Monthly archive: May 2007

Bitterness of feeling; rancor (bile). A skin sore caused by friction and abrasion.

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The branch of metaphysics that deals with the nature of being.

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To carry (a prisoner) face downwards; now usually, to march a person against his will by any method after seizing him from behind.

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You might have noticed that most of my recent posts have not got a thumbnail image on the left hand side like they used to.

I have decided to scrap that, because:

• it takes me far too long to find an image to use, and it spoils weblog's spontaneity (even if I source them quickly with a query on stock.xchng that returns only copyright-free images, and upload them without leaving WordPress via the ImageManager plugin);
• to the best of my knowledge, the only way to make text wrap around thumbnails when the post is viewed in an RSS reader is to use inline styling, and I am not keen at all on blurring the boundaries between content and presentation;
• they sure look pretty, but more often than not they do not add much to the message.

So bye.

I lived in Paris for six and a half years but had not been there for three. Here are a few things I found out during our weekend in Paris a couple of weeks ago.

1. Despite being almost entirely underground (except Bastille station and for the Seine-crossing at Pont de Neuilly), Line 1 of the Paris Métro is fully covered by mobile phone networks.
2. A new museum opened last year: designed by Jean Nouvel, the Musée du quai Branly showcases the arts of Africa, Oceania, Asia, and the Americas.
3. All all French national trunk roads (Routes Nationales) are measured from Kilometre Zero (point zéro), located on the square facing the main entrance of Notre Dame cathedral in Paris and marked by a bronze star.

(bhp) The rated horsepower capacity of the engine as defined on the engine nameplate.

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Today the French are electing their new president. I hope they make a good and wise choice (hint: she would be France's first female president), I fear they won't.

Update: the French elected Sarkozy instead.

In their honour, here is a simplified version of my favourite dessert. I made it last night to celebrate one year exactly since we moved into the new flat.

It is taken from this list of tarte Tatin recipes. Quantities are for 6 to 8 persons.

Ingredients

• 12 small apples
• 250g puff pastry
• 90g unsalted butter
• 210g sugar
• 2 large pinches of cinnamon

Preparation

1. Roll out the pastry on a floured surface and refrigerate it
2. Peel the apples
3. Cut out the cores
4. Cut them in quarters
5. Put 75g of sugar in an oven mould and melt it on the stove
6. When it is dark brown, add 30g butter
7. Cool down and remove excess butter
8. Line mould with apple quarters (base and sides)
9. Cover with the remaining 90g of butter cut into thin slices
10. Sprinkle with the remaining 135g of sugar mixed with the cinnamon
11. Bake at 190C until a sharp knife falls into the apples under its own weight (approximately 30 minutes)
12. Cover with the rolled-out pastry, trimming away the excess and tucking it into the sides of the mould
13. Cook for a further 30 minutes
14. Let it cool as long as you can before turning it out on a serving dish
15. Serve with a dollop of double cream, crème fraîche, clotted cream or vanilla icecream

One who loves beards.

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Hypocritically, complacently, or effusively earnest; unctuous.

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Yesterday I entered my first race and completed a 5 kilometres (3.1 miles) run.

It is probably not a big deal for most, but I consider it a great achievement, because as recently as last January I could not run for more than ten minutes without being out of breath.

I trained regularly, went for lunchtime runs with colleagues and on the treadmill at the gym, slowly built up my endurance and lately started working on speed too.

In early April I gave Dr B. an iPod nano for his birthday, as well as the Nike+ iPod sport kit that logs your running data and uploads it to the Nike+ website where you can set yourself goals and launch/join challenges with other people. I liked it so much that I got one myself.

I twittered about it and Gordon invited me to join the April Fools challenge (whoever runs the most KM during April) where I ended up at a very honourable second place.

Dr B. challenged me to whoever runs 100KM first, so every night when we get home we plug our iPods and check on the website who is winning. Thanks to last night's race, I am currently in the lead by a very small margin.

I do not consider myself as highly competitive, but I'll be honest with you: there have been days where I would gladly have skipped training but the prospect of having to see Dr B.'s smug winner face prodded me to go the extra mile – quite literally.

A sedan car, American English terminology (saloon in British English).

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A shoutbox, saybox, tagboard, or chatterbox is a chat-like feature of some websites that allows people to quickly leave messages on the website, generally without any form of user registration.

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Dr B.'s Hilton points (collected throughout one and a half years of working away from London and being put up in one of the chain's branches for three to four nights a week) were going to expire at the end of April, so he took me and his parents to Paris and used them to get two very nice rooms for two nights.

It was a lovely weekend, very relaxing and with a little bit of extra luxury that I'm not used to, thanks to Dr B.'s last couple of days as a Hilton Diamond

• Paris, 27-29 April 2007 – a photoset on Flickr

Thursday. Got home from work. Loaded and started bread machine. Went to pick up StreetCar. Sat in car while Dr B. drove to Euston station. Picked up Dr B.'s parents. Sat in slow traffic. Got home to the smell of freshly baked bread. Small talk with in-laws while Dr B. went to leave the StreetCar where he found it. Ate bread. And more bread. Packed. Panicked as Dr B. gave me 20 minutes to power down computer to go to sleep. Slept.

Friday. Woke up. Had breakfast. Got cab to Waterloo. Checked in at Eurostar. Waited for departure. Boarded. Slept through the Eurotunnel. Paris. Got ridiculous quote for people carrier to hotel (95 Euro). Got cab to hotel (15 Euro – nyah nyah!). Dr B. flashed his Hilton Diamond VIP card. Red carpet appeared. Upgraded to executive rooms. Fauchon chocolates. Nice bottle of wine in both rooms. Access to ultra-top secret Executive Floor. Access to all-day-long free booze and nibbles on Executive Floor. Contemplated not leaving the Executive Floor all weekend. Freshened up and went out. Had sandwich. Boat to Notre Dame. Visited church. Walked through flower market to Saