20000 Steps

Yesterday, I outsourced the planning of my day to ChatGPT. Design me a day in Paris, I told it don't go to these places. I want churches and I want quirky and I want cheap. 

Today, I used some of its suggestions and sent myself out into the Parisian streets. 

I returned six hours and 20,000 steps later with sore feet and a happy heart. 

Today's objective was to see some old stuff and some cultural stuff - and ChatGPT had some great ideas - but I got to do a bit more. 

I had a sleep in - much needed and enjoyed, setting off around 11 a.m. The first stop was the church of St Paul and St Louis. ChatGPT said that this one was often overlooked - I cannot see why anybody would miss this gem.  Gorgeous place. Amazing baroque architecture. Gobsmackingly beautiful. And I had the place almost to myself. There were a couple of quiet, respectful tour groups in there, but they were fine.  It was a great start to the day. 

The next stop was a late brunch, early lunch. After eating restaurant food for the last two weeks, I wanted something a bit plainer. The BVH canteen, not dissimilar to the Myer or John Martin's cafeteria (remember them) was a great, budget option. 

After this, the next church. A quick visit to the Church of Saint Gervais and Saint Protais. Another gorgeous edifice. Another gothic gem. 

Then off for a walk. Taking myself down, past the Hotel de Ville, over the Seine, past Notre Dame I slowly made my way to the Sorbonne area, stopping in on the Church of St Nicholas on the way. (Not on the ChatGPT list.) This one felt like a working church. Prayers were being said. I remained quiet, respectful, as I made my way around. 

There is something very calming about watching as people pray - actually pray. This what got me about this church. France is a Catholic country. Although I'm not Catholic, nor a Christian, I do see the value of sitting down and taking some time out to think about things, whether you're talking to your perceived deity or not. I also get that all of this money spent on these buildings could be spent feeding the poor, giving reparations to all of the damage done by abusive clergy and the like. But I also look at what we have here, how various spaces are used, and being the good little agnostic, I can appreciate quiet spaces and beauty. Yes, I'm a church and cathedral nut - it doesn't mean I love what the Catholic Church stands for. 

But old churches feel my soul. I love feeling the prayers of hundreds of years swirl around me

Back out on the street, the plan when out the window a bit. I wanted to go to the Church of St Etienne du Mont (Or St Stephens on the Hill if you want my best vernacular). This was not opening until 2.30. I got there an hour early. I also wanted to visit the Genevieve Library - but that was only open for timed, free tickets for a very limited exhibition. So, I booked the next available ticket and did something better - I went to the Pantheon, which was across the road. 16 Euro to get in, but worth every cent if it. 

The Pantheon is like a mix of a church and a memorial space, an although there are religious references, it has the feel of a revolution and war memorial. Also, in the middle, Foucault's pendulum swings on. (I loved to book by Umberto Eco.)

Also, on display are incredibly effective works by Anselm Keifer and Pascal Dusapin. I've seen some of Keifer's work at MONA - his works are bleak and affecting. This was worth the ticket price alone. 

After nearly an hour there, I had a quick look around the Genevieve Library - I wasn't able to sit and have a write, but I did get to have a quick sticky beak. Nothing wrong with that - it was gorgeous. 

Then it was over to St Stephen's on the Mount - all of these were two minutes' walk from each other. The Church was incredible. Made even better by the organ which was playing in the background. I bit of a pilgrimage was made to the Chapel of Sainte Genevieve. I have a friend who keeps reminding me that she's named after the Patron Saint of Paris. As I was one of the first ones in, I could take the place in. It was remarkable. 

From there, I went for a walk, took in the joys of the deepest darkest 5th Arrondissement, hopping on the Metro and making my way to the Richelieu Library, where I tried to Australian my way in. It didn't work, but I got a quick squizz, then sat in the gardens for a bit. 

After this, it was over to Les Halles, with another visit to Saint Eustache cathedral, and a trip to the Monoprix canteen for a Jambon Buerre for dinner. 

Then, another Metro ride back to Republique, then a five-minute walk home. 

Six hours, three cans of Coke Zero, five churches and a very happy Pandora later, I ran the bath in my AirBNB and slunk into the tub. 

It's been a good, unexpected day. 

And despite all of my misgivings about AI, I was grateful for the tips. It did me well. 

Now, I must go to bed. I've got a big day going out to Versailles with one of my retreat mates. 

Today's song:

Outsourcing Paris

 I'm back in Paris, and not so strangely, it feels like home. I'm not at our lovely little hotel in the Tenth, the Hotel Taylor, instead I'm in a very nice AirBnB just down the road in the Third. The area feels a little grungier that where we find the Taylor, but not so much that I feel unsafe. I walked home alone from dinner tonight and all was well. My little apartment sits on top of a small boutique hotel. The view of the rooftops is wonderful. I think I'm going to like my four nights here. Even better, I get the BBC News on the telly. English! At last!

This is the view. 

Anyway, I have three full days in Paris before I go back to Australia on Thursday morning. 

I've been somewhat sick - though I'm pretty much better now, my lungs are still not quite playing ball. Hot air seems to set them off. 

I've got plans for Tuesday and Wednesday. We've got a ticket for a tour to Versailles on Tuesday - going with one of the group - and I'm very much looking forward to this. 

On Wednesday I've got a timed ticket to The Louvre, going later int he day when hopefully some of the crowds have thinned out. 

But what to do tomorrow?

I have some ideas, but I'm going to outsource this to AI and see what it comes up with. AI and I are going to become friends. It's a novel thing. But I want to see what it comes up with. 

My prompt reads as follows: 

"I would like and itinerary to see some things in Paris on a Monday. I do not want to go to the Louvre, Musee D'Orsay, Versailles, Notre Dame, Musee Carnavalet or Montmartre. I am staying in the Third Arrondissement. I love history, churches and quirky things."

It is important to say that you're going on a Monday as many museums are closed. Also, I have noted places I don't want to go as I've either been there, or I'm going there. 

Let's see what they say? 

To be honest, I'm rather impressed. 

Here's what it said:

Great! Since you’re staying in the 3rd arrondissement (the Marais area), you’re already in one of the most charming and historic parts of Paris. And given your preferences — history, churches, and quirky things — I’ll craft a Monday itinerary that avoids the big-ticket places you mentioned but still gives you an immersive, offbeat Parisian experience.

🌿 Paris Itinerary – Monday (Historical + Quirky)

Base: 3rd Arrondissement (Le Marais)

Themes: History, Churches, Quirkiness

Museums closed on Monday are noted, but this plan avoids them.

🕘 9:00 AM – Coffee & Breakfast at Café Charlot

📍 38 Rue de Bretagne, 75003 Paris

A classic Parisian café right near Marché des Enfants Rouges. Great people-watching spot and an atmospheric way to start your day.

🕘 9:45 AM – Explore Le Marais’s Hidden History

Self-Guided Walking Highlights:

🏛 Place des Vosges – Oldest planned square in Paris. Walk under the arcades and admire the symmetry.

🏠 Maison de Victor Hugo – Exterior only (closed Mondays), but still fun to imagine the writer’s life.

🕍 Église Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis – Stunning Baroque church, often overlooked.

🏰 Hôtel de Sens – One of the last medieval mansions in Paris.

🕰 Rue François Miron – See medieval half-timbered houses (very rare in Paris).

💡 Tip: Walk toward Île Saint-Louis via Rue Saint-Antoine for historic vibes.

🕦 11:30 AM – Église Saint-Gervais-Saint-Protais

📍 13 Rue des Barres, 75004 Paris

One of the most beautiful, lesser-known churches in Paris with a fascinating organ and a serene atmosphere. Also home to a monastic community – it feels far from the tourist trail.

🕛 12:15 PM – Lunch: Quirky Option

L'As du Fallafel (34 Rue des Rosiers) – Legendary spot in the Jewish Quarter for falafel. Grab it to-go and eat in Place des Vosges or nearby square.

OR

Chez Janou (2 Rue Roger Verlomme) – Cozy Provençal bistro, less quirky but very atmospheric.

🕝 2:00 PM – Visit the Church of Saint-Étienne-du-Mont

📍 Place Sainte-Geneviève, 75005 Paris

One of Paris’s most beautiful churches (and quirky!). Houses the shrine of Saint Geneviève, patron saint of Paris. Features rare rood screen and gorgeous stained glass. Also, it’s just beside the Panthéon, which you could admire from outside.

➡️ Nearby: Walk past the Rue Mouffetard area for quirky little shops and a historic market street.

🕒 3:30 PM – Arènes de Lutèce (Ancient Roman Arena)

📍 49 Rue Monge, 75005 Paris

Hidden Roman amphitheater in the Latin Quarter. Quiet, peaceful, and surreal to find Roman ruins tucked away in the city.

🕓 4:15 PM – Quirky Stop: Musée de la Chasse et de la Nature

📍 62 Rue des Archives, 75003 Paris

Open on Mondays! This is a bizarre and beautiful museum of hunting, nature, and surreal taxidermy. It’s elegant, weird, and very “cabinet of curiosities.” A hidden gem right in your arrondissement.

🕕 6:00 PM – Early Evening Stroll Along the Seine

Walk from Pont Marie or Pont de la Tournelle along the riverbanks. As the sun goes down, the city glows. Bonus: visit the Shakespeare & Company bookstore if you’re up for a detour.

🍷 7:30 PM – Dinner Options (Marais Area)

Le Colimaçon – Cozy, traditional French bistro

Les Philosophes – Solid classic in a historic location

Derrière – Quirky, hidden restaurant behind a nondescript door, with an eclectic, homey interior

🌙 Optional Late Stop: Le Comptoir Général

📍 80 Quai de Jemmapes, 75010 Paris

A super quirky bar and cultural space themed around colonial Africa, vintage oddities, and art. It’s a hidden gem near Canal Saint-Martin, a short walk from the 3rd.

There's a few things on here which look interesting. I love the idea of the churches. 

There are a couple of stops as well that I want to incorporate. I might looking at finding a ticket to see inside Saint Chapelle (also something to do early Wednesday morning). There are some libraries I would like to investigate - I've been to the Richelieu, but AI is recommending the following:

1. 🕰 Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève

📍 Place du Panthéon, 5th arrondissement

🕒 Open Monday: 10:00 AM – 10:00 PM

Why visit:

Breathtaking 19th-century ironwork reading room

Incredible view of the Panthéon

Used by university students, but visitors can admire the architecture

Feels like stepping into a historical novel

🔎 Ask politely at the desk if you're just visiting — staff are usually welcoming.

2. 🏛 Bibliothèque Mazarine

📍 23 Quai de Conti, 6th arrondissement (Inside the Institut de France)

🕒 Open Monday: 10:00 AM – 6:00 PM

Why visit:

Oldest public library in France (founded 1643)

Stunning wood-paneled reading room and antique globes

Lesser-known gem, peaceful and elegant

✅ Open to the public — quiet visitors welcome.

3. 🐘 Bibliothèque Forney (in Hôtel de Sens)

📍 1 Rue du Figuier, 4th arrondissement (Marais)

🕒 Open Monday: 1:00 PM – 7:00 PM

Why visit:

Housed in a medieval Gothic mansion!

Specializes in decorative arts, fashion, and crafts

Free exhibits sometimes on design, posters, Art Nouveau

🌀 Very quirky and fits your interests — plus, it's right in your arrondissement.

4. 🕍 Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal

📍 1 Rue de Sully, 4th arrondissement (near Bastille)

🕒 Open Monday: 10:00 AM – 6:00 PM

Why visit:

Former 18th-century mansion with opulent interiors

Rich in literary and revolutionary history

Collection includes manuscripts, first editions, and more

⚜️ Often overlooked, but a hidden jewel near the Seine.

5. 📖 Bibliothèque du Musée des Arts et Métiers (optional, niche)

📍 60 Rue Réaumur, 3rd arrondissement

🕒 Open Monday: 10:00 AM – 6:00 PM

Why visit:

Technical and industrial focus — for fans of quirky engineering history

Near the fascinating Musée des Arts et Métiers (also open Mondays)

🔧 A niche option, but cool if you're into the history of invention and odd gadgets.

I've got some interesting options. Just because AI tells you to do it doesn't mean it has to be done, but I love that it's come up with the cheap, easy and interesting things to do. 

I'll let you know what I get up to. 

Today's song: 

Sunday Stealing: Memememe Part 2

Today is my last day in Sommieres. I'm not loving this fact as I love it here. Having the world's comfiest bed is not helping matters either. 

I've only got another four days before I go home, and being honest, I wish I had another week here. unfortunately plans, cat sitters and funds make this impossible. 

Regardless, let's get on with the weekly questions, brought to us by Sunday Stealing. 

11. You can build a dream house anywhere in the world. Where would it be located?

Maybe not so much build, but if I could buy a place here in the South of France I would be very happy. I love it down here. 

12. Have you ever taken a photo in a photo booth?

Yes, many years ago, in London. You needed photos for all sorts of things back then. 

13. What's your favorite kind of mustard (dijon, spicy brown, bright yellow)?

I love mustard - but the ones we get in Australia are really different to other countries. 

I love Hot English Mustard - it has a big kick. Best, used sparingly, on ham sandwiches. 

I love Dijon mustard, which as I am in France at the moment, I have to say that. 

There is also seedy mustard, which we get at home, and I love it's tang. 

14. What did you do on New Year's Eve?

Nothing much. If there's a house party - small get together, I might go there. New Year's Eve is a bit of a non-entity for me. 

15. Did your parents ever share memories of their high school days?

Dad used to, but he died nearly 30 years ago. Mum, not so much. 

16. What's the most famous thing to happen in your home town?

Ah, Myponga, South Australia. It's known for a music festival that occurred in 1971. I was two at the time. Black Sabbath played (oh my god, I've been in the same paddock as Ozzy Osborne!) as well as a lot of well known Australian bands. I will not tell you what my cousin got up to there. I've been sworn to secrecy. My cousin is about 16 years older than me and was a nurse at the time. 

Myponga also used to make very good Edam cheese and there's a reservoir there. 

It's one of those blink and you miss it towns on the way to either Victor Harbor or the Kangaroo Island ferry. 

17. Did you ever have a MySpace page?

No. Miss out on that one, thankfully. They're the ones that come back and bite you on the arse. 

18. Will you eat a cookie today?

No, but I have had a lovely babka which I bought at the Sommieres market which was very nice. 

19. Who is the last person you spoke to – not texted with – on the phone?

I have no idea. I haven't used my phone in the last two and a half weeks. According to my phone log, the last person I talked with on the phone was my mother - and that was on the Wednesday before I went away. 

20. Do you play poker?

No. It's not something I ever got into. 

Today's song:

Imposter Syndrome

 The breakthrough hit like a lightning bolt. 

