Things I ate in France

All of the below, with the welcome addition of some cool, sweet melon charentais and Bayonne ham (delectable), foie gras as made by my mother (divine decadence!), a thimbleful of champagne, salade verte to my heart's content, clafoutis de cerise and more I can't quite remember now...
*burp*

I love going home - can you tell?

Things I am looking forward to eating in France

On Friday morning, I leave for Toulouse to catch up with family and a beach holiday. Despite my repeat reminders to myself to focus on the here and now, I just can't wait to go home, lounge around and read non-improving books.
Here are some of the things I am really looking forward to eating:

Haricots verts

As a child, we used to dread haricot vert season because it was just so intense. First, we'd have to pick the damn things early in the morning before it got too hot. Then they would feature at lunch and possibly at dinner too. For what felt like weeks on end. Plus they were green. And ubiquitous. We didn't know how lucky we were.
The haricots verts you get in Sweden are wrong in all sorts of ways. First of all, I have been spoiled when it comes to freshness. I mean come on, you pick in the morning to eat at lunch - can't really get fresher than that. Also they come from East Africa which is great for East African farmers, but not so great for the old carbon footprint. Nor is it great for the food budget - outrageous prices! Finally, they are just too stringy for this haricot snob.

Magret de canard

Duckbreast, but actually I'd be glad for any part of the duck to be honest. It should be cooked over a woodfire, bright pink in the middle and served with parsleyed pommes sautées cooked in duck fat. Hells bells, I am drooling already.

White peaches

These delicate little beauties are hard to find abroad because they don't travel well. But the rewards! Sweet, juicy and parfumée, they are perfect after any meal as you let the juices run down your wrists. They spell summer for me.

Le plateau de fromage

This year, I will forgo all soft unpasteurised cheeses. It's a tough thing to do, but at least I will be consoled by the likes of Ossau Iraty and other Pyrenees cheese made with cow or ewe's milk. Sharp yet creamy, they are absolutely delicious with a good piece of baguette (my mother has informed me that she has ordered daily fresh bread - I am in heaven). We do not bother with crackers, digestives, fruit or other preserves here, it is just pure unadulterated cheese bliss.

Salade de tomates

Not a fancy dish by any means, and probably not with homegrown tomatoes either, but with a sharp red wine vinegar dressing and some finely chopped red onion, this is another summer starter hit. I can feel the sweet acidy taste hitting my tongue now, soothed by the olive oil... The juices get soaked up with a piece of bread. Heaven.

The routine of no routine

Here at No Direction Home, no two days are ever exactly alike. That definitely sounds more exciting than what reality has to offer. There are of course repeat events, the bookends of the day. Early morning and nightime routines are usually the same, but the sandwich filling in the middle certainly gets mixed up over the week.
Mornings usually kick off with a very British tea and toast combo while reading the morning papers online. I've cancelled the GP subscription because a) I cannot be bothered with its incessant whining and b) piles of newspapers EVERYWHERE. Once I've surfaced, I have one of two choices: cycle into work for a morning of language instruction or stay at home and hack away at a translation project.
Evenings are worryingly the same: dinner slumped in front of the telly (current obsession: Game of Thrones), then ablutions and an hour's worth of reading about the Nazis. This is becoming a problem. Then pass out on the dot of 11.
So basically, two days are very much alike, thus making my opening statement a pile of nonsense. In actual fact, I love rituals, the small and private kind, that helps me pace my day. I love making my pot of tea in the morning: boil water, pour some into the empty pot, swirl around and empty, add one teaspoon of tea leaves, pour water again, leave to brew for a bit. Right now its 2pm and I am indulging in the ritual of making Turkish/Lebanese coffee (Turkish because that's where the coffee comes from, and Lebanese because I'm following the instructions from my Lebanese/Belgian sister in law). It goes like this: heat water and a teaspoon of sugar in a small pot or raquí (spelling?), once boiled, add coffee grounds away from the heat, stir, take a teaspoon of the froth and place in your coffee cup. Return the pot to the heat and bring to the boil, then remove immediately. Repeat three times. Let the coffee sit for the grounds to slowly sink to the bottom, then pour into your tiny cup. Most soothing. Except when you misjudge and coffee boils over covering all surfaces with a mud like consistency. I've learned to watch my pot like a hawk now.
So rituals. They are so comforting. I even enjoy the rituals of others (as long as they are not too far out there), like my friend from boarding school. Her going to bed ritual involved rubbing the soles of her feet together before climbing into bed to prevent any dust or grit getting into the covers. I used to listen out for the brushing sound and know that all was well with the world.
I shared a room with three other girls, and discovered three other ways of brushing your teeth.
Rituals, how do you enjoy yours?

and another thing

Hello dear neglected blog. Yes I know the extent of my flakiness, but it's not like you are going to thwack me over the head every time I fail to blog consistently. Although the whole carrot and stick technique might well be the only one that works on me...
So what has happened in the meantime? Well, I have acquired another job, on top of the three I had already. Translation is making me lose the will to live. My new job makes me wake up with a delightful knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Same old, same old essentially.
Gothenburg is showing us its best sunny side (with the occasional shower, just to keep you on your toes). I have learned to blow dry my hair. The results are sadly lacking in glam aura, but it does show a marked improvement in the grooming area. What else, oh yes, I have been to 3 baby showers in as many months, a completely new appointment on my social diary as I had never attended anything remotely baby showeresque in my life before. It may be some time before I venture out to another such event.
Am I going to write more? Well, no promises, but maybe, just maybe.

I prepare myself mentally for the big jump

It's V-day tomorrow (Varvet) and I have just eaten a truckload of pasta. I didn't even feel like chowing down on pasta though was v hungry. Such is the pre-race peer pressure my friends.
Anyroad, it is Friday night and I am larging it up in front of the computer, awaiting the return of the male half of this household (he's been away for a week - the flat has never been tidier). I'm glad this week has finally come to an end: what with his J-ness away and working 14 hour days because I am an idiot who can't say no, I think we can simply label this A Trying Time and move on swiftly to more enjoyable things. The half-marathon tomorrow sadly doesn't fit into that category, but I am determined to make it a non-downer. I have a couple of days in Stockholm to look forward to, and that includes seeing Wilco AND Flight of the Conchords. What more could a girl ask for?

Correspondences manquées

Lunatique, adjectif
Dont l'humeur change souvent
Synonymes: capricieux, changeant, versatile, fantasque
Traduction en anglais: temperamental

Lunatic, noun
an insane person
daredevil: a reckless impetuous irresponsible person
insane and believed to be affected by the phases of the moon
French translation: fou/folle, dément

Moon-sickness or soupe au lait?

On not even pretending to cope

You know when you've been working really hard in the run up to Christmas, keeping things going on a wing and a prayer. Then as soon as you put your feet up with a nice cup of tea and a mince pie, that's when the dreaded flu hits you with its best shot, leaving you out of the game for a bit.
For me, it's like that, only with moods and morale, not the flu. Apparently I don't get the flu, I just get the blues. And also, there doesn't need to be any mad run up to Christmas either. It just sort of knocks on my door, randomly, mugs me of my depleted reserves of will power, then leaves me sitting on my arse staring into the void for minutes on end. So nothing like the flu then.

Anyway, this post is just to say ok, I surrender, nicht schiessen! Just make it all go away and stop making me have to pretend that everything is fine, just fine. Because it isn't. And I don't even know what it is.

Going around in circles

Yeah, I was gone a while again. Busy I guess. Anyways, I'm back at square one again, looking for ways to make myself more successful and bashing my head against a wall because I am too chicken. Fun times!

Here is a random picture for your enjoyment

Silence! on bosse

Now things are picking up, I find I have less time to dwell on, well, whatever it was I was dwelling on (pretty dresses, make up and world peace probably). It's exciting and I'm even overcoming my deep-seated phobia of picking up the phone. Progress!
The bottom line is, I like being active, but I'm not good at making sure there is always some activity going on. If nothing turns up, then I'm not going to go out of my way to chase after something, not when there are reruns of the West Wing to watch. But now, there are more pencilled in scribblings in my diary and that makes me very happy.

Plus ca change et tout et tout

I think my body needs some exercise. It's trying to tell me something anyway, and it's telling me by making me feel stiff and crap after I stay put for too long. I cannot understand it: when I run, it is certainly not an exercise in mind over body or graceful form over decrepit body parts. When I exercise, I look deranged and in no way could anyone be fooled into thinking I'm doing my physical shell any good at all. My brain though, it seems to like the airing. It enjoys the opportunity to focus without interruption on podcasts or thoughts. It wants me to be out there pounding the pavement, shattering my bones.

Today has been a day of truths. I'm good at teaching people how to use the word thriving or legacy. I'm not so good at picking up the phone and getting things sorted. I want to be better and stop having the fear of failure balancing over my head. Failure is after all not so bad once you get up close and personal, and it certainly isn't a permanent state. It's just a shame that the thing I'm good at (teaching people) is not what I want to be doing on a full time basis. I think I do know what I want to be doing, but I have a more than sneaking suspicion that because of certain life decisions (hello living in Sweden!) that's not going to happen. Still, looking on the bright side, I'm not squandering my days looking at sitcoms. Oh.

La beauté cosmétique

I think I must be going through a new teenage phase: obsession with cosmetics. After 30 years, I have finally learnt how to apply eyeshadow without looking like someone punched me in the face. After yesterday's dabbling with the paint pots, I really felt that euphoric 'yes! I can do this' feeling. It's fun and pretty harmless, but I still feel a little embarrassed about admitting to this new found pastime. I mean, aren't I a serious person? I do read books that don't have pictures in them and are mostly about history and yet here I am getting excited about products called smut and dazzlelight.
I've also developed a similar passion for nail polish, but I can't claim to have reached a eureka moment as to its application. There are streaks, and chipping occurs instantly, not helped by the fact that I cook like a toddler creating mess and spillage, death and destruction wherever I go. And that is why yesterday, after applying 3 coats of Reno Mavala nail polish, plus base and top coat, I decided I would scrub beets, peel carrots and make a pâte brisée with my ten little digits. Cue chips, dyed red fingers and smudges. I need to get to the bottom of why I bother, because apparently I'm not ready to give up.

Women of the world, untie!

I went to see Videocracy last night at Hagabion and I really feel that it's raised more questions than were answered. So the situation is this: 80% of Italians rely on TV as their single news source. Italy ranked 77th in terms of freedom of the press. The masses are being subjugated by nubile woman in various states of undress parading on game shows.

I wish the documentary had given a more rounded view of Italy's media scene, I mean, where was the opposition? Surely it wouldn't have hurt to end on a positive note of some description? The spectators in the cinema (me included) were all aghast. I feel like a whole nation has been dragged in the mud. Not saying that the picture painted is not the case, but if a film were being made depicting France as a den of iniquity, I would be quite upset.

Late last night, I read the Wikipedia entry on Silvio Berlusconi which made for highly enternaining if very alarming reading. The man is a walking gaffe! I still don't really understand how he gets away with it, although it doesn't look like anybody can come down on him like a ton of bricks when he argues that he's just a full-blooded Italian who is interested in pretty women and football.
I thought that in this day and age, I wouldn't have to be confronted with such crass chauvinism by someone who thinks that just because I have a pair of ovaries I need to be talked down to and the only thing that matters is whether I am pretty or not.

I say the audience was aghast, and they were too, but I don't want to be deluded into thinking that Sweden is a paradise of gender equality. Relatively speaking it probably is, but having lived here for a bit I can say that there is still a long way to go in terms of gender conditioning. More on that subject another time

Back to the fold

The magazine Wired has thoughtfully provided an update on modern etiquette in this digital age. I have learnt for example that it is acceptable to text in the company of others, only if you are trying to include the textee in the group activity. ok, I've taken note and it seems a reasonable rule of thumb. Equally, you are recommended to leave your wi-fi open as acts of altruism are not only good for the soul, but also helps if you're in a spot and need to piggy back on someone else's access. However, my favourite tip is this:

"Hunger and fatigue are not interesting status updates"

Says it all really.

Status report... 12th March 14:42
Cups of coffee drunk: 1
Cups of tea about to be drunk: 1
Number of chocolate fingers consumed: 50,000
Number of hours of sleep: 6
Weather report: full on snow blizzard
Number of words proofed: 3500
Number of times stared out window glumly: 67


we're back! Hold on to your hats children, this is going to be a whirlwind ride.

Today, I had the first of what I hope will be many 'business' lunches with my new associate. A business plan was discussed, sophisticated (well, sophisticated in terms of lunch) foods were consumed and much ego-massaging was performed. I like! It felt so grown up and efficient. After that, I was quite overcome and had to recover by wasting an entire afternoon reading nonsense and blowing my nose.

randomized

So Roma is leading against Chelsea with 3-0 and apparently I should be shocked about this. I think it's time I stopped pretending to know anything about football.

Is it just me, or is the fact that I am researching train time tables to New Jersey for someone who is actually in New York State seem a little absurd?

The internet makes you do unnatural things. You heard it here first.

The thing about reading books, even if you don't agree with the message, is that they seem to stay with you whether you like it or not. Today has started off as a moderate to fairly crappy day, heavy heart and all that, but since I've read the Secret, I feel guilty about even thinking today is crap because I should be positive thinking my way out of a funk. Knowing that I could be bouncing around on a self-induced high instead of feeling sorry for myself is not making me feel better either.

I mean, don't I have enough guilt as it is? Did I have to go and create more?

C'est le livre du moment

Lately my bookclub has been leaving me with a strange taste in the mouth, which is unusual for me as I tend to read everything including packets of cornflakes without the merest flicker of an opinion forming in my delightfully superficial brain. However, our latest book, The Secret by Rhonda Byrne, had me more than just tutting with concern. Reassuringly though, I wasn't the only one with misgivings.

When it comes to books, I need something that is witty, insightful and which makes me wish I had written that particular passage. My current book (started only last night) has all of these elements: Rock me Amadeus by Seb Hunter. This book also had J snorting with laughter. However, I don't know if I would recommend it to just anybody, after all, you have to be on the market for some self-deprecating quintessentially British humour with a musically savvy twist. In fact, I think the only candidate I know for that is my brother, who does like his music and who is very much of the self-deprecating humour type.

In other books, I have recently enjoyed The Road Home by Rose Tremain, whom I have admired for some time and whose novel Sacred Country still haunts me. When I try to tell people about her latest effort though, my attempts to make the plot seem interesting fall completely flat, so I need to take another approach when giving it a recommendation, just what kind of approach remains to be determined.

One book that I have to resist the urge to reread over and over again is of course Pride and Prejudice. It really is like an old friend to me, but it just seems a bit dull to give this book so much attention when there are so many out there demanding to be read. I'm particularly looking forward to getting my hands on the lastest Booker prize winner, Aravind Adiga's White Tiger.

On that note, I shall go pay my respects to Mr Amazon.

So where were we?

So you are reaching the end of your 6000 word translation project, and with 700 measly words left to go, you are dawdling all over the internet, plucking virtual daisies and humming tunelessly to yourself. Instead of, you know, finishig and moving on to something more interesting like eating lunch, doing some much needed planning or even just rewarding yourself with a half hour read.

Is this how everyone works? Or is it just me who needs an evil taskmaster with a vicious prodding device?