Doctor's Orders

So, it seems I don't have the plague. Or the black lung. Just a little case of Bronchitis.

And I've been given enough prescription medication to satisfy Linday Lohan on a bender.

Including two different types of steroids.
Well there goes my career as an Olympic Diver. Darn it. I coulda been a contender.

And one of the medications - which I think is one of the steroids, hard to tell, comes in a form I've never experienced.

NO, CALM DOWN, I'm not about to regale you with tales of suppository woe.
That would be a great name for a book though, non?

"Tales of suppository woe - the life and times of a bottom-feeder" 

hahahahaha. That's GOLD,

So the new (to me) drug - it's this little inhaler style thing where you take one of the little pills, pop it in the bottom of this wee contraption, press the sides - which crushes the capsule, then inhale. Cool huh?
Or not. I don't get out much.

I've also finally realised why everyone rates nasal sprays. I've always maintained a 100% anti-nasal spray stance. I had a bad experience with rhinocourt or something similar years ago and ever since then its been a big 'hell to the no' to things going up my nose. Which, given my equally strong aversion to needles in any form, makes me the worst candidate in the world for hardcore drug addiction.
Just saying.

Anyway - this stuff the Dr prescribed is like spraying fairy dust up my nose. It's affects are immediate and magical. I heart this nasal spray.


Not actually prescribed per se, but other orders I'm following are:

Enjoy crappy films that M won't watch with me: Love and Other Drugs was today's choice. Jake Gyllanhaal is gorgeous and the chemistry between him and Anne Hathaway was sizzling but oh holy heck, that movie was a hot. damn. mess.


Watch equally crappy TV: Keeping up with the Kardashians seems to fit that bill. I blame my sisters and the time we spent hanging out at TD's over Christmas for this one.


Drink copious cups of tea: My body is around 62% Earl Grey at the mo.

Avoid doing anything remotely productive or work related: I haven't actually showered today. But I did do a lot of school work. So I'm not a complete waste of space. Just a stinky one.
 

Either the drugs are working or I'm feeling better .... hard to tell

But I'm not dying. So that's good.

Catch you on the flip side
xxx

Je suis malade

The dreaded lurgy had struck me down, with the fiery power of a thousand suns.

Luckily we had nothing planned this weekend anyway, as I have so far spent the last 15 hours in bed.

I blame school, and snotty-nosed kids that turn the classroom into over-heated Petri-dishes of bacteria:

One class yesterday were doing a test and every 30 seconds one of them coughed, sneezed, grunted or  sniffed.

Delightful.


I'll be under the doona with a box of tissues and a book of trashy historical fiction, should you need me.

Hope everyone else is having a better weekend.

xx

La Neige

We've spent the last two weekends taking full advantage of our close proximity to the Alps.

Two weekends ago we spent the day with a group of friends at Isola 2000, one of the very popular French resorts. Our group included 2 ski instructors and 2 others who had been in a downhill competition that morning.

They weren't as interested in the easy green runs as I was, surprisingly.
 It was a fun day, soured by the massive stack I took on my last run that left me bruised and my confidence seriously shaken.


Last weekend we met up with Katie who was in Italy for work.
This time we stayed in Limone Piemonte, on the Italian side of the Alps.
A very pretty village and a great chance to catch up with one of my favourite people.


However, I've come to a realisation.

 I hate skiing.

I'm sure if I'd been skiing since I could walk, I'd probably love it.
But I haven't.
And I don't.

My current level of skill means there's not so much this:

But a lot more this:

And there's a few lessons that I've learnt, mostly while lying face-down in the snow.

Consider this - a meditation on why skiing is stupid:


1. Skiing boots are evil. 
Ski boots are awkward, cumbersome, uncomfortable things at the best of times.

In Limone we had to walk a fair way up hill to get to our piste and clambering up-hill in ski boots is like strapping sacks of potatoes to your feet with metal spikes. Every step was like being punched in the shin or calf. Throw in skis and poles and the fact that you're wearing about 6 layers of clothes and it's a heart attack waiting to happen.

2. Layers are tricky
If you are, hypothetically, busting for a pee and, hypothetically, wearing several layers of pants and singlets tucked into said pants it would be best to be sure you have pulled down ALL your bottom layers lest you accidentally forget your knickers, sit down, start peeing and get a nasty surprise. Hypothetically.

3. Bruising to the ego
Falling off the chairlift on your very first journey will not endear you to the chair lift operator, who will proceed to roll his eyes and slow the chairlift down everytime he sees you coming for the rest of the day.

4. Clumsiness is not cute
Ice is treacherous, snow is slippery, stopping when skiing down-hill is hard. Other people can just get the hell out of the way. It's not like I meant to smack into them.


5. Basic co-ordination required
If you're doing a sport where you are likely to fall down, it's best that you can get yourself back up. Without outside help. Or having to remove your skis. Or rolling down the hill.

6. Children do it better
4 year olds all rugged up in their cute jumpsuits who can't feed themselves or undo their own shoe-laces but can ski better than you will make you hate yourself and want to smack* children in their smug little faces. 
*obviously I'm exaggerating**

** I'm not exaggerating.

So there you have it.

My feelings about the whole activity can be summed up as: "meh".

(picture me shrugging and rolling my eyes.)

I do like the apres ski drinks though.
And the freedom to eat hot chips and drink hot chocolate all day.

So there is that.

But that's not, quite, enough motivation for me.
So I'll be sitting out the rest of the season.

Pas de la neige pour moi, merci. 

xxx

Pen Pals

I don't know whether it's the fact that the sun is finally shining or that my sleep cycles have finally got control of themselves, but I'm feeling quite positive and Pollyanna-esque today.

Lots of jobs and school work to be done, of course, but still - a refreshing sense of optimism.

It could certainly be - in part - due to the downright hilarious lesson I had yesterday.

My quatrième class are easily my favourite. They're that lovely age of (13 - 14) where they're so awkward and funny and still figuring out who they are and so easy to embarrass and very sweet and earnest. 

To try and give them some practice using their English in a "real" way (as opposed to just in the classroom) I've organised a good old fashioned Pen Pal exchange with my old school in Adelaide. And my kids are SO excited about it. It's so easy to forget that they've grown up with email - and Facebook to a lesser extent - so they've never really hand written letters to an overseas pen-pal. Their enthusiasm for this task is delightful.

Yesterday during class we were brainstorming what they should write in their first, introductory letter about themselves and I was telling them a bit about the school and life in Adelaide which turned into a bit of a lesson on Australia (and the floods, of course, which I'll touch on later).

And -  naturally - we got onto cultural stereotypes and expectations. They were all complaining that France is boring and  asking "why would anyone want to come to France when you live in Australia" and I tried to explain how, for Aussies, France is exotic, and cultured and how the French have a reputation for being "cool" and "chic" which had them all laughing their heads off. "French people aren't cool!" they howled at me.

They in turn asked me the standard questions I've been asked a hundred times now:  if people in Australia really say "Crikey!" (yes - I'm looking at my husband, who also says "G'day" *shakes head*) say "throw a shrimp on the Bar-bie" (ew - No) and are called "Sheila" or "Bruce" (yes and yes).
More giggling and typical questions about beaches, kangaroos, sharks, whether we get snow etc. 

We then talked about French stereotypes.
And this is pretty much where the lesson descended into absolute chaos.

I drew a picture of the stereotypical French man on the board. He looked exactly like this:

The kids found this HILARIOUS and were all yelling out
"add some cheese!"
"he needs a cigarette!"
"and onions around his neck! - what? - yeah! ONIONS!"
"and un cafe!"

- and I said he had to be called Pierre or Jean-Jacques
- and then gave him a speech bubble saying "Oh la la!" and "Zut! Alors .."

which then led to me explaining how I continue to be so disappointed that, despite what my French workbook told me, no-one in France ever says "Sacre Bleu!!"

Guess what these kids are all saying now?
Yep. I've started a movement.

Sacre Bleu! 

Such a fun lesson. Sometimes it is truly great being a teacher.
Collective excitement and enthsuiasm are infectious.

I'll let you know how the Pen Pal exchange 2011 shapes up - and whether I have to censor any of their letters! Two girls have specifically asked me if they can have boy pen-pals so I'm not quite sure what they hope to be getting out of this exchange!


And to finish with - a musical number:

When Katie and I were driving up to Bridgewater for New Years Eve festivities, she had this song playing. I couldn't get it out of my head. I have since iTuned (is that a verb? It should be) Brooke Fraser's whole album and it's faboosh.

This song will cheer you up if you're having a bad day, it's a real thigh-slapper/foot-stomper (caveat - the film clip isn't that great - but the song's great and she's awesome.)

So I dedicate this musical number to my blog-friend and sort of pen-pal, Sara Louise from Sara in Le Petit Village who I know is having a bad day.
Bisous x

My heart lies waiting over the foam

Well.

We’re back.

It’s taken me a week to sit down and write this and I pretty much know why it’s taken me so long.

To get through last week – to cope with the jet-lag and the tiredness and the being straight back to work, and how miserable and wet and cold it was and how emotional I was – I went into auto-pilot mode.
A survival mechanism of sorts methinks.
And this meant not really allowing myself to think about our wonderful, wonderful trip home, let alone look at the pictures.

I’m a bit ashamed to admit that we really didn’t take many photos. I kept meaning to, honest I did.
I wanted to take photos up at mum’s house, and of the wide streets and green spaces and huge open expanses of sky and of the ocean and the vineyards and hills ....
But I forgot.
I did, however, soak it all in.
And it was a deep, pure breath of fresh air.

Being in Adelaide felt on the one hand so familiar and it was so very easy to slip back into the laid-back pace and sleepy simplicity. And on the other hand I felt like a tourist in my home town. Struck anew (of for the first time?) by how Australian everything looks, how different, how unique. How small and yet how expansive. How beautiful.

Suffice to say, I loved being home. It was a crazy, hectic highlights package of all that we know and love. We ate ourselves silly and saw as many people as we possibly could in the time we had. And our friends and family bent over backwards to show us a great time.

Thanks and love to all.


** click on photos to make them bigger/better - something weird has happened and they're poo-tastic in their smaller form. I know not why. **

Hello my pretty. Driving between Victor and Middleton

Our BBQ in the park - baby bonanza!

So much unbearable cuteness

These guys know how to multi-task

Christmas Eve at TD's - Ho-Head with Grace (aka Gracie Lou Freebush)

Christmas Lunch down at the shack.

Perfection

Silly hats and antlers are a must

The big kids and one mini Ramsey to-be

(no, not in my belly, that's just roast potatoes and pudding)

Mini-me/Tessa and the most spoilt dog in the history of the world

Christmas Dinner at Dad and Susan's

Early when everyone was still behaving

Fernando and Farky - discussing docking???

Roula, Toula, Soula and Agape - embracing Holly's heritage

Sisterly love?

The whole bunch of us

Aquacaf at Middleton with the Sidwells

Coffee, delicious cakes and kiddies = bliss

Paul and his mini-me's

New Years Eve - M and the Coconut swap stories

The setting for a hilarious evening

I'm not actually wearing a douchy headband - it's a glow stick thing.

That I stole from one of the kids ...

Stevasaurus and Katie-K

.

Happy 2011!!

Our final lunch before we flew out was down by the beach

Just a bit different from Cannes beaches .....

And then it was back to France.

For more adventures. And a 2011 that is promising to be just as interesting and mishap filled as the last two.

But Peter Allen said it best

(well, actually, the QANTAS ads with the kids singing in cool locations really said it best)

I still call Australia home.

xxx