I am returning to the subject of illness in France, rather sooner than I had hoped.

Last week I was laid very low with a flu/cold combo. Some of the children in the creche have been very ill and had still been dragged in to spread the germs amongst the other children. However the parents also seem to assume that once us workers sign our contracts we are covered in an immunity bubble and they can send their little darlings in with temperatures, streaming noses, nasty coughs and sneezes and somehow (despite wiping noses, getting covered in snot, and cuddling distressed ill children) we will not become ill ourselves.
This is wrong and we do get ill too.
So last week I was confined to the sofa and rapidly becoming bored of TV. The highlight of the Tuesday was watching everyone squirm in the Dr's waiting room every time I coughed. My Dr looked at me as if to say I was making this all up and gave me a prescription and 2 days Arret de Travail. "Two days," I thought, "pah, I'll be back..." I had been prescribed 4 drugs to tackle my chest infection with. Unfortunately none of them seemed to have any affect and my lungs were still solid with gunk when I returned, wheezing like a 60 a day smoker, two days later.
"Is it worse?" he asked
"It's not any better." I replied, so after telling me firmly that some people had colds that lasted up to two weeks, giving me another prescription and another Arret de Travail, I was sent on my way.
I am now feeling better (80% human 20% phlegm) but am not sure which of the 6 medicines I was prescribed has been responsible. Your guess is as good as mine. Here's the list...

Antibiotics (non penicillin based)
Anti-inflammatory (though these have cleared up some mild eczema on my foot)
Antihistamines (am I allergic to phlegm?)
An expectorant (to make me cough)
A cough suppressant (confused, yep, me too.)
Paracetamol (my money is on this one being the most helpful.)

Anyway back to work tomorrow, ready to assailed by the next wave of ill children.

A friend of mine has nearly brought a house in the middle of nowhere, just outside of Lyon. I say nearly because despite signing his life away several times and getting the mortgage approved, before he can get the keys the Notaire has to arrange for 7 feuding siblings and my friend to be in one room at the same time to sign the last piece of paper...

Anyway, he was keen to show me the house so yesterday we went for a drive out into the country. We had arrived at the house, which was originally a farm and had just got out of his car when we heard another car coming up the driveway. A rather nice mercedes pulled up and parked alongside and out popped a very French looking man. Both him and my friend looked at each other in a slightly puzzled way as if to say 'Who are you and what are you doing here?'
Introductions were made and it was quickly established that my friend was the new buyer and the man was one of the siblings who was selling the house. Comments were made about how fortunate the timing was and we were then treated to a tour of the grounds (unfortunately neither had a set of keys, so we were unable to go in the house itself.)
M Duboeuf provided my friend with lots of information about the land and how it had been used. His mother was a keen gardener and had not just had flowers around the place but also an orchard (apples, pears, quinces) soft fruits, and a large vegetable patch. There had also been chickens and rabbits. I was both mightily impressed at how active Mme Duboeuf Sr had been and with how much of the guided tour commentary I understood.

There is an old falling down barn as part of the property and M Duboeuf explained how it had been used - part abattoir and part storage, and he pointed out the new boundary lines across the field. We then wandered back to the cars and he tapped on the window of his car and his wife (who I hadn't noticed till this point) stumbled out of the car and promptly apologized for being asleep as she was suffering having been at a party the night before. More introductions were made as well as promises of meeting up again and going out for a meal. Suddenly two bottles of wine appeared from nowhere and were pressed into our hands. Laughter and bisous goodbye and then just as suddenly as they had appeared, the Duboeuf's drove of again.

Another example of how welcoming and hospitable the French really are!

Lyon was a party town last weekend. Although, Lyon rarely needs an excuse to party it was time to say hello to the Beaujolais Nouveau. On the third Thursday of November the wineries in the Beaujolais district are allowed to sell the first of that seasons wine. I remember as a child back in the late 80's news stories on the BBC about races to get the first of the Beaujolais over to Britain. These memories are also bringing nightmarish flashbacks of permed hair, large spectacles and yuppies...

Rumours had been circulating through the week saying due to the weather over the summer, this years wine was better than last years. This wasn't going to be a hard achievement as last years really was undrinkable. In fact Paddy's had found it had over ordered last year and still had 5 of the 6 bottles they had brought remaining after the weekend. They then used these up in the Vin Chaud, which still didn't hide how rough the wine was.

So on Thursday I trotted down the hill, slid onto a bar stool, asked if I could try a sample of the Beaujolais, was given a small glass, took a sip and promptly ordered a vodka.
However the Lyonnais are not going to let the small matter of bad wine get between them and a party. There was a brass band doing the rounds in Vieux Lyon, every bar seemed to be offering snacks and nibbles, every restaurant worth its salt had a 'Degustation' menu, specially crafted to accompany the wine and the streets were busy. Up in the Beaujolais itself, the wineries are open for the whole weekend offering tastings. Special stalls open up in the street markets trying to sell unsuspecting passers by with not just bottles of the stuff but 3 litre boxes as well. I know people who fly in for the weekend as they know it will be a big party (though I never actually saw any of them drinking the wine!)

By Sunday the enthusiasm for the partying is beginning to wane and the wine on the shelves is still plentiful. Those who are here for the weekend start talking about what time their flights are leaving and things start to wind down.
However we will just have had time to recover from our hangovers, start to forget our good intentions of never drinking ever again, when it is time to begin to prepare for the next party - Fete de Lumieres. Then of course, after that it's Christmas, then New Year....

Last Thursday, whilst in the bar, I was served my vodka and tonic in a plastic glass???? This was strange and unusual and turned out to be a result of the previous day's football. Obviously, without realising it, I must look like a football hooligan and I am not sure whether to take this as a compliment or an insult - am heading towards the insult end of the scale.

I donot like football, I would not go so far as to say I hated it but I don't really enjoy it. I have only ever been to two football matches in my life, one of which was a recent Lyon game; there was a free ticket going and I thought why not do something different. During the match I had chatted to my friend and though I had seen the only goal of the match,(and was able to describe it in detail "Oh, the tall guy with plaits headed it accross the goal mouth to a smaller guy with short mousey hair who was sweating a lot.") I was completely unable to say who had scored it when it came up as a quiz question 3 days later.

The plastic glass was because of the Lyon/Liverpool game. I know a lot of Liverpool supporters in Lyon as well as a lot of Lyon supporters in Lyon. I was aware the match was taking place, which for me is quite an achievement as usually the whole football season thing goes over my head -"You can't come to the cinema/shops/restaurant this saturday because of the football? What football?"
This was apparently a BIG match, which the Liverpool supporters in Lyon had been wanting for years. Discussions had been going on for sometime about exactly when the match was and how to get tickets, where the best seats would be, and if they couldn't get tickets which would be the best bar to go to, what time to get there, who was going to be there, I had even been informed by the cook at work that she had seen 3 Liverpool supporters on the Metro. Things were serious. Even I realised that any suggestions of 'It's just a game' were unadvisable.

So what was I to do? Find an appropriate coloured shirt and a group of supporters and sing either "Allez l'OL" or "You'll never walk alone" as needed and fob myself off as a real supporter? In the end I remained true to my beliefs and after work I went home, had a bath and an early night. Oh, and the next got indignant about being served a drink in a plastic glass!

Sometimes the definition of a French illness is completely different to an English one. I work in a creche and it never ceases to amaze me how opposite our attitudes to unwell children are. After taking a child's temperature last week, he was declared to be "Tres, tres malade." I was impressed by the double 'tres' and inquired why and was told he was 39.6C. He had been given paracetamol and his mother called. (Fortunately for him she came quickly and did not say she was on her way and then arrive 2 hours later, unlike some parents.) On this scale a "Tres malade" works out around 38.6 - 39.0 and just a "Malade" is between 38.0 and 38.5. Anything less is dismissed with a wave of the hand, a 'puff' noise and a "C'est normal"
Sometimes there are children who are ill, but we have to keep them at the creche as they donot have a temperature. They can have a "Gastro" and the runs but still not sent home. Fortunately vomiting is pretty dramatic and they will get sent home. Conjunctivitis, only one day's treatment is necessary before they can return (and infect everyone else). Forget teething gel, just ensure the child wears an amber necklace instead.
It is all so very, very different. However... once you have sussed the differences you can use them to your advantage! One time I had a heavy cold that was threatening to develop into a chest and ear infection and was due to fly back to the UK the next day for a wedding. I called the doctor - he was very busy, was this an emergency? Technically this wasn't, I thought very quickly and said that I had a "Une fievre." I was immediately given appointment for two hours later!

Like all good soap operas my life revolves round a bar (well, ok then, a few bars.)
I came out to Lyon as my ex got a job out here, he was my boyfriend at the time and I am not a nutcase in the stalker category. As you have probably sussed, things did not work out between us and I was left in the position of choosing whether to stay in France or return to the UK. At the time it was easier to stay, I had brought out all my belongings and rented out my flat, so the thought of moving back and finding somewhere to live and a get a new job, while in dispair over a broken relationship was a logisitical nightmare. (And why is it in soap operas they always leave to start a new life with one suitcase that they can easily carry?)
I am so glad that I stayed. I love it here. It is a fantastic city, which I adore for many different reasons, I love some of the aspects of the French lifestyle (street markets, fresh foods, oysters and champagne, and wearing sunglasses all the time) and am learning to cope with the others (the paperwork, the deductions from my paypacket, and dog poop everywhere.) I am even learning French and would hazard a guess that I could now upgrade my spectacular fail at O level (EE) to somewhere around the pass mark.
I feel as if I have been welcomed by the people here, both local and expat and love meeting new people of all different nationalities. I am very lucky. So the reasons why I am here may not make the most dramatic or original soap storyline, however my life is full wonderful characters that could easily pop up on a TV near you. So now I've finished writing this, I'm off to the local for a swift glass of pernod...