It was during a writing block. I've turned back to the novel I've been pondering for years and wrote everything down I know about my main character. It was cool. I got eight pages of pretty much legible stuff down in my new HEMA notebook - because everybody knows you need a new notebook when you're at a new stage of the work. 

Then, I took the prompt. Write the story of the novel in a fairy story. 

There are six prompts. 

• Once upon a time there was...
• Every day...
• One day...
• Because of that...
• And because of that...
• Until finally...

This is pretty much the structure of not only every fairytale, but every story as well. 

So, I was up by the pool, lying on a day bed, writing the first bit - again, relaying the story of my main protagonist when it hits me. 

WAH!!!

ANGELS SANG!

HALLE-FUCKING-LUJAH. 

The inroad I have been looking for. The deciding factor. The thing that changes everything.

FUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKKK. 

So, I've kept writing. 

And kept writing. 

And I have to teach myself how to write like an AI bot, but how hard can that be? (No, I am not outsourcing my novel to AI - I just need to include some AI bits and I want it to sound convincing). 

But I've had a breakthrough. 

I've talked about my idea with a few people - given them the elevator pitch. They're onboard. 

Now I just have to do this. I've been working on the idea for around ten years - and it's morphed and changed over this time, but it's been gelling at the back of my brain. It's a lot better product that what I had ten years ago. 

Now I have to go and do it. 

I feel like an imposter. 

Most writers know the feeling - you call yourself a writer. But can you really do all of what you're talking about?

It's why I'm on a writing retreat with a group called The Gunnas. 

Cos I'm gunna do this!

I can write. I'm not a bad writer. But I feel like such an imposter. Like, I know I write - I write this blog everyday, I have five and a half years of proof that I can produce writing.

But can I do this?

At least I have a little time now to get on with this project. 

I want to prove to the voice in my head that tells me that I'm a fraud that it is very wrong. 

Today's song: 

Things I Never Knew I Needed

This is the third time I've tried to write this. 

Last night I ended up next door with a couple of my fellow travelers chewing the fat, drinking tea and eating the amazing Brets Cheese Chips from Lidl - so writing did not occur. 

This morning, after breakfast, I started writing this again. I'm not on the winery and oyster tour - last night's asthma attack has left me a little sore and shaken - and I don't feel liking spending the day going from pillar to post. I go most of this written, only to have the network die and nothing saved. 

So, I'm trying again. 

Here's a list of some things I didn't know I needed. (She saves the post). 

• Flannels
• A small thermos flask
• Ventolin
• A crochet hook and some wool
• A supply of Coke Zero

1) Flannels

Something new - it might be post-COVID, but hotels will regularly not supply you with a flannel (face cloth, wash cloth, whatever you might like to call it.) Being of the generation who use a flannel, normally to wash my face and distribute soap around my body in the shower, I like to have a flannel - but you can often not get one. 

So, in England, I hunted out a pack of four from the British equivalent of TK Maxx. Four for four quid - Egyptian cotton. They've done the job. I can leave them there if I wish. But my ablutions feel more normal.  (Save post)

2) A Small Thermos Flask

I love the Sommieres fairy fort more than you could know, BUT they do serve coffee, like most great establishments, in stupid little cups. 

For me, coffee comes in a mug. I'm a bogan. If you could see me now, in my leggings, Pixies band t-short and hair in a bandana, yeah, I'm a bogan. And tea is imbibed out of mugs. 

Also, my coffee is choice is a Melbourne Wanker - an almond or oat decaf latte. I'm not going to ask...

So, in the girl's kitchen next door I have some instant decaf - Monoprix, which means it's drinkable - as well as some oat milk in their fridge. 

At the Lidl, I found a small thermos flask. It has been a godsend. (Save post)

3) Ventolin

You're not an asthmatic until you are. 

I always have a puffer on me. 

Normally, I will cart around my puffer, and it will be thrown out when the medicine expires. 

I brought a puffer over with me. 

Last night, I needed it. 

You see, I've had a chest infection / something fluey and chesty. I also brought with me some antibiotics from an old repeat, just in case. I'm glad I've had both with me. 

Last night it was a mix of wood smoke and the chilly Languedoc air that set me off. 

I couldn't breathe. 

Thank God for Ventolin. 

I'm taking it easy today - not going to a winery and oyster tour, just so I can take care of myself. 

But I'm glad I carry Ventolin - even if I only need it only once or twice a year. It's the cold air that gets me every time.  (Save post)

4) Some wool and a crochet hook

I'm blaming one of the Jays for this. 

We have three women named Jay on the trip. They're all different, all have links to comedy and they're all hilarious in their own way. 

One of the Jays is a knitter. We were sitting around last night with a glass of wine (or in my case a peppermint tea) 

I got very emotional. I wanted to be knitting. I love knitting - any yarn work, if I'm honest. 

This morning, I traipsed down the hill, found the mercerie and bought a couple of balls or yarn and a crochet hook. All in French of course. 

I should be writing, but it's nice to have a side quest. And it will pack easily. 

5) A Supply of Coke Zero

Maybe it's a being sick thing, but I've been craving Coke Zero (or Coke Sans Sucre) as it is known here. Generally, I don't drink coke or any of its derivations at home. I don't need the caffeine. 

Here, I feel like I'm mainlining it. 

Very strange. 

Okay, I'm saving this one last time, then I'll head down to meet the other stop-out for a quick lunch. 

(Save's post)

Today's song: 

The Fairy Fort

In my own little fantasy world, I live in a castle. In Summer, ivy covers the rough-hewn walls, the shutters need a paint, and you can't find a straight line for love nor money. The grounds are lush, filled with plants, flowering and leafy. Beneath my feet are worn stones, smoothed by hundreds of years of sweeping and mopping and footfalls, centuries of life wearing them down. 

Found objects are located in most corners. You never know what sort of knick-knacks will turn up. A ceramic jug from a local artist. Novels in French, Dutch, English and German gather on the tables. This is a place where light comes from scattered lamps, rather than overhead illumination. 

My bed is like a pit of quicksand. So simple, so tempting, and once you're in there, you're never going to get out. I gathered the European pillows around me, making a nest, and slept the sleep of the dead. 

I was woken by the church bells ringing outside my windows. How rude. 

Night is heralded by the murmuration of the starlings, their eternal Mobius loops over the skies of Sommieres has been happening for an eternity. They give a rhythm and a permanence to the place. 

Life is simple here. Bread, fresh, comes from the bakery. The orange juice is chilled but freshly squeezed.

We won't talk about the butter. I would marry the butter. I don't know what they do with it, but it's the most amazing thing in the world.

Writing this, I'm at my little desk in my room in what I call the Fairy Fort - or le donjon du fees. (The fairy's tower). 

My suite, and it is a suite, has a king-sized bed, and a large bathroom, with a bath, the size of which would fit my flat at home. The cotton bed linen has been ironed. The windows are open to let in the breeze. 

There is a day bed, on which I will read later. 

And in my fantasy world, I would live here year-round. Yes, it would get bloody cold in Winter, and they need a couple of cats to keep the occasional garden rodent at bay. A big, friendly dog wouldn't go astray either. 

But yeah, in my fantasy world, this would be home. 

It is for four days. 

That will have to suffice. 

Today's song: 

Lurgy Sucks

I'm ill. Not put me in hospital ill, but ill enough to stay in my hotel room in my pyjamas in bed reading, watching Netflix and French-dubbed re-runs of Law & Order: SVU. I rue the hour the nurofen wears off, because that is when the coughing and spluttering starts afresh - it calms down once I've taken another horse pill. (Fun fact: Paracetamol and Nurofen come in double the strength here - you take one big pill rather than popping two at a time)

Being used to looking after myself when I'm ill, I'm doing everything right. Rest, fluids, Panadol/Nurofen for the fever. It's fun. I've also tested for COVID - thankfully, the test came back negative. 

What's not fun is all the things I'm missing out on. Rather than chance giving people get what I have, I'm staying in my room. I went out for a little bit when the cleaning lady came to service my room, heading down to the bakery to get a jambon beurre and an apricot beignet (donut) for lunch. As I can't taste much, it's a bit of a waste, but the 20-minute wait in the queue was worth it, just for the texture. I also picked up some tissues, Coke Zero (which I only drink when ill) and an iced coffee from the place on the corner. 

Today, the group had an exclusive, private tour of the Hotel de Ville. They then went to the Richelieu library for some writing. The library is one of the most stunning buildings I've ever seen. 

And tonight, there is a dinner, followed by one of the following options - a cabaret the Moulin Rouge, a visit to a jazz club, or Bach in a Church. I'm down for the Classical music in a church. 

The decision has been made. I'm going to rug up and put on a mask and go. It's a five-minute walk to the Metro, which drops us at the door. I'll come straight home afterwards

I'm mostly packed for Sommieres, where we head to tomorrow. Again, I'll wear a mask while moving. Just because it's probably not COVID it doesn't mean I'm not infectious. What's bumming me out is that I've missed out on all this cool stuff because I've not been well. It's always the way - you stay healthy while at work, and as soon as you stop, you get sick. It's sod's law. 

Hopefully I'm a bit brighter tomorrow. 

Today's song:

The Ants Go Marching One by One

 The ants go marching one by one, ta-rah, ta-rah,

 The ants go marching one by one, ta-rah, ta-rah, 

The ants go marching one by one, 

The little one stopped to wipe his bum, 

And they all went marching, down under the ground to get out of the rain

Tiddly om pom pom, Tiddly om pom pom. 

Being a tourist in Paris means queueing. Lots of queueing. Unless you pay a lot of money, which I don't have a tendency to do.

Today's trip sent me to Notre Dame, right in the middle of Paris. I tried to go yesterday, but the queue was close to half a kilometre long and I couldn't stomach it. Today, around four, the queue was much shorter and moving quickly - about a ten-minute wait with a cursory walk through a metal detector. That's a fine queue, yet I was still singing the ant song in my head as all of these lemming tourists trudged their way towards the great door.

I entered the hallowed ground that is Notre Dame. 

And yeah. 

I'm so conflicted about visiting this sight in particular. 

I'm reminded of when I went through the Gandhi Memorial Museum in Delhi, where locals frog-marched through the building, not stopping to look, consider or dispute what was on show. It was a strange performance. Why were people there if they weren't going to enjoy it? 

Today's visit to Notre Dame had a similar feeling, 

Firstly, there were far too many people in the building, more shopping centre than sacred site. Lots of pushing and shoving, trying to get your hands on votive candles, groups gawping at all sorts of things. It wasn't pleasant. I felt like I was one of those ants in the song, blindly marching forward. 

And yes, Notre Dame hasn't been open to the public for years after the big fire. There's still a lot of scaffolding up around the building, masking some of its beauty, but the towers are there. Quasimodo has his bells to ring. And inside - it's soooooo clean. I remember going into Notre Dame when I was there 30 odd years ago. I remember it being dark, filled with the stains of hundreds of years of thurible smoke and Parisian smog. The insides have now been cleaned thanks to the rebuilding. 

Don't get me wrong, it's a gorgeous church - but how can you enjoy a sacred space when 2000 of your best mates are gawping around, taking selfies and not considering anything other than what might look good in Instagram?

Not to forget that when the fire came many, many people donated money to save this building - enough to feed a famine-ridden country for years. Such a Christian thing to do. 

For me, I've had a much better time in some smaller, lesser-known churches. St Eustache in the First Arrondissement is glorious - even better when the Keith Haring choir screen is on display. I popped into St Nicholas's church, which is nearby where I'm staying. Nobody was in there, which was great. St Sulpice, which hides away in the shadow of Notre Dame reminds me of how the latter used to be. Smoky, dark and contemplative. 

I just don't get why people feel the need to march through these cathedrals, paying no heed to all the great things these buildings provide - solace, peace and beauty. They're not there as something to mark off a list. They require more reverence than that. Cathedrals should be poured over, contemplated and loved.

Some of my retreat mates were there when Vespers started, staying for the choral edition. They're lucky. That's how you enjoy a Cathedral properly. 

By the time of Vespers, I was over the river at Shakespeare and Sons, the English language bookshop, upstairs in the reading area, sitting at a table that T.S.Eliot and Ernest Hemingway might have sat at, doing some writing. This made me very happy. 

I walked out of the bookshop reasonably unscathed. A copy of Samantha Harvey's Orbital. Another small volume from a new author that looks interesting. And a copy of St Exupery's Le Petit Prince, in the original French. (Which we studied for Year 12 French). 

Pilgrimages come in many different forms. This was mine. 

Today's song: 

Things I learned today

 Okay, I blogged a naked post last night, all because I'm sick. Not dying and in hospital sick, but sick enough to have me sleep ten hours last night (I normally have around six) and enough that I knew I wasn't well enough to do a reasonable post. I also missed out on going to dinner and meeting a cat - so I am well miffed. 

Yet, you will often get sick after you allow yourself to slow down. Many get sick on holiday. For me, I've been working like a dog for two and a half years, I'm not that surprised that I fell over.

Anyway, even though not feeling the best, I managed to get in 20,000 steps, thanks to a pain patch, lots of ibuprofen and water stops and sheer bloody-mindedness. I went through the Musee Carnavalet - excellent, but you need a good day to get through it. had a walk and a sneaky Jambon Beurre (Ham Sandwich) by the Seine, went to a clothing market (which smelled like every other clothing market I've been to), visited some churches, did some people watching and had a dirty burger for dinner. A good day yes - and enough to put me to bed for ten hours. 

So, what did I learn yesterday? 

Here are some dot points: 

• All clothing markets smell of mothballs, desperation and eccentricity. 
• If you start talking to a dog, the dog will respond. You can strike up a gentle conversation with a French person by asking about the dog. 
• French dogs are allowed in restaurants. I'm in two minds about this. It's fine if they are well behaved. 
• One of the best things you can bring with you on holiday is Metamucil sachets.
• And Imodium. Have used the former. 
• You have to remember that vegetables to the French are potatoes, leeks, onions and garlic, all drowned in butter and garlic - hence the need for Metamucil. 
• Monoprix makes Kmart look very dowdy. 
• There is something to be said for doing your own washing in a French laundrette - people do say hello.
• Allegedly having a bird shit on you is good luck. I don't know, but it was the reason I did the said load of washing. 

That will do - we're about to go out for lunch. 

Hopefully the lurgy will pass soon. Fluids and ibuprofen and rest and I should be fine (and it is not COVID - I have tested). 

Bonne journee!

Today's song: 

Sunday Stealing: Memememe Part One

 Today is my third day in Paris, and other than being overwhelmed the number of people at the Musee D'Orsay and cursing some mild lower back pain, life is pretty good. Really, life is very good - made better by a working ability to speak in French without pissing off the natives. I sat next to the Uber driver on the way to the gallery this morning. We prattled on for the 40-minute drive, in French, talking about everything from differences in football codes to the French love of a strike to what it's like to see a crocodile in the wild in Darwin. 

All in French. 

This makes me very happy. 

We then had lunch at one of Paris's oldest restaurants, Le Procope. After the madness of the Musee D'Orsay, it was nice to sit and have a lovely, civilised French lunch. I had French Onion soup, steak tartare (yes, raw steak - it's wonderful) and creme brulee. About the most French love you could want for. After this, a spot of shopping, a visit to a church and a rest. 

Then it was a dirty burger dinner with some friends. In all, a very successful day. 

Anyway, now I have to get on with today's questions, brought to you, as always, by Sunday Stealing. 

1. The phone rings. Who do you want it to be?

Easy. The lottery people, calling to tell me that I've won 50 million dollars. 

2. When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your cart?

Do I return the shopping trolley once I've dropped my groceries off at the car? If I don't send it back to the trolley bay, I will put it near the car park doors where the collectors have to go through to drop them back at the supermarket. I like to make sure I keep them out of the way of cars - not like some. That's a pet peeve. 

3. In a social setting, are you more of a talker or a listener?

I can be both, but depending on the situation, I tend to listen more. I'm finding it hard to get a word in edgewise on this trip, but that's what happens when you're with 15 other strong personalities. 

4. Do you take compliments well?

I'm getting better at it. 

5. Do you play Sudoku or Wordle?

I play both. I do the Wordle daily - and I was on 48-day streak until I was bested by the word LEFTY. 

I love Sudoku. There is always one in the Qantas magazine. When I'm on a plane, I like to see if I can get the easy one out by the time we take off. 

6. Did you ever go to camp as a kid?

Not in the American sense. Sending your kids away for a few weeks over summer is very much an American thing. We used to have school camps when I was at primary school, where we went bush for a few days in tents. I remember hating it. 

7. Could you date someone with different religious beliefs than you?

Yes, and I have. As an agnostic spiritualist, as long as nobody forces their views on me, I'm fine. I've dated Jews, Muslims, Christians and one Buddhist with no issue. 

However, once you start waving your religion in my face, we have a problem. 

8. Would you rather pursue or be pursued?

I would love to know what it is like to do either. I'd love to know the feeling of being pursued. I really have no idea. 

9. Have you ever fired a gun?

Yes. I grew up with a gun in the house. However, in Australia, we have very tight gun laws. Growing up on a farm, the rifle was used for dealing with sick/injured animals or dispatching vermin like feral cats and foxes. 

And that's it. You can't have much more than a rifle, or guns used at gun clubs without a very good reason and very serious police checks, lock ups and the like. 

And yes, I feel very lucky to live in such a country. 

10. Would you rather dine at Olive Garden or Panera?

Um, these are American places - I have no idea what these places are like. 

At the moment, I'm frequenting Modern French places in the Marais. It is quite wonderful. 

Today's song: 

Parisian Pandora

I’m sitting in the Tuilleries Gardens

 (Les Jardins du Tuilleries). There are a few too many wasps (Les guêpes) haunting the remnants of our picnic for my liking, as are the pigeons squabbling over the last of the luncheon baguettes. 

It’s our first writing block. I am tempted to write this in French  but I won’t. The language is coming easily. It’s good. 

I’ve been asked the following questions:

• Who am I? 
• What am I doing here?
• What do I want to get out of the next ten days?

Well, who am I? I’m Parisian Pandora. She is ballsy and cool. She gives zero fucks. She prefers speaking in French because of the way it feels in her mouth. She stands tall and strong. Despite the outward bolshiness, she is very kind. She likes to think of herself as a bit of enigma, but she is unsure why. She listens and processes. She has an unexpected irreverence. She is European despite what her passport says. 

It feels strange to be talking about myself in the third person, but it needs to be done. 

And what am I doing here?

Well, I’m on retreat. Retreating from my normal life. Retreating from perceptions of myself I appear to have outgrown. After a morning spent on the back of a motorbike riding pillion, feeling the air rush by as we navigated the city street, I contemplated the freedom this gave me. 

Our guide, Dave, asked if I was happy.

‘I’ve had a bloke between my legs for the last two hours, how could I not be happy?’ 

I like being happy.

As for what I want to achieve over the next ten days? Other than speak as much French as possible and become immersed on all things French? And to continue to eat Steak Tartare regularly, because I am a literal vampire. (Raw steak- of course, I’m a Leo, red meat rules!)

But basically, all I want out of this ten days is to be and remain happy. 

I may be between jobs, but for the moment I want to suck the marrow out of France. I think this is a good.  

Today’s Song 

Sanctuary

I met my old colleague for a coffee early this morning. He's working at Oxford Circus in a tech start up. It was so good to see him.

We looked each other up and down. 

"You look different," he said. 

"I'm walking 15,000 steps a day, I'm between jobs and I'm home," was my reply. 

London, for all its faults, is my sanctuary city. A place I do call home - my spiritual home. 

In the I wander thro' each charter'd street,

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow. 

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe. 

And I get it. London is loud and dirty and smelly and underfunded.

But it's home. 

And I am home. 

London is a balm.

I know how to get around. Riding the tube is like riding a bike - you ease into the human soup of despair and get on with it. The old lines are looking and feeling tired, particularly when you compare it to the newer lines like the Jubilee extension and the Elizabeth lines (when it's running). 

Yesterday, I had a moment of sanctuary. On arriving in Bloomsbury, before the aborted attempt to meet up with my friend, I went for a walk. 

I needed a bit of a sit down and some quiet time, so I went and looked around the district. There were quiet looking pubs and cafes, but none looked right. 

Then there was this church. St George the Martyr Bloomsbury. A Victorian church. Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath were married in there. It's mentioned in Dickins and the chimneysweep's church.  Somewhat stoic and plain compared to a lot of the churches around here, it's Victoria simplicity was welcome. The door was open. I went in. There was an exhibition of the paintings of Charlie Mackesy, author of The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse. 

I must have looked wrecked. 

I thought there was a little cafe in there - a lot of little churches do this. Approaching the woman at the desk, I asked if they did coffee and if I could have a sit down for a bit. Churches are a great place to go and have a sit and think. 

They offered to get me a cup of tea, and I was ushered in. 

Hot tip - nobody makes a cup of tea like the British. 

About half an hour later, I went out, asking where I could pay for the tea.

No payment. No need. She told me I looked like I needed a break, and she was pleased to provide succour. 

This is a big city. People are often harried and harangued. It was very humbling. The fellow said that I was welcome to give a donation - but as London is almost cashless now all I had in my purse was a five dollar note Australian. 

I promised the guy that I would pay his kindness forward. 

It will happen. 

Sanctuary is a wonderful thing. 

So now I'm about to head off to Paris. I've had my final prawn sandwich washed down with a bottle of Purdeys (IYKYK). Part of me wants to find a packet of Nice and Spicy Nic Nacs and a Topic bar for the train, but I don't need that. I'm trying to keep as much sugar out of my diet at the moment. 

Walking 15,000 steps a day is already making my body feel amazing. My sleep will regulate - no sleeping tablet last night - too much alcohol to take one safely. 

I've done next to nothing cultural while I've been here, yet it's been great to reconnect with friends. Really, I need a good month in Britain - maybe go around to far lying places, go on a cathedral cruise, visit far flung friends, investigates mountains and castles and lochs. 

We dare to dream. 

Today's song: 

Reasons I’m Not Writing Tonight

 Oops, I nearly forgot to blog.

Here are the reasons I am not writing tonight. 

1. I have been up since 4 a.m. Gotta love jetlag.

2. I have a lot to write and want to do it justice. It is 11:45 p.m. I will not be able to do this.

3. When I thought I was going to be able to write, I was sitting in a pub waiting for a friend. I’m now meeting the friend for breakfast. Such is life.

4. I went out to dinner with a friend tonight. Between as we polished off two bottles of wine. Can you remember when the last time I did this? The last time I did this was the last time I went out drinking with his friend two years ago. Strangely, I am not pissed but it doesn’t make for conducive writing conditions.

5. I’m going to Paris tomorrow, and I don’t feel like writing.

6. But basically, I’m a bit tired and a bit pissed. Okay, I’m not pissed but I’m tipsy enough to sing Talking Heads songs in a nearly empty restaurant. Not that I would ever do that.

7. Oh, and I want to watch the last episode of The Summer I Turned Pretty. Go Team Conrad!

Today's song: 

Day Two: Geographic Dysmorphia

 I've said this many times. I am English. I have always been English. I always will be English. 

The fact that it says something else on my birth certificate and passport is by the by. 

Inside, I am a Pom. 

And the only way I can describe it is to say it's like being trans. Born to the wrong body. I was born the wrong nationality. 

This is a bit of an issue, because unlike being trans, which I will never belittle or decry, and it has to be a very brave thing to say that I am in the wrong body, with your nationality, you can change it. It's not always that easy. Often you won't be able to see an opportunity to make leap, whether by marriage, employment or a major influx of funds. 

I never found somebody to marry. I don't have the specialised work that would take me over here, nor am I a millionaire.

So, I live in Australia, without many complaints. I live in the most European like city there is. I love all of the wonderful things Australia provides - including a decent government, health care, nice people. and living in Melbourne, a decent arts base. 

But I'm still a Pom. 

And if my fairy godparent was feeling benevolent, I would hope they could buy me a flat in a nice leafy suburb or London, or a cottage in some little village near services, and get me a decent job and I could live comfortably, I would jump at the chance. 

But that's not going to happen. I'm a realist. 

But always, deep down, England is home, and it's always going to be the place that feels most like home, and we just have to live with it. 

Today's song:

Day One: London

 The most urgent requirement to fill is hydration. Hydrate now. Hydrate well. Throw in some Metamucil into the mix as over the 40 hours of travel, all you've managed is the odd fart. 

The next most urgent requirement is sleep, which now that you're ensconced in your hotel room, cranking up the air conditioning, items set to charge, bag contents exploded around the room, you can consider. In the 40 hours of travel, you've had patches of sleep, trying to work out the best way to get over jet lag seeing you've gone around the world. It's only when you lay your head on the pillow in London to you allow yourself to take the tab of Stillnox at around 10 pm local time. You sleep through until 6.30 a.m. You sleep that wonderful, heavy, dreamless sleep. Hopefully this is a good omen. I feel refreshed. 

In the last 40 hours, you've seen some of the best and worst in people. 

The worst - the Karen sitting in front of you on the leg between Melbourne and Sydney who refused to turn her phone off and had a stand-up barney with the head flight attendant half-way up. I could see in his mind him wishing he had the opportunity to have her go sit out on the wing and think about her actions. 

You've worked out that Qantas are really okay. The flight from Sydney to Los Angeles was uneventful. I was lucky enough to have a lovely older woman next to me. She was from San Francisco - lived a very full live, and she has no idea how the country has got to where it is. She goes to protests. She writes letters. She's great fun. We swapped numbers at the end of the flight. 

My only gripe was I had to take the pasta option for dinner as the other choices had gone. Tepid tortellini is not great. Breakfast was better. First world problems. 

Then there was seven hours in Los Angeles. 

Two hours of this was spent in the immigration queue. Months of catastrophising ended up with a conversation that went like this:

"You're in transit."

"Yes."

"Look at the camera."

"Glasses off?"

"Keep them on."

"Put your hand on the scanner." (Fingerprints - joy)

The man passed me back my documents and bid me a nice day. 

I'd been in the States for two hours by now. 

After this my luggage was collected and sent to the onwards flight section. 

Then there was the wait for the shuttle bus to the hotel, where I'd booked a room for a few hours. 

Then there was another queue to check in at the hotel. 

For USD$100 I got a room for an hour and a half, and one of the best showers I've ever had in my life. 

Then I waited for the shuttle bus, went back to the airport, and had a remarkably pleasant interaction with the immigration office on the other end. He was lovely. Not so lovely was Kristy Noem's talking head on the screens around the airport. 

A visit to Starbucks for some kind of pumpkin spice concoction and a bagel. Someday, somebody will explain to me this pumpkin spice phenomenon. It just seems like they overload the drink with a syrup made of cinnamon, nutmeg and dread. 

Of my seven-hour transit stop in Los Angeles, I spent about three of those hours in some sort of queue. There were opportunities to improve customer service. Not enough service staff, immigration officers, desk clerks. And nobody really appeared that happy. 

The ten-hour flight to London was uneventful. Flying over Greenland was very cool. Sleep evaded me, which may work in my favour. With no sleep, hopefully I'll regulate to European time more easily this way. 

Immigration in London was another thing entirely. It's brilliant. Step off the plane, go to the gate, your passport, smile for the camera and you're in. Collect your bag from the turnstile, make your way to the Heathrow Express, then get on the Bakerloo at Paddington, getting off at Lambeth North. 

Then getting out of the station, the exhaustion kicked in. It was raining. I could make head nor tail of the way Googlemaps was telling me to go. My feet were hurting. And rather than despair, I hailed an Uber to take me the 5-minute drive to my hotel. In other times, I would have had an abject feeling if failure. This time, I made the good choice of spending the money to get myself to a bed. 

And now it's time to get out there and have a wander. There's so many things I would love to do. The V&A. The new V&A storeroom. Westminster Abbey. The National Gallery. The Tate Modern... endless opportunities, but no time. 

Front of mind for me is getting myself to Farringdon Station to get the train up to St Alban, where I'll be spending the next two nights with friends. I think I've got my head around the route.

But generally, I'm happy and I feel like I'm home. Can't ask for much more than that. 

Today's song: 

Arrived Safely in London

 That’s all that matters for the moment.

I need to get to my hotel. 37 hours travel is brutal.

That’s all for the moment.

Sunday Stealing: Pretend it's Wednesday

 Today is the big day! Today I fly to London, albeit the long way round, but I'm going on holiday. Yay!

I'm packed. I just need to run down to the chemist to pick up one last minute item, then do some cleaning, shower one last time then Jay is picking me up to take me to the airport. 

Simples. 

To be honest, it still doesn't feel real. This time next week I'll be mooching around the 10th Arrondissement of Paris speaking French. I so need this. I need this time off. The call it re-creation for a reason. 

Anyway, here's this week's questions, provided, as always, by Sunday Stealing. 

1. Name five songs that you have completely memorized.

A lot of people won't know these, because I'm Australian, and these are mostly Australian standards, so I've included a link to the song on YouTube. 

• Reckless by Australian Crawl. 
• Khe Sahn by Cold Chisel (It's very unAustralian to not know the words). 
• Piano Man by Billy Joel
• Industrial Disease by Dire Straits
• Roxanne by The Police

And of course, Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen. Doesn't everybody over fifty know that one word for word? Although I still want to know why Scaramouche has to do the fandango...

And yes, I'm stuck in the 80s. Very much so. But this is when you learn your music - your teen years. 

2. What takes up too much of your time?

Doom scrolling. Procrastinating. Doom scrolling while procrastinating. 

3. What TV show or movie do you refuse to watch?

Here's a few examples:

• Captain Corelli's Mandolin (I love the book and Nick Cage is NOT Corelli)
• Game of Thrones or any of it's ilk (I've seen the first series, but it's far too violent)
• Sin City (Walked out - too violent)
• The Walking Dead (Too violent, not interested).

4. What's worth spending more on to get the best?

Lots of things. Cars. Clothing. Travel options. If you don't have to, spending a little bit more normally gives a better experience. I'm half hoping for an upgrade to Premium Economy on the Paris - Perth leg home. 

5. Share something you did last week.

I did lots of things. Here's a few of them. 

• I saw the new Downton Abbey film. 
• I packed for France. 
• I finished up at my job that had me going back and forth to Darwin. 
• I dropped my darling cat off with my friends - he was happier than the last time I did that. 
• I went to the gym
• I had lunch with my favorite engineer lunch buddy. 
• I wrote my blog on a daily basis. 

That will do. 

The chemist, then breakfast, then checking, then the airport awaits me. 

Bon Voyage. 

Today's song: 

Movie Review: Downton Abbey - The Grande Finale

 Movie Number 37 of 2025

The Movie: Downton Abbey - The Grande Finale

The Cinema: Hoyts Victoria Gardens

Runtime: Two hours and three minutes

Stars: 4 (but you have to be a fan)

As I am all but packed for this big trip, and as I finished my contract with the company in Darwin today, and as my work laptop was collected from me soon after shutting down, all that was left to do was get a bubble tea and go see a movie - and Downton Abbey - The Grande Finale was that film. 

I will say now, this is a film for the fans. If you haven't watched the series or seen the other films, do not bother with this. You're not going to understand a thing. 

If you are, on the other hand, a fan - definitely give this a go. Of course, it's cheesier than a fifteen-year-old boys socks, but it's Downton Abbey. We've been watching this family over fifteen years. They have a role in the zeitgeist. 

The best thing about this film is it is a lot funnier than it's predecessors - but you have to be in on the jokes. 

The film revolves around Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery) who is being divorced by her wet blanket of an ex-husband - who we don't see (pity - Matthew Goode is wonderful in everything) causing all sorts of ruckuses. Remember, it's now 1930 and divorce is unheard of. 

 Meanwhile, the older members of the Upstairs/Downstairs mob are looking at retirement. Mr Carson (Jim Carter), Mrs Patmore (ILesley Nicol) and even Lord Grantham (Hugh Bonneville_ are looking to move on to the next stage of life. Long standing household members, Jimmy and Daisy are starting to make their mark. 

On top of this, there are money issues. Lady Grantham's (Elizabeth McGovern) brother has lost the family millions, assisted by a rather shady Mr Sambrook (Alessandro Nivola).

Oh, and Thomas Barrow is back from America with his boyfriend Guy Dexter and their friend Noel Coward (Arty Froushan) in tow. They are "friends". What sort "friends" depends on who you ask. 

After 15 years of watching Downton Abbey, I love that this brings everything full circle. It's light and fluffy, but has some emotional wallop at times. There's a fitting tribute to Dame Maggie Smith, who was always the best thing in the show. 

The sets and costumes, as always, a joy. I also love, being English actors, that these characters, who we've loved for 15 years, now have greying hair and lines on their faces. You can seen the time passing. It's great. 

Also, if you know the characters, you will find some of the one liners laugh out loud funny. 

But I also needed a tissue at the end. 

This is a film for the fans - but as a fan, I really enjoyed it. The perfect Friday night before you go away fodder. 

And if your Mum likes Downton Abbey, take her along. She'll love it. 

Today's song:

Catless

 I am catless. 

Tonight, after a lot of arseing about, he was finally caught and taken down to Pat and Kat's place. When I finally caught him, he snuggled into my arms as if to say, "Not again!"

On the good side of things, after the last trip to Darwin, when he stayed at Blarney and Barney's place and came back a little bit lighter and a lot sookier (He hates it there, but they want to love him.) on being let out at his holiday home for the next three weeks, he went for a wander, came upstairs, tail up, curious and ready to go on surveillance. He likes to do a round - patrol the place. Also, immediately, he went up to Pat for some love, then went to eat some of his cat grass which was placed on the table. 

Spoiled much!

This was unlike when I took him over to Blarney's place, where he sat in his travel box and hissed at me. He rarely hisses at me - he prefers to yell at me before biting my ankles. 

He was also fed some stinky, fishy food. I'd already given him his dinner, but he got a second helping. 

In other words, he's fine. I left about half an hour later. 

Kat's already sent me a text. "Boy has a new trick. Is now walking his mouse on a stick up and down the stairs - not just one way."

The king of the castle has claimed his turf. 

My place, on the other hand, feels empty. 

It also means I can finally start packing. 

And running the hoover without feeling guilty. 

And go to sleep without being interrupted by somebody standing on my bum, 

And....

I will miss the little sod while I'm away, but I know he is very much loved where he's staying - as long as he doesn't piss on Pat's Porsche parts again...

Today's song:

Let's Pack!

 Okay, let's not. But let's think about it. 

Until the cat is safely ensconced at his Aunt and Uncle's tomorrow night, I will not be dragging out the suitcase. he freaks out at the sight of a case being packed.  However, I will be getting some packing cubes ready, as they are the best things ever. 

So, what are we taking overseas for three weeks where the weather will vary from about 15 degrees to possibly 30, depending on the city. 

This is half of what I've been thinking about for the last month, so I'm pretty set.

This is what's going in my suitcase:

Dresses:

• Green dress - it's a light cotton, good for evenings. 
• Black knit dress. Dress it up, dress it down. 
• Little stripy dress - for day wear. It's bamboo. Warm it up with leggings. 
• Longer flowy black and white dress. Good for mooching around in. 
• Favourite light long black summer dress. It weighs nothing. 

Legs:

• Two pairs of bamboo leggings
• One pair of black jeans
• One pair of blue jeans
• One light pair of black linen pants for lazing around Sommieres. 

Tops:

• 2 x tanks
• 3 x short sleeved t-shirts
• One Pixies band t-shirt
• 2 x long sleeved tops.

Shoes:

• Black Chelsea boots
• White Birkenstocks
• White Runners.
• And I will think about taking my running shoes

Flowy, floaty things:

• My light dressing gown
• My green duster - heavier cotton - great id-weight article. 
• My silk duster - again, for floating around Sommieres.
• My light woolen coat - I love wearing it, good for if the weather turns

Underwear:

• A week's worth of knickers
• Four bras in various colours
• A couple of pairs of socks
• Two pairs of black opaque tights. 

Incedentals:

• Pyjamas
• Red bathers (for Sommieres)
• Sarong
• Blood Pressure cuff
• Tarot Cards
• Kindle
• One pack of Savoys (Care packet for Jess)
• One pack of BBQ shapes (Care packet for Jess)
• Four Crunchies (Care packet for Dev)
• Toiletries bag
• Makeup
• Kindle
• Travel laptop and charger
• Peripherals (Mouse, charging cables)
• Notebook
• Spare glasses
• Portable travel bag (so I don't have to lug my suitcase down to Sommieres. 

