It’s time for a fashion post. Or at least my version of one. On the streets of Paris, my eyes are always peeled for the latest French trends. It’s a fun game to play at the school gate, at crèche pick up, on the metro or out for dinner with friends. It’s also a passive attempt at slowing a one-way skid down Dagsville (hint: nobody French lives there).Read More
I was going to write about the wintery beauty of Christmas in Paris. But. Let’s just say I’m going to have to find another frame of mind to write about the romanticism of the Christmas lights unique to every arrondissement, cinnamon spice aromas and frost-pinched cheeks behind cashmere scarves and big-collared coats. No, friends. THAT post is for another day.Read More
I’ve been known to complain loudly and often that “I have nothing to wear” whilst standing in front of a full to overflowing wardrobe. Lately these complaints have become louder, more frequent and peppered with emotions such as boredom, frustration, anger and general fed-uppedness. Top of the range #firstworldproblem I know, but if you fancy a bit of low-brow self-indulgent fluff, read on. Heaven knows we could use some light-heartedness after this week of craziness and confusion when #firstworld became #trumpworld, and fluff became a hair-style. Sorry where were we? Wardrobes. Focus.Read More
It’s taken a few weeks of serious thought to come to this decision. But here it is: I’m leaving Paris and moving to Antibes. It was a tough one but I’m sure you’ll understand when you read my reasons, detailed below.Read More
My French language journey began in 1990 with a rather frightening school-teacher named Mr Curtis. This so-called distributer of knowledge was a man not easily forgotten. He had eyebrows like the jaws of death. His eyes were bullets that bore holes into your skull, through which he could see the entire contents of your underdeveloped Year 7 brain. When all he could find was lyrics to the Stutter Rap (as opposed to French auxiliary verbs) he not impressed I tell you not impressed at all and by jove did his eyebrows tell you so.Read More
Since the '80s, the word bogan has evolved, as have the people it describes. It means different things to different people. The effect of it’s use depends on context, tone and the number of swear words it’s sandwiched by. It’s a word that can be loaded with hilarity, pride, and affection - as well as hurt, anger, shame and judgement.
I argue that we are all a bit bogan. On some level.
(Image by Michael Perkins via Daily Telegraph)Read More
In Australia and most other English speaking countries, people refer to their partner’s parents as the “in-laws.” To me, the term “in-law” conjures up all sorts of fearsome images. Perhaps it’s just because when I hear “in-law” my brain links the term “out-law” and into my head pops a bearded man in a metal helmet robbing a train.Read More
It’s been a while. Apologies. There’s always plenty to write about but I guess I/we’ve been feeling a little bogged down with the daily grind lately. Here’s what a normal day looks like for us at the moment.Read More
I'm getting to know this old town Paris. Scratching the surface at least. I've drank a lot of bad coffee, along with the occasional good one. I've met some amazing people and some very funny ones (not funny ha-ha). I've pushed a cumbersome double pram around many a skinny street. I've navigated public transport (no small feat with 2 small ones), French TV, red tape and their (quite) early learning system. I've stumbled across breathtaking views when I least expect it - often enough to remind me where we are and how lucky we are to be having this experience. It's this getting-to-know-you-process that's led me to notice a few things. Differences, if you will.
Warning. Disclaimer. Pardon.*
*gross generalisations ahead.Read More
The Parisian coffee culture is famous around the world. Melbournian coffee culture is arguably as famous (just ask a Melbournian). But the two cities could not be further apart when it comes to what matters to their respective coffee culture vultures.Read More
In France, school starts at 3 years of age. Many non-French folk are horrified by this, but the natives are horrified when a 3 year old is NOT at school. I have been asked repeatedly, “Why is Euan not at school??” It's been a slow start on this front. Here's why.Read More
The kids. Les enfants. It’s been a tough gig for the kids over the last 6 months. Almost everything in their little lives has been turned upside down. Nan and Pop are no longer a car-drive away. They can’t cuddle them, jump on the trampoline or play with their cousins in the cubby. At the park, nobody understands them and cafes don’t serve babycinos.Read More
2015 has seen us move from Oakleigh to Pakenham to Paris. We resigned from our jobs. We said goodbye to colleagues, friends, family, playgroups, networks. We’ve said hello to a different culture and new experiences.Read More
There's a gaping hole in my life at the moment and it's the one live music used to fill. I must have been whinging about it a lot lately, as my good husband recently took it upon himself to book us a gig and a babysitter. Yes and Yes. Here's how it went.
A short conversation with a new friend inspired this blog post. It's a good thing too, as I was toying with forgetting about this silly blog idea. Does the world need an another blog in already-bursting-at-the-seams-internet-land? No. But apparently I do!Read More
The decision to go and see my beloved footy team play in a rare final in Adelaide was an impulsive one. Dad rang me a few minutes before the tickets went on sale. I didn’t have long to think. Thinking, thinking, booked! Dad and I are going to Adelaide. Yippee!Read More