-9/s320/france24.jpg" width="274" border="0" /><br /><div align="left">I guess if I had to pick a turning point in the year for me this would be it! Up until this point I was loving everything about my life in Paris except my job. I was tired of English teaching and found myself waking up every day and not wanting to go to work - I forgot how important it is to enjoy what you do in life. On the 9th of July 2007 I started working at France 24 and since then I can honestly say life has been great! I love what I do, I love the people I work with, I love the atmosphere, the motivation, the commitment to what we're doing and it's a pleasure going to work everyday (except of course when it means I have to miss out on an awesome party or something). I worked in a variety of positions for a little over 4 months as a freelancer and then I was offered a permanent full time position as Assistant Producer. Things just keep getting better and better on the work front.</div><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="center">4) Trip to Nogent-le-Rotrou (July/August 2007)</div><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150593031718635442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi164zFScbWX0pAO1yPDmGaH3GIayog4MUV4mEEX1jgfhBQp2UVCBol27mQbha-i0GRgqdJGwhKqogUqcwOslZZeJvP4B3-SjbfTrWb7DJLN8-qjO6Ri7ZaQueKq2oXj1zRoIIqlk1gJEhZ/s320/DSC00151.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div align="left">This week in the countryside was the most relaxing week of 2007! A week spent with French friends in Florence's amazing family home in Le Perche. I have never eaten so well and been so indulged. I just read books and wrote letters in the glorious sunshine whilst I was brought fruit cocktails freshly squeezed with fruit and vegetables from the garden and provided with gourmet meals twice a day. It was definately bliss.</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">5) Kate's birthday visit to Paris (November 2007)</div><div align="center"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150593018833733522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-jg_ftPdo0ZjBqm03G4P0hJmDQ6YNnvXfnTeLr4fQnot6l1G5IU4JOcFXkHloY83EXFpiZVcDoJ6oYrs1lOakv1wvtemWCoS4Wy1sOkOdyNTI4xUHk-FEAFHDfsUIhMLRVnv8Z4KJc_8D/s320/birthday+weekend+011.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="left">Catching up with great friends from home is always a highlight and to be able to celebrate a mutual birthday is even more special. Kate is of course a wonderful Australian friend who conveniently happens to be born on the same day as me! However this was the first time in history that Kate and I were able to be in the same country and celebrate our birthday together. We spent a great week eating, cathching up, partying, visiting Paris, and enjoying the company of the Toronto clan - Guénaelle, Olivier, Christian, Lisa, Kate, Ombeline and the latest addition - Ombeline's son Arthus.</div><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="center">6) Trip to Gap (December 2007)</div><br /><div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150595741842999298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBFJjgU7s7HlVFuoIGbj0GzSTPFetiE7t4AL4N1NSPAmPSKTc7UxnN5zo-owxc8-HdpLQuv9VyAt-aacLGy6UGoSRAFE1PzqbP1DjFGHiTbII9niT885HRYMYyJz8MIH0kG9cuX5vdUvBl/s320/HPIM0134.jpg" border="0" /><br />Spending time with Guénaelle is one of my favourite things to do and spending time with family is also right up there on the list. So to be able to spend time with Guéna and a family (even if it wasn't my own) was fantastic. It might not have been Christmas day, but it was close enough. We certainly ate as if it were Christmas.....enough pastries, chocolates and sweets to rival Willy Wonka. Once again being out of Paris was a nice change - to be able to relax, sleep, breathe in fresh air, and admire the stars (which due to pollution aren't visible in Paris) was a treat. We also went snowboarding which was great fun. I was pretty crap as it's been a while since I've done it, and so I'm still covered in bruises, but it was worth the pain - I forgot how fun snowboarding can be. The time passed too quickly as usual and I wish I was still down in Gap now. Guéna's family are absolutely lovely and generous and I was spoilt with presents and wonderful home cooked meals.</div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150597330980898850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEielntkYU-41CReglRVPkbb3tKtsfmzdxe-n-GkiJR-gw7auoPa3654M2V25EALSM7y1Uj356m0OD-LamoAz7OQYIZSFN-o5bM4eItBpZxBWJ7qwP5PqMe37O-XgPv9lRAhrxrcfuRByXVn/s320/HPIM0121.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">7) Becoming fluent in French</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">I put this one at the end as I can't really place a time frame on it - I certainly consider it an ongoing process. Whilst I still feel I have a long way to go to becoming bilingual, I can confidently say that I speak fluent French. I still make mistakes and I still have a great deal to learn but I no longer have too many problems expressing myself. And I understand everything which certainly is a big change from 2006. It's funny, you don't know when it happens, but it just does....Suddenly you find yourself going to the cinema, the theatre, watching TV, listening to the radio, reading books and understanding everything that's going on in a language which used to seem so completely foreign....definately a satisfying sensation. </div><div align="left"><br /> </div><div align="left">Of course there were a lot of other fantastic moments from the year which didn't make the list - 7 moments can't really summarise a whole year. So many other wonderful people visited and there were lots of parties, dinners, concerts, laughs and fun times that will certainly not be forgotten. So thank you to all of the people who made 2007 the best year of my life yet. Bring on 2008!</div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-85232989219162519522007-12-22T16:56:00.000-08:002008-01-16T22:51:15.619-08:00French RaritiesLiving away from home in a country that is not your own gives you a particular perspective of the new country you find yourself living in - that of an outsider. Having grown up among a different set of standards, traditions and everyday activities means that naturally you have a different way of looking at your new world - through glasses of wonder, excitement, curiosity, confusion, apprehension, pleasure, and surprise. In the beginning the experience of learning, living and breathing a new culture is unbelievably exciting and interesting - everything seems new, refreshing and enriching. As time passes by, the novelty wears off slightly as what was once new and surprising becomes normal and part of your everyday reality. Don't get me wrong, you continue to have new experiences, new shocks and find out more about the country, but it becomes less frequent. And when this happens, instead of only noticing the amazing things around you that you never knew existed, you begin to focus on the amazing things you once had that don't seem to exist in your new home. And hence this brings me to my list of French rarities - these are not necessarily amazing things, nor are they all things that I miss, they are just things which curiously are incredibly rare or even non-existant in France. I can think of so many, but for your reading pleasure I have narrowed it down to 10.<br /><br />1) Random Breath tests - I must admit, I can't be the authority on RBTs in France given that I live in Paris and have not seen much else of this country and that I don't drive here or have a car, however that being said I can say that I have NEVER seen a random breath test in France. With my job I catch taxis to and from work everyday so I have been a passenger a substantial amount of times at all sorts of crazy hours on every day of the week and yet not once have I seen someone tested. In a country where sensible driving and respect of the road rules is also incredibly rare, it seems somewhat odd to me that they don't breath test people more often.<br /><br />2) Acknowledgement of Sexual Harassment - In the land of the 'bisous' (ie giving everybody you know or don't know, like or dislike a kiss on the cheek when you meet them) and sleazy men (i'm sorry to the French boys that I do like but the stereotype is generally true!) one would think that sexual harassment would be at an all time high - women surely must complain about the inappropriate behaviour of their sleazy co-workers - and yet it would appear that they don't. As far as I'm concerned sexual harassment is not acknowledged in this country, not that I have been a victim, but I have had and seen sleazy bosses act very inappropriately with employees and colleagues and it seems to be considered entirely normal - interactions between men and women in general seem very different in France.<br /><br />3) Snacks on the run - If you are French you like food. It's a given. It's part of your world, it's an experience, it's somewhat sensual and is not to be treated lightly. Meals are to be well proportioned and contain enough courses or ingredients to satisfy every taste and desire. Meals are to be had, sitting down, at a table and enjoyed. The 'snack on the run' is non-existant. If you are caught eating in the street you are immediately identified as NOT French. I would know, I have (heaven forbid) committed this very crime. On every occasion I have grabbed a bite to eat and started eating as I headed off on my way to do something else I have received countless death stares and comments from my French countrymen. 9 times out of 10 people call out 'Bon Appetit' in a sarcastic and arrogant tone of voice trying to highlight that your behaviour is inappropriate and that you shouldn't being running around doing things whilst eating - you cannot possibly enjoy your meal like that. You are different and need to be shown through a disdainful look that it is not appreciated so that maybe next time you might think twice before scoffing a snack in public. When a French person has things to do in their lunch hour for example, they either eat first and then go off and complete their tasks, or the other way around. The two are not mixed. It is much more acceptable to take a 3 hour lunch than eat on the go. The eating and food ethic rates much higher than the work ethic for the French.<br /><br />4) Large bathrooms and kitchens - to say that apartments in Paris are small would be an understatement - tiny would even be too kind a word. Most of them, as my friend Sarah correctly identified, should be referred to as cupboards. And if the apartment is small then the chance of a large bathroom or kitchen is impossible. In most apartments the word 'kitchen' is used loosely to refer to a tiny corner with a stove top and a fridge resembling a hotel mini-bar. Ovens, microwaves, benches - these things are luxurious and are written up in advertisements as if they are hard to come across treasures. Bathrooms are often worse, if you in fact have a bathroom and don't have to go outside to a small toilet and take a shower in your living room (as I did in my first apartment).<br /><br />5) Occupational Health and Safety - I'm convinced that OH & S legislation doesn't exist in France. There are so many safety hazards in the streets, in buildings, in the workplace, and in public places that people just walk-by and don't acknowledge. It is perfectly normal to have an enormous hole in the pavement with no sign, tape or people in sight to warn or explain to you how it got there in the first place. Exposed wires lying about are also normal - in fact pretty much anything goes here.<br /><br />6) Healthy, non-complaining citizens - I'm sorry to generalise once again but France is the world of the hypocondriac and the complainer. If you are French and have the slightest hint of a sore throat you should head straight to the pharmacy and buy 3 months supply of drugs - and take the week off work, you can never be too careful. And make sure you tell everyone about your illness and complain about how bad it is. In fact while you're at it, complain about everything, afterall things will never improve if you are positive and seem satisfied with something.<br /><br />7) Exercise/sports gear in public - There is a time and a place for exercise and sports gear and that is not in public. Having read the book 'Almost French' where the author Sarah Turnbull goes through an account of her French husband being horrified when she threw on some tracksuit pants to go to the Boulangerie one morning, I have spent the past year being very careful not to make the same mistake. I recently joined the gym down the street and have continued to be careful with my attire. Whilst it is literally only a 1 minute walk to my gym, I go there looking acceptable and take my exercise gear to change into once I've arrived. However, a couple of weeks ago I made the mistake of exercising right up until the point the gym had to close and not having the time to change back into my public attire. I was a little bit hesitant to go outside but I thought everything would be ok, given that I had less than 100 metres to walk home and that I was wearing adidas track pants and not just any old rubbish, and yet during the 1 minute walk home I passed by 3 people walking in the opposite direction who proceeded to laugh in my face and compliment me on my Dolce and Gabbana clothing choice. So the vicious rumours were true - No exercise gear in public!<br /><br />8) Good pronunciation of the English language - Ok I know the French are getting better at English and I know they are trying and hell I'm not complaining - my accent in French leaves a lot to be desired - I'm just simply pointing out that good pronunciation of the English language is very rare in France. Find me a French person who can correctly pronounce the words 'idea', 'development', and 'throughout' and I'll give you a medal.<br /><br />9) Good Asian food - Whilst the French do food well, they do Asian food pretty terribly. I must admit Japanese food seems to be fine - the level of Sushi in Paris is pretty damn great - and I have come across an ok restaurant in China town, but other than that Asian food is on the whole quite crap over here. Chinese 'restaurants' serve you strange dishes with unidentified meat objects that are sitting in a display and are then heated up in a microwave before your very eyes. And don't get me started on Thai - it's been almost 2 years since I've had good Thai - someone help me!<br /><br />10) Desire to make new friends - French people who are unsatisfied with most things in life seem to be satisfied at least on one level - with the amount of friends that they have. In my experience most of the French seem to have no desire to make new friends. They already have enough and will not go out seeking new ones. If you have a French friend they seem to be yours for life - sincere, supportive, and loyal. Where one comes across these French friends is another question when you are surrounded by people who are happy to be polite, have a chat with you, but will never attempt to contact you again once the night is over. Thank god for the French friends I met in Canada, otherwise I think I would have NONE!Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-32766347699112210922007-12-11T03:37:00.000-08:002008-01-31T06:39:21.801-08:00Drugged dubbing<table id="HB_Mail_Container" height="100%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="100%" border="0" unselectable="on"><tbody><tr height="100%" width="100%" unselectable="on"><td id="HB_Focus_Element" valign="top" width="100%" background="" height="250" unselectable="off">I have a confession to make - today I was sitting at home watching the french version of 'The Nanny' on tv. As I was watching the show I became disturbed by a number of aspects. Firstly - why does 'The Nanny' have to be translated as 'Une nounou d'enfer' which in French means A nanny from hell....why do the French have the right to say that she comes from hell? I understand the need to change the titles of programs and that sometimes during the translation process the title can be significantly altered as direct translation doesn't make sense, but in this case it certainly could have been directly translated as La nounou - why the need to add the hell part...Secondly - the voice of Fran in French is terrible, it's just a relatively normal voice - there's nothing special about it, nothing nasal, the whole annoying aspect of her voice is lost completely! And yet, they keep her English laugh - so she goes from speaking normally in French to a hideous laugh from the original version and it just doesn't work - not even close! But the most disturbing thing of all is the voice of Brighton Sheffield. The man dubbing Brighton clearly has problems, he sounds like he is on drugs. The voice of Grace is almost as bad and is obviously done by an equally stoned woman. But it's not just Brighton and Grace, they are just two of countless examples on French tv.<br /><br />I noticed it at first a few months ago, and since then I have been haunted by my discovery. The voices of children in American and English series are clearly dubbed by adults...and as these adults are trying to recreate the voice of a child, they change their voices in bizarre ways and end up sounding like one of those chipmunks - Alvin, Simon, Theodore! I am convinced that many of them must be on drugs, the voices that they come up with can't be possible from someone who is sober....or at least if it's not drugs, then they must have inhaled a significant amount of helium gas...Who do they think they are? and are French people not disturbed by this as well? Do they not have a problem with the fact that every child sounds like a drugged adult? Surely they must realise! And is it the same in other countries with dubbed tv shows? Is it just a logistical problem that has never confronted those of us from English speaking countries who choose not to dub foreign programs? Afterall, I guess there just aren't enough child actors around - they're all too busy in school. And I suppose the child actors who do exist actually want to act and be on screen and not just in some sound studio providing the voice for some snotty-nosed American kid who's rolling in the cash and the glory.<br /><br />I tried to find some examples for you on Youtube so that you could listen for yourselves and prove my theory right. But unfortunately I can't find a clip from 'une nounou d'enfer' that features little Brighton. Unbelievable I know! So then I looked up '7 à la maison' which translates as 7 at home - doesn't quite have the same ring to it as '7th heaven' does it? there they go with their bloody translation again. But the episodes I found from this show featured the older teenagers, who fortunately are dubbed much better than the kiddies...So you'll have to just trust me on this one and join me in saying NO to drugged dubbing.<br /></td></tr><tr unselectable="on" hb_tag="1"><td style="FONT-SIZE: 1pt" height="1" unselectable="on"><div id="hotbar_promo"></div></td></tr></tbody></table>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-21560384181969014342007-12-05T06:31:00.000-08:002007-12-05T06:54:31.586-08:00Under pressureToday I connected to my blog to see if I was inspired to write another message, and to my surprise I had apparently received more than 120 hits in 2 days. Now I'm feeling the pressure - there appears to be people actually reading my blog - what do I say to you all? How about some shameless promotion for my company! For those of you with access to France 24 (ie everyone with the internet - which means you!) I suggest you watch it at 1am on Friday morning (7th dec) - that is of course 1am Paris time. The 6th of December marks the 1 year anniversary of France 24 and so it's time to celebrate! We will all be partying with a private concert, djs, world cuisine and surprises (a little bit disturbing) but for the public enjoyment we will be playing the Best of France 24 bloopers after the 1am bulletin (though the exact time is still undecided). I had the pleasure of watching these yesterday and they are great! You should see some of the rubbish that went to air courtesy of us! Quite amusing....<br />Now that I know I have an audience, I'll try and raise the standard of my posts....although I'm still not convinced that the hit counter is working. I think it's either a) broken b) trying to flatter me as it's christmas or c)my family visiting 20 times a day....Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-32116738231973344392007-12-01T05:20:00.000-08:002008-01-31T04:14:23.340-08:00The Metro<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5WxN5wU8e6sDBxLDALH1POrf5Cy61ZTAyX1I7p_0Hp35KusSv-tfq2ufymFC8naDM0VHcDQXMNEH7jROmmbqgvDj9vPtmaBY3kbuZMi2cjIabXr7OT8z24ege0l1qEURsKq-RZrhHHcvw/s1600-r/metro+sign.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5139004018652878578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 171px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 95px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="140" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJR0jvd5AVXllONUAR8jYlMTth7-UlslJlLdyz3Xig2Oit6Tr8fymwvnf3p6WqtcMsuj1_N5QzCXJRXmscdR0UwOwzqF7RZqPBdyKILtpdNaV2QDGnSrl44FIaZ5O7qOMoK08hwQL49Mg5/s320/metro+sign.jpg" width="206" border="0" /></a>One of the many things that I love about Paris is the metro - that is, when it is actually functioning. Now that the strikes have come to a temporary halt, I feel it is the perfect time to pay tribute to the metro in an attempt to explain what I have been missing out on over these past few weeks. So here are my top 5 reasons to love the metro.<br /><div></div><br /><div>1) The MUSIC - I am convinced that most commuters really don't appreciate the standard of music they get on the metro in Paris. Ok it must be said straight up that in Paris, as in any other city, there is of course quite a lot of crappy music and annoying buskers going around who you wish would just shut up and let you read your book or listen to your own music on your ipod, but there are also a lot of really great performers. In my opinion, the standard in general here is much higher. Afterall, to busk at a Paris metro station you have to go through an audition first! My favourite metro station for the music is Châtelet - I love the classical orchestra that is there most days serenading the crowds - I often stop and listen and soak up the awesome acoustics. Please click on the link on the left to see the Châtelet orchestra playing. Then there are the many buskers who play inside the cabins on the train - this can either be dreadful, given that you are in an enclosed space and can't escape, or absolutely great!! I'm always somewhat disturbed by the two young boys on line 2 doing a strip tease/pole dance/ rap show, but they are always entertaining. The best I've seen though (not in the flesh) was shown to me this week on Facebook - I've included a link to this metro performance, a group of guys working their magic on line 1.</div><div></div><br />2) The frosty atmosphere on board - maybe this is something that only foreigners can really appreciate, but I will never tire of the looks on the faces of Parisians in the metro. All the passengers look like they want to kill themselves - and anyone who doesn't is a tourist, or at least, not Parisian. And if you're smiling, or heaven forbid laughing, then you clearly have something wrong with you and will receive death stares from the other commuters.<br /><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>3) The accessibility is tops! You really can get anywhere in Paris, with a metro stop on almost every corner, you never have to walk for more than 7 mins to get to a metro station.</div><div></div><br /><div>4) The frequency - this of course varies depending on the line, but when you're like me and live near line 1, you have a train every 3 minutes! Even on the lines with the least amount of trains running, the maximum wait time is 7 minutes. The downside to this is that you become impatient and find yourself cursing if you have to wait 5 minutes or more.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>5) The metro in Paris is one of the easiest transport systems in the world to use - with each line numbered and colour-coded, the only thing left to do is figure out which direction you want to be heading in and voilà, you're on your way.</div><div></div><br /><div>So stay with us my little metro, no more strikes please!</div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-43563977754362570172007-11-26T12:46:00.000-08:002007-11-26T12:54:34.366-08:00And the winner is...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLumF2WXzNm4myR9kJw85LIAwmrBjrUezJIXbgRl9AylBXVguN2n-XKGZz7QRVIeYSS3ite8QL_Mr4E3XXU8VuFXOSJ89Uvo5vuY3SbGP9iIE1odjZtS9Vs_wnMXQ4AUQgTHmsFW53W0EV/s1600-h/cold+case.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137255181722016914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLumF2WXzNm4myR9kJw85LIAwmrBjrUezJIXbgRl9AylBXVguN2n-XKGZz7QRVIeYSS3ite8QL_Mr4E3XXU8VuFXOSJ89Uvo5vuY3SbGP9iIE1odjZtS9Vs_wnMXQ4AUQgTHmsFW53W0EV/s320/cold+case.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Cold Case!!! And the award is - 'Worst and most inappropriate use of music in a TV series'.</div><br /><div>For those of you not familiar with this wonderful series, I advise you to watch it just once (more frequently if you can stomach it) to experience the ridiculous song choice and inappropriate placement of these songs within the program. To be fair, the songs probably sound more out of place in the French dubbed version than in the original, but I'm sure that no matter what language you watch the show in, the music still is surprising - and not in the good sense of the word.</div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-72305160246361127152007-11-25T09:49:00.000-08:002007-11-25T10:37:21.359-08:00November ends nicely<div>Not only did November have a fantastic beginning, as is usually the case, given that it is the celebration of me coming into this world, but it also had a lovely end (touch wood - it's not over yet...).<br /></div><div>The end of November saw the end of the strikes!! YAY! Only fellow Parisians will know exactly what it's like to live through strikes in Paris, but let me tell you it is not enjoyable to put it nicely. Having said that, negotiations are long and continuing so it is highly likely the strikes will come back to haunt us in December, but for the moment we are greeted by trains at metro stations and not by a trainless platform full of aggressive, psychotic commuters who think that they are the ONLY person being affected by the strikes.</div><div></div><br /><div>The end of November also saw the beginning of my CDI (which for everyone else in the world outside of France just means a full-time, permanent position). That's right, now I am officially an Assistant Producer for France24 - the best source of news and information available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week ;) And being France, I actually have more days off per year than I have working days! Well, given that I work in the middle of the night (11pm til 5.30am) as compensation, I only have to work 15 days (or nights as the case may be) in a month. Add to that my 6 weeks annual holidays and I don't feel like I work very often. But I'm definately not complaining - I work with a great group of people and for the moment, I'm very happy.</div><br /><div></div><div>And for the icing on the cake, November also ended with Mr. Howard losing the election. Finally I don't have to put up with little Johnny, his crazy ideas and worse still his parachute material tracksuits for his bloody power walking escapades (although I think I prefer the tracksuits to the shorts - see below). We will see how the labor party will go, whether this will be an altogether positive change remains to be seen but at least I can say goodbye to John 'Mr. Extreme' Howard.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5136847636570266754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 160px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 108px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="113" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj22YekPaEucaBXgkb3FSSz5I53xHdW8XZPEdOvkk8-qhrlfo2g4YTQv0vdbU8ZFaotuBriJgsvfKhwGb0yFnCouJDPiTa9ok4GypKKbOCv8c55T-aA28wvxTmas0rsGlWmDiHR6MDut9J/s320/goodbye+john.jpg" width="163" border="0" /></div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-30237692868413288072007-11-16T11:27:00.000-08:002007-11-16T12:41:03.530-08:00La Grève à Paris!!!! (Paris Strikes)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkyz6NRgjReASDynd7lZkGKCY_1Hewo3Tdky3L8kTWf0bdzHRv2Vo4sAT3EZfIgMswR6bhfzBkPRowJzwJJSfIycSDZrrJKpvPcoxi87rR2dtkJInYlcZqqaUgiYqec0hz8iv8aalAYFE/s1600-h/greve.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133523559516429426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlkyz6NRgjReASDynd7lZkGKCY_1Hewo3Tdky3L8kTWf0bdzHRv2Vo4sAT3EZfIgMswR6bhfzBkPRowJzwJJSfIycSDZrrJKpvPcoxi87rR2dtkJInYlcZqqaUgiYqec0hz8iv8aalAYFE/s320/greve.bmp" border="0" /></a><br />There aren't many things that I hate (a very strong word I know) about France, but I would be lying if I said it was the easiest place to live. Inspired by the current transport strike, here is a list of things that frustrate the hell out of me in Paris.<br /><br />1) Transport strikes!! After spending 2 hours trying to get home from work, crushed against the door of one of the only operating metros in Paris, having to clutch on for my life at each stop when the door would actually open and I would have to miraculously not fall out backwards with the pressure of the crowd of people on top of me, I realised just how much I hate the bloody strikes in Paris!!! I get why they are striking - the government wants to reform the pension system for railway workers, who have ridiculous advantages due to an ancient law based on difficult working conditions faced by these people in the past - and surprise, surprise, the railway workers don't want to lose these advantages. In a country that has such a history of 'power of the people', France loves a good strike. Well you know what? I don't!!! Surely there must come a time when the railway workers realise they have been lucky enough to have it easy for this long and that there is no good reason for them to be able to retire earlier than everyone else given that their line of work is not exactly hard labour. In a city like Sydney, I'm not sure that transport strikes would have as crippling an effect as they do here, given that there are many people who drive to work anyway, and that there is not just one method for getting around (buses, trains, ferries etc). But in Paris, where the metro is the lifeline of the city - it's hell when it doesn't work! <br /><br />2) French TV - In my opinion French TV is some of the worst in the world!! Yes I haven't watched TV all over the world, but I can certainly tell you that of all the TV that I have watched, the worst has been in France. When I first arrived here, speaking to my students, I found that most French people had what I thought was a 'snobby' attitude - they all turned their noses up at television and said that they only watched if for the occasional film or documentary. I just thought as usual they were trying to be 'intellectual', but after living here for over a year, I now understand my students - the television is bloody terrible. Basically you can watch the news, a bad game show, or a talk show with a bunch of people sitting around giving me their opinion on some rubbish topic. There are no decent series, or dramas - the only things I enjoy watching are dubbed American series - which is saying something!! For further proof, I used to groan when CSI, Law and Order, NCIS etc would come on back home - I think there was a massive overload of these programs and I couldn't handle them anymore, I used to turn off the TV and walk out of the room. Now, I love them - Les experts (CSI) is one of my favourite things to watch - which just goes to show you the extent of crap that is broadcast over here. You frenchies out there feel free to defend yourselves, and point me in the direction of a good french show.<br /><br />3) Paperwork and administration - a simple task like going to the post office is not a simple task in Paris. It is an ordeal which takes at least an hour, no matter what time of day, what day of the year or which part of Paris you are in. And the amount of paperwork involved in obtaining information, changing your details, or joining an association is just ridiculous. Every administrative action in Paris seems to require not just a form but a 'dossier' (file) which includes about a thousand things.<br /><br />And that's enough complaining for the moment - any more and I'll turn into a real Parisian (did I mention the complaining nature of the French also annoys the hell out of me sometimes?!)<br /><br />Here's hoping that the bloody strike ends soon!Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-84955915656595238182007-11-07T12:08:00.001-08:002007-11-11T09:52:02.785-08:00Joyeux Anniversaire Kate!<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130197448330373634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUg8QwqY0tOVvc-iVmHemVBOA9iOoF5QOaU2c5Aw-cOsTjO7jWbdhuARR3IbFk8bs2tM_pOhGrMxH54arvjEGc9nfbWFK_znzoGN8LLfSo3z4R2iHo3uC8Gsz0RGNjAdq_JsLgazAB2xUP/s320/birthday+weekend+036.jpg" border="0" /><br />In the past week I was lucky enough (I am very spoiled!) to spend time with some great friends from across the globe. To celebrate her birthday on the 2nd of November, Kate flew all the way from Australia to party here in Paris. An Australian coming to Paris is reason enough for a Swede to come as well and for all of us Parisians (or fake Parisians in my case) to make the long trip out to Versailles to catch up with the other Frenchies - and the newest, cutest one of all of them - Arthus.<br /><div align="center">Impressive Technique<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130197431150504418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifn5x38yyRpDlTO4MA2OgB26W1KeyN3zPrr8wSBYkoerdWOwxMSoZbvvxnm9iAz9htefzG4Qo6rDknRD7OwDy4oF_3yWbo3vYrGoIZ3vC8g18OFCJFHQH0JuCGc8qnypAF2Phm50VNXnvy/s320/birthday+weekend+025.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">Proud Mother</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130197439740439026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9peF_r8bbN1OFo5O60WwQrj-jZLIMYKpc6Bxa7KAocr-FTjOx77g-sD4VmviWDOah2wPCqjHCSiLlH0u_8SYnYyTHaDgPFEhooGeEkc88lasX42XP6kRrxKNiOFalN1ZEI6jO124n9JZR/s320/birthday+weekend+026.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Swedish Lullaby Queen</p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130197989496252994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUShiJXFwfMZoxIMxhXcxkATPp5tY5qAoZvU6nO1JvtWpSc5cZON0dVTl2IeT-kY6ePDrE0_aYu47_2BRe5_ShQ0-ALm-sQoExCds56vYTwFO2j-3YkdQIBX-KIMIoVQ-JJ_0oFleOhKv/s320/birthday+weekend+027.jpg" border="0" /></p>It was a difficult extended weekend of eating, drinking, shopping, movies, walking, relaxing and catching up - la vie est dur!<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130197976611351074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwloowti4Dsux7abpn44h97PVF1iFvjJM2SoPB3WPSShSiJtr54xvwcaP652SNhap0fzhsz2W3muEu0iwUf-p-kBCXO0fDFCxXRF-g5rhR7f6MN8KgZ6Yz-TbJzjkXBPMTYUEZ_2z5aYBG/s320/birthday+weekend+037.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130197985201285682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqLdzMboIFQDY9p-h_fcP32GndjxXlvTtTEYLas_LZM2ASNeG3x9fwj8_vVaZxavfwNRJ0dwzPvtF3ch7Ne5-ZnFxY90Swm8ve_IVOlR6ieN48tQ2oqbwnY1PNvaaUhV6S9EApzgRYYbu3/s320/birthday+weekend+039.jpg" border="0" /><br />And to prove just how great the weekend was, I have the photographic evidence - thanks to an AWESOME birthday present - my very own digital camera....No more stealing other people's photos and passing them off as my own.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130197422560569810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigJhXdLwr54EA7W4J5SIYeqBcqQOlXIuRKEGXrSi968nvBL0ErIvJvYi0IX5_U6RzHtXchO4xg0dWqEF3hAqqH-LfqBuPbfEkzVFRqxCmzyGTukVimYl620MgZNpbr2cUMxcgjoMAxW8EK/s320/birthday+weekend+006.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5130197452625340946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsZ0c5nJx7Q2wTN11Tcv-AwwWyqYgE9ZdW2SFLyDTNDISQkAwRJip56vWWK5g6lrJ0cZaJqSqvDSdn8AOtyJz9nsa-CTCsDpMzP1OMC1lNxD3cuB1SwWziRE4FS3-b2yG90n4xgURYsn8v/s320/birthday+weekend+029.jpg" border="0" /><br />et voilà... C'est toujours un plaisir de passer le temps avec les gens de PARADI5E.... a reminder of how lucky I am to have found and kept these people in my life....Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-4700619102344649272007-10-28T10:50:00.000-07:002007-11-26T03:04:28.168-08:00Coupe du Monde 2007<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib3u0f13qZh_5c2rU_YCouv_LTw74e5OKZaExUQGgbNMEBTPmDs8pjs8vhkswxDZHN_fTFFQt-oKxUYQ042q-5OYf_HU31_Nc_AwHUjjpgT-RO8HmlbRfWGfH40luW8NrF1kj0gLCaQwPQ/s1600-h/wallaby+ladies.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126461638531672514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib3u0f13qZh_5c2rU_YCouv_LTw74e5OKZaExUQGgbNMEBTPmDs8pjs8vhkswxDZHN_fTFFQt-oKxUYQ042q-5OYf_HU31_Nc_AwHUjjpgT-RO8HmlbRfWGfH40luW8NrF1kj0gLCaQwPQ/s320/wallaby+ladies.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I had planned to do a recap of the rugby highlights on my blog when the world cup came to an end but little did I know when I was thinking of rugby highlights that Australia would not be involved in them. And so while this summary will be painful, I feel it is necessary to include given that the world cup has been a big part of French life over the past 2 months. </div><br /><div>So, all was going well until the 6th of October when Australia played England in the quarter final. The Wallbies, who up until this point had been playing rather well, decided to play a shit match right when it counted and for the second world cup in a row were knocked out by Jonny Wilkinson - once again there were no English tries to be seen. With the aussies out of the running it was time to turn to my home country and support the French. They had a difficult task to come up against - the All Blacks - and everyone in France seemed to doubt that the New Zealanders could be beaten. Fortunately, unlike the Wallabies, the French did me proud and what had begun as a very depressing day turned into one of celebration as New Zealand was knocked out of the competition. It was now up to France to get revenge for me and obliterate England so that I would not have to endure another 4 years of taunts and gloating. </div><br /><div>The following week I was paid a visit by the Whitnall brothers, who were understandbly more disappointed than I was by Australia's defeat given that they had tickets to the Semi final - which was now between England and France. While the boys tossed up the idea of whether to go to the match or sell the tickets and make a profit, I headed to the best pub in Paris to watch sport - none other than Cafe Oz. Even though the wallabies were no longer around, this bar was still packed to the brim with sport lovers and you couldn't move once you had made it through the queue and got inside. The atmosphere was incredible and just what you would expect for a world cup rugby match in the host city. This game was possibly more disappointing than the previous week as once again England managed to win and see themselves into another world cup final. All eyes turned to the match the following day to see whether it would be the Springboks or indeed the Pumas to meet (and hopefully beat) the poms. For once in this world cup the result was as expected and the South Africans cemented their place in the final.<br /></div><div></div><div>Despite my dislike of English sporting teams, I love my English friends and decided it would be only proper to watch the final in a true British pub in Paris - The Frog and British Library. A good night was had by my friends and I as we enjoyed reasonable food and alcohol in a fun crowd and were provided with cheer leading pom poms by the bar staff - however the final was in one word DISAPPOINTING!! Thank christ the English didn't win, yet who could be happy with a final with NO TRIES, as bloody usual, and therefore a kicking match between Prince Charming from Shrek (Percy Montgomery) and Jonny "I go for drop goals even when it is completely inappropriate" Wilkinson.</div><br /><div>So my top 5 from this rugby world cup would be;</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>1) The opening weekend fun with Sophie, Matt, Joel, Jess, Dave, Christian and lots of alcohol</div><div>2) Meeting a sexy Pierre whilst watching France v Georgia (I was actually there to watch the Manly Grand Final but what does it matter?)</div><div>3) France playing a super game and knocking out those All Blacks<br />4) The international sporting crowd in the streets of Paris</div><div>5) The English losing!</div><div></div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126461629941737874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjryEqDoOza2tqOIJNhcZdo9FJa2Jw8_5YW3Z0UNkwcrhts82ED7zFBPTQ0GIm7M25kJcMVzAl7I39FE0pHWRLtu5gVnLwvzvb-92ZhEefOCHiKuF6Y1iWipk5CccA0QxS35gm4rPVlypMB/s320/rugby+opener.jpg" border="0" /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126461634236705186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 131px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 102px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="107" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilErKNrggYRTSLdO2POLe0qywmk-xTrqBTsTDUG68oZiA8iSPsHHIqdaAYsfU9zeOIBmvZtcgGajUP_z7B2r-bF1sv0yNfRC4xd_2EK9o6seoXiCpIs-oO5qqfkubzkqweprUPVkd6AVdo/s320/free+shots.jpg" width="136" border="0" /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126461634236705202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-PKnyndWDQahUOdCf23futxIvhOJx8_2jvNTAJArE29DtIfs_xo_0OWR-m74W2u9SpB-GxN2uS-3ttoEgtxtN-LRzAzdr9YGP_eJ2TpilBM_2jNG12yPFRmA4OVYd5gKTnlLC0IuRvi45/s320/rugby+girls.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126461629941737858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NAnhyTxXeZtMjJSo3_gCcBY5a1VVrPcOKwW2vad4ICl1-scanFqfEwzUMpyYSt8mAfXD9gHIEU0uBmcI95VL6YXw5k6e5SODrYLNvxKx4XWCq78TaGEhOMaYXv5GmerrbjKkdroJcmYp/s320/rugby+opener+2.jpg" border="0" /></div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-42373777793326155252007-10-27T04:39:00.001-07:002007-10-27T04:44:29.237-07:00Am I masculine or is Michael J.Fox feminine?So for a bit of fun I went to a celebrity look-alike website - and here is the result<br /><br /><a title="MyHeritage - free family trees, genealogy and face recognition" href="http://www.myheritage.com/collage" target="_blank" alt="MyHeritage - free family trees, genealogy and face recognition"><img height="342" src="http://www.myheritagefiles.com/I/storage/site1/files/38/25/91/382591_412385cf123274i349uf87.JPG" width="302" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I look like a man!!!<br /><br />I was a little bit taken aback, however proud to be compared to Michael J.Fox - he is the coolest of the cool - next fancy dress party I'm going as Marty McFly.Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-89050002611837552362007-09-19T23:59:00.000-07:002007-09-20T00:22:05.438-07:00A first ever!Yesterday I experienced a 'first ever' moment in my life. I had my first ever real fire alarm!! That's right, yesterday at 4.58pm the familiar sound of a fire alarm went off in the offices at work. As normal, we thought it was a fire drill or a false alarm - although we soon realised that they wouldn't do a fire drill 2 mins before the live news bulletin, so it was obviously the latter conclusion - a false alarm. However, as we exited quietly using the fire escape we soon smelt the most pungent stench of smoke. As we walked outside we noticed that there was indeed smoke coming out of the roof of our offices.<br /><br />The news presenters insisted that there couldn't be a worse time for a fire alarm - there was breaking news of an attack in Lebanon and they were determined to go to air at 5pm - we practically had to drag them kicking and screaming from the set, explaining that the building was in fact on fire, and if they didn't leave, soon they might be the very subject of a new 'breaking news'. Though you have to admire my colleagues dedication and commitment to informing the world.<br /><br />So, after assembling on the footpath for a while, it became evident that as the fire was in the roof, no one had been injured - very good news! The French fire brigade was surprisingly efficient for a French organisation and quickly put the fire out which meant that within an hour we were back to work. I never thought I'd be annoyed by a fire alarm because I still had things to do in the office and it was interrupting my working day - my God I'm becoming a professional working woman - somebody help me!Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-11010827306740858112007-09-19T00:00:00.000-07:002007-09-26T12:23:49.013-07:00J'entends un petit accentLiving in a non-english speaking country means that I hear the sentence 'j'entends un petit accent' several times a month. Literally translated as 'I hear a little accent' this is the polite way of the French asking 'Where the hell do you come from? You are clearly not French!', or in some circumstances it's an attempt at a marvelous pick-up line. Apparently my accent is mignon (cute), charmant (charming) - whatever! I'd prefer not to have an accent and prove to myself that I can speak this language properly. All in good time perhaps. However, if this should never happen, which I'm almost certain it won't, I am quite happy to accept my imperfect French given the fact that I'm NOT French. The thing which is more difficult to accept is the problem people seem to have with my accent in ENGLISH!<br /><br />So, when I'm speaking English, I'm not one to kick up a fuss if a French person doesn't know where I come from - the fact that they can distinguish the language as English is a big enough step, they don't need to be able to hear the subtle (or glaringly obvious) difference between accents from various english-speaking countries. I was slightly offended when some students guessed that I was from Sweden before suggesting Australia, given that I don't look at all Swedish (unfortunately!) and that the first language of Swedes is of course Swedish and not English. Apparently it doesn't even sound like I'm speaking my mother tongue to some of my students. Moving on though to the other culprits. I am incredibly used to people thinking I'm British, which I guess I can understand - although it's slightly strange when it's coming from a British person - can't they hear that my accent is different to their own? But, what the hell is the world coming to when even Australians can't tell where you're from? That's right, I asked my fellow Australian at work where she came from, to which she replied Australia (no shit sherlock), so then I asked her where exactly, to which she replied Adelaide. Continuing with the niceities, she asked me where I came from, to which I replied Sydney. She then said 'But you're not Australian! You're American!' I couldn't believe it! The nerve of her! And as if that wasn't enough, she proceeded to make things worse by then listening to me speak and highlighting the very words that sounded American to her - talk about digging yourself into a deeper hole. After this lovely incident, the newsreader comes over to me and says that she overheard me speaking to my colleague and that she had never spoken to me as she had assumed I was American (seems some people have strange standards when deciding who to strike up a conversation with), but now that she knew I was Australian she wanted to talk about her 6 year stint in Oz. Incredible!<br /><br />These are just some of the hundreds of comments I have received about my accent. Others tell me I sound European - one of those mixed up accents that's all in all a bit neutral, some say I sound like I'm from anywhere BUT Australia and then there are those who say I speak English with no accent whatsoever - whatever that sounds like!<br /><br />And that's only the accent, don't get me started on people telling me my sentence structure, phrasing and word order is all a bit strange!<br /><br />However, having said that, being surrounded by Australians for the past month has brought back my aussie accent considerably and I don't think there were any complaints from my friends this month about being incomprehensible.Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-75465360776073302102007-09-16T13:23:00.000-07:002007-09-16T14:09:38.181-07:00Aussies come to ParisSo where have I been for the past month? Why haven't I blogged? Because the whole world has been coming to visit me in Paris and I haven't had the time to stop and write about it - which is a good thing I think! So, when I say the whole world, maybe this only entitles - Sophie, my aunty, uncle, lucy, jessica, matt, joel, jess and bethaney. But you have to admit - that's a fair number of people within 4 weeks.<br /><br />I had a great time with everyone and am so pleased that people could come over to visit. It's nice to be reminded of home every now and then. So the family (aunt,uncle and cousins) made a quick stopover in Paris - 2 nights is apparently enough for this great place. We had a fab time, seeing the sights, climbing the sights, eating and catching up. It was a shame it was so short but we certainly packed it full of stuff!<br /><br /><br />Matt and Joel made a great 4 day trip which was probably filled with as much alcohol as I have drunk since the beginning of this year in Paris. I forget how you aussies drink! Such a different culture, it was a real readjustment to make. Their visit happened to co-incide with the opening of the Rugby world cup (check blog later for all the rugby highlights), so we spent our time cheering on the wallabies in an aussie pub in the centre of Paris. Jess was also able to join us from Reims for the festivities and a good time was had by all.<br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110906260560828722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 95px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="113" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiC1Z5J24VTeKasluMF4W2Y4Vg5vEJFG9a8eOP8b32qFqrRNeV2iW_jbE4UgJ3UE8c4_xQeD7c7wRfByKTaV0qiTtHZaKVp7hZ5juKPAWThoOmsnSu4hD84TKwmR_FoLhC_4bF2gDwnYCI/s320/rugby1.jpg" width="157" border="0" />Christian and the aussie ladies<br /></div><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110906264855796034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb0EqZi9-ClAJ4VGeGsxh4Ci_fVXn3Rp_jCFb6t00YD7UFZExBo00HaMrrgE-avLHMCYrpWb2uBdFPvT66ZxoP0GZXis5lNMOhA8apkzWch7ysItULTvFfshJpqyh-1g0JivhVRDtYB6di/s320/joel+matt+jess.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Matt, Jess and Joel - Rugby World Cup opener</p><br />Sophie, who knows what Paris has to offer, decided to stay for 3 weeks. It was so great to see Soph and to catch up on her life in oz. We had a really nice time and just being around her made me remember so much of what is good about Australia. We also caught up over a coffee and crêpe with Bethaney, which was lovely.<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110907927008139698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4gkiQEv6aN-O2PIo44_TRdeV74osxJH2GrZJU9S97HL_IUKdjBaGp3va0zOcsUE-mIJeQckheeADVBeEA8Ph2emB4ki03-ltoM6IV_OHnydcXs_qOGBAlbrGImuhIEIXHlUOPRGWmDDf3/s320/chanel+day.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Sophie and I (the day she bought Chanel - ooh la la)</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110907922713172354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVkS10exYVYkQajflL5HBsqlVgVeiCVW9xZQKaBqv2wc-XZNv-JJX7UZr799-5p5qgmTC-nyL0jlm7vqF6eVgr5B6lfjECHunAy6zfqpB7gASjqMY60en7fzT7n4AjhIXqoM2MmlGsWef/s320/marais.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Lunch in Soph's fave district - the Marais</p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110907927008139682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_GDsmm2PRuy76kcLxHoU6zO9y4DjEfCqSbocYVl-HdG6RjztaayhL2yDCTqu_K0Ejw8JQH7vsLHW71PzbubDb_lDUn0ZyFIrUuhzWiAlAhZtt7vybSE9bdl7XArB3ylOpNc5E4etQnWXx/s320/versailles.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Picnic in the gardens of Château de Versailles (hands off Marie-Antoinette - they're for us!)</p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5110907922713172370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIZhPJQV-MnMXqq1ZXZRtDJQSimj8WUybTJKpab8LKP1RL_vQWBAH4dg5ctIGaaC4JLtcSDXEdfSSQvt_9OIBsApu0AXO6j_sMFC5hHbFOUCVXlCwS0Iegfyi-kTlzwVOdUgsL33pbGLMu/s320/sophs+bday.jpg" border="0" />Soph's birthday - midnight outside the eiffel tower (we are so romantic!)</p><p align="left">So all in all, a great month! Looking forward to seeing more of you guys in October and November.</p>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4383503120144965283.post-89546304768902998592007-08-19T14:43:00.000-07:002007-08-20T05:25:16.644-07:00Please ExplainI learnt something yesterday that needs explaining...<br /><br />I was giving an English ''lesson'' (I was eating an amazing lunch, being spoilt, chatting and getting paid) at a student's home when she asked me if I could explain an English term she saw in a book she was reading. Of course, being the teacher, I was pleased to help her, and hoped that it wasn't some obscure word that I would have trouble explaining. When she showed me the book, it was none other than the abbreviation RSVP. Now for those of you who don't know (I'm hoping most of you do!), RSVP stands for Répondez s'il vous plaît - which is French for Please reply....So can someone tell me why in English we use a French abbreviation, when it doesn't even exist in France?!!Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02779589335239469689noreply@blogger.com2