Looking at this list, it seems like a lot - but as a big woman, clothes can be hard to find on short notice.

And some of this stuff weighs absolutely nothing. 

What have I missed?

Today's song: 

Three Years of French

 Today is my third anniversary of using the Duolingo app, learning - or more to the point, re-learning French.

In those three years, I haven't missed a day - normally spending 15-20 minutes doing my little French lessons. 

Yes, this is an achievement.

If I think about it, the time I've spent learning French would be about equal to the time I spent learning French at high school. Mind you, in your teenage years, your brain is so much more pliable - and you're trained to retain more. 

And yes, I'm blessed with a very good memory and a talent for languages. Being a polyglot has it's uses. I'm also a reasonable mimic, which makes picking up pronunciation a bit easier. 

And sure, I have always been able to roll the Rs, thanks to training from Mr Noon, who always swore that you had to get kids before they were 15, so they could master this. And I can still decline the past simple of Etre (fus, fus, fut, fumes, futes, furent). These are the stupid things you get stuck in your head - and never use. 

And I love that the French have some great words. Like libellulle (dragonfly), parapluie (umbrella), pissenlit (dandelion), coquelicot (poppy) and epoustouflant (breathtaking). 

I love that I can read this language, understand it, and read it aloud, with few stuff ups. 

I love that when I speak French I don't sound so nasally, not that I've got an overly nasal accent, but after listening to myself on recordings for the last two and a half years, that I talk through my nose at times is awful - but then again, I might be mimicking the Darwin accent. 

Also, where to from here? I head to France on the weekend and will have two weeks there wandering around, speaking French, taking in the language and being French me - somebody I love. A strangely happy, confident, funny woman who's verging on bilingual. 

My old French teacher would be very proud. 

I don't think I'll be giving up this language study. It's good for my soul. I don't have any reason to continue other than wishing there way a way I could go and live in France for a while. Stay for at least a few months - and come back all but fluent. 

We can dream. 

Bonsoir. Reve des beaux reves. 

xx

Today's song:

The Thursday Murder Club

 Can somebody tell me what is so good about it?

Is somebody who doesn’t read much crime, I can’t see what the fuss is all about. I decided to pick up Richard Osman’s The Thursday Murder Club for something to read. Something light, she thought. Something fun, she thought.

Yeah, nah.

350 pages of having the tits bored off of me.

I get what it’s supposed to be, I lighthearted look at a group of pensioners who solve murders.I get that all the characters are a little bit quirky. I get that most people reading it would have a parent a lot like this, who would be meddling in all the wrong places as parents do in their 70s and 80s. It also has a look at the ageing process and all the quirks that go with that. 

And I know that people love these books, but I don’t get the appeal. And it’s not for the fact that it’s boomers having fun, in that way that only boomers can press their entitlement without being too obnoxious.

I’m just not finding this book charming at all. I have 10% of the book to go, according to my Kindle. I will finish it, because I am bloody-minded like that.

And okay, I will give it that I do like the setting. You know, a country house, an old church yard, lots of Land Rovers and the odd fox. (I love foxes).

And I watched the movie on Netflix last night and was just as bored. Too many stereotypes tropes. Of course you have David Tennant over acting, But there is nothing new there. I did rather like Helen Mirren, who was, as always spectacular, and Pierce Brosnan playing slightly against type was good fun. It was great to see him doing an aerobics in the pool at one stage. Kudos to that.

However, I think there is one author that I won’t be reading again. No great loss I don’t think. There is plenty else out there to read.

Today's song: 

Let's Organise the Week

 This time next week I'll be well on my way to London - in fact I should be on a plane somewhere over Canada. London - via Canada? It's a story about timing and Frequent Flyer points. 

With everything going on at the moment, I need to get myself organised. There's a lot on, made worse by this being the last week of my contract. There is a bit to do there. 

I also have to make sure my ADHD task avoidance doesn't get in the way. No meds. What fun. 

This is my timeline for the week:

Tonight: 

• Write up my travel details for Jonella and Blarney (who are my emergency contacts)
• Write this blog. 

Monday: 

• Up early to take the car out Mulgrave for a service
• Work from home. 
• Pick up the car once the service is done
• See Cleo at the gym.
• Sort out the meds to take on the trip (e.g. decant some oestrogen gel into a suitable container. 
• Sort out my toiletries bag. 

Tuesday:

• Work
• Make a proper list of what I need to take
• Start organising the packing cubes*
• Get documentation prepared (e.g. passport where it needs to be, move all my tickets into a folder on my phone)

* If I drag out the suitcase, the cat is going to freak.

Wednesday: 

• Work from the office. Start handing things over. 
• Engineering lunch at lunchtime
• Pick up mail. 
• Get eyebrows sorted so I don't go to France looking like John Howard. 
• See Jack at the gym. 
• More packing cube fun. 
• Do some cleaning. 

Thursday: 

• Work from home. 
• Continue the handover. 
• Clean out my backpack ready for overseas trip
• Take the cat over to P&Ks in the evening. 
• Start packing proper. 
• Last washing load. 
• More cleaning. 

Friday: 

• Last day at work. 
• Hopefully the courier comes mid-afternoon to pick up work computer. 
• Finish packing. 
• Finish cleaning. 

Saturday: 

Jay is picking me up to take me to the airport late morning. 

Then the adventure begins. 

Now, what have I forgotten? 

Today's Song: 

Sunday Stealing: Making the Grade

 This time next week I'll be on a plane to Los Angeles on the way to London. Everything's a bit overwhelming at the moment. Lots of changes afoot. But that is life. It also means the quick and easy Sunday Stealing questions are just what I need - nothing I need to think about too hard.

And it's better than catastrophising about what might go wrong in this holiday - which at the moment is a possible train strike in France, meaning that I can't take the Eurostar (the train that runs from London to Paris). But that is a bridge I will cross when the time comes. 

Anyway, here are the Sunday Stealing questions for this week.

It's fall (Autumn), kids are back in school, and we're asking you to grade yourself. This was originally posted in 2017 by Kwizgiver, who stole it from Cat.

From A to F

Give yourself a letter grade (A, A-, B, B-, C, C-, D, D-, F)  on the following. Just the letter grade is requested, but you're free to elaborate.

• Happiness

C

There's a lot of big change going on here, making anxiety a real thing. It would be higher if the anxiety was less. 

• Being a decent human being

A

I'm willing to have people argue this one with me, but I pride myself on being decent. 

• Being serene (calm, peaceful)

B-

Normally I'm a bit more calm, but see the comment above. Lots of big change is overwhelming at the moment. 

• Kindness

A

I am unfailingly kind. 

• Anger management

B

Anxiety makes me a little snappy, but I normally keep things under control. I've just been a bit shoutier with idiots on the road lately. 

• Creative thinking

A-

• Modesty

B

I'm a Leo - Modesty doesn't come easily. 

• Being an original

A

Yeah, they broke the mold with me. Some would also mistake being original with being neurodiverse. Same same but different I reckon. 

• Knowing yourself

A

• Being true to yourself

A-

I'm a lot better than I was in my younger years. 

• Getting along with others

B

I get on with most people - but...I've been marked down because I don't suffer fools. 

• Liking yourself

B

As this used to be an F, I think I've come along beautifully. I still won't let myself be photographed, and I've got some body issues, but I'm doing a lot better this this. 

• Admitting your flaws

A-

• Self improvement

A

I'm forever a work in progress - that is always a good thing. Never stop learning, never stop changing. 

Today's song: