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Archive for October, 2010

Versatile Blogger Award

A big thank you to Mere Woman from No Damn Blog for passing on The Versatile Blogger award to me, Piglet!

Mere Woman is certainly a versatile blogger, inspiring me each week with her Wednesday Word, Friday Photograph and snippets of her take on life in France. I enjoy reading her blog and learning lots of new things at the same time, all whilst feeling comfortable and enjoying the photos.

Thanks to her, I recently discovered that my cats were plotting to kill me so I am now being extra careful. If they don’t get me within the next few weeks (I’m being extra nice to them you in order for them to change their minds) then I will consider that Mere Woman saved me!

Part of the award is to reveal 8 things about myself although apparently I am not obliged, so I will keep my deepest darkest secrets to myself still if you don’t mind! I’ve realized that I’ve been sharing more and more information about myself as time has passed so now’s the time to share some more:

8 things that I’ll reveal:

The pained look on my face takes many, many hours of perfecting...


1. I was British Junior Ice Dance Champion two years running. It was ice dancing that brought me to France to train alongside Gwendal Peizerat and Marina Anissina. when I was 16.

2. My written French is perfectly appalling, but when I see my French friend’s efforts I realize that it’s just normal.

If I was rich enough I would spend half the year living here...

3. I don’t actually know if I like living in France. I certainly prefer it to the UK but I’m afraid that I always think the grass is greener elsewhere. In January 2010 I seriously wanted to move to The Grenadines and had even found a business to buy but eventually decided it was too far away and that it would be better if I could afford to live there just 6 months of the year.

4. I have aspirations to write a book. One day it will happen.

5. I am scared of failure and sometimes to do not have the courage to do things in case I fail.

6. Ants creep me out. The way they march in a parade and manage to transport large objects despite their tiny size scares the hell out of me.

7. I love Jam Wagon Wheels and am gutted that I can’t buy them in France.

8. I hate speaking on the telephone, face to face is fine but over the phone don’t expect to have a very long conversation with me. A psy would probably say that it’s because I am traumatized by endless rude conversations in French and that I no longer associate speaking on the phone with pleasure.

Now, I have to pass this on to another versatile blogger, so if she’ll accept I’ll send on to Sarah at St Bloggie de Riviere who has been busy blogging about Slim the Vegetarian Ogre and story building software recently and suggests that we make wine and not strikes! Definitely a lot of versatility going on there!

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After many, many rants about La Poste and the incompetence of the employees, my visit this morning was one I was not particularly looking forward to, but I didn’t quite count on it ending as it did…

I was to collect a registered letter (which should have been delivered to my home but of course the post man hadn’t bothered to ring the doorbell). A relatively simple task you may think, simply present the post office worker with the delivery slip and ID and hey presto they’ll give me the letter.

Not so simple. The letter was for a business and normally I have a business La Poste card which I show to avoid the need to present any further paperwork. A thorough rummage through my very disorganized handbag resulted in me realizing that I did not have said card on me.

I tried to explain my plight to the post office worker who wasn’t having any of it.

“Who are you” she demanded, “Are you the owner of the company?”

“No, no, I’m his wife and employee” I tried to explain, “my husband’s just had surgery so I’m coming in on his behalf but I don’t appear to have the card”.

“Well, I can’t do anything then” said the women rather rudely, but in fairness I understood that no card and no ID meant that they couldn’t give me the letter.

What happened next rather took me by surprise and is really unlike me. Instead of leaving admitting defeat, I heard a loud wailing and shouting and basically what can only be described as hysteria. I suddenly realized that I had tears streaming down my face and that it was me making all this noise.

As I realized that I had had a major outburst and people everywhere in the post office were looking at me, I felt overwhelmed with embarrassment. What had just happened? It was so not like me to just totally loose it like that. I mean, I had really, really lost it.

The manager was there and I was surrounded by postal office workers trying to calm me down. I rather timidly explained that I was pregnant and that it must be the hormones and apologized for my outburst. Thankfully the manager joked that she had never screamed as much as when she was pregnant and she understood. Unbelievably she then went off and got me my letter! Now who would have expected that? Even I cannot believe it now that I’m writing about it and have the letter on my desk!

It’s a shame you can’t swap post offices in France like you can swap bank branches as I think it’s going to be an awfully long time before I dare brave them again, so utterly humiliated and embarrassed I am by my pregnant woman drama queen performance.

Mr Piglet & his operation:
Above I mention that Mr Piglet has just had surgery, don’t panic, all is well and Mr Piglet is in good health! He had an arthroscopy on his right wrist which basically consisted of the surgeon screwing two of his bones together. The surgery was planned but just wasn’t expected to take place so soon, although I’m rather pleased it has done as it’s now out of the way and in a few months he will be right as rain and more importantly in six months he will be able to hold his baby.

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It’s been a busy and emotionally demanding week in the Piglet household. After my parents departure the house descended into a calm haven, almost too quiet if it hadn’t been broken from time to time by me moaning “I feel sick!”.

I have been feeling sick for the last eight weeks and had taken a positive pregnancy test, but after previous disappointing experiences Mr Piglet and I were in complete denial that I was really pregnant and things carried on as usual aside except for me smoking, drinking wine and eating what I want!

That was until Monday. On Monday, I woke up extremely anxious, all of my previous bad memories flooding into my body and it was in a state of despair and anticipation that Mr Piglet drove me to the hospital for my twelve week ultrasound.

This was to be the moment that everything would either stop and there would be no baby, or that we could rejoice in having made it this far!

As soon as the ultrasound began we shed tears of joy. There on the screen was our Bubbie, bouncing around, with two arms and two legs, without a care in the world completely oblivious to what was going in the outside world.

So folks, Mr & Mrs Piglet are pleased to announce that we are pregnant! Mini Piglet or Piggy is due in April next year and I will soon be entering my second trimester so I hope to be far more sociable in the coming weeks but just in case I’m not, voila the reason for my lack of posting and commenting elsewhere!

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On Monday I turned 30. It was a day that I had been dreading for the last year and yet it came and went so quickly with no major events. No sudden wrinkles, no new aches and pains and no  teeth dropping out. Relief.

In fact the day itself was very pleasant. I had the pleasure of my Mum and Dad’s company for the first time in 9 years, I enjoyed a 2 hour relaxing massage and a lovely Thai meal in the evening, not to mention lots of presents and cards!

And yet, I still cannot believe that I am 30. For me 30 has always been grown up and well on its way to being old. I thought I would be in a different place at age 30 but I’m not and I realize now that there are a lot of things I didn’t achieve whilst I was in my twenties.

Of course I know that 30 is not old, nor is 40. In fact I believe that you’re only as old as you feel but it does feel like a race is on – the race of life and that I’d better get a move on. Why do I feel like this? Is it society’s pressure to be eternally young?

How about you? What age made you feel as if the race was on, or is this something you’ve not experienced?

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