PAPILLON

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Friday, 9 July 2010

it ain't half hot mum


Fact: It's hotter here in the Rhone-Alpes than practically anywhere else, at least 36 degrees celsius. It's well after midnight and I've been working on my major project outside, which is pleasantly cool but insecty - the environment, that is, not my writing.


Violent storms are forecast for tomorrow, possibly Sunday. And we love these. The more violent the better. Thunderstorms are most definitely us. Furthermore, the word 'tornado' has been mentioned. Immediately I think of the film 'Twister' and mad tornado chasers, and cows flying through the air. We will be more cautious...


Storms apart, we have a stunning view of the Belledonne mountains from our garden, an almost equally stunning one of the Chartreuse. So we don't need to go anywhere to appreciate the best this region has to offer.

That said, we've done some lovely drives into the Bauges mountains in the Savoie, and the Belledonne mountains.




Next week's plan to is to track down The Tour de France, which passes quite near here. I'd be tempted to compete in it myself if they changed the traditional yellow jersey to amethyst.



Other events on the horizon: dinner with my partner's Norwegian colleagues to discuss an EU Health Promotion research proposal which just might result in work opportunities for me in the intermediate future, being a former and most evangelical health promoter; some cycling when and if the weather cools, but down rather than up mountain passes and, needless to say, writing, writing, writing.

Things to bear in mind: my son's already got sunburnt through being at a lake, despite using suncream, so we need to be more careful; we're all a bit crochety from the heat. We need to ensure we drink enough water, including sprinkling some into the cage of the stick insects, which reminds me: there's something lying on the floor of the cage and I must check if it's a dead insect or a piece of twig. We must remember to feed the cat and harvest the raspberry crop ... and it's time we indulged in the local chocolate cakes.



Flippantly yours,


Jane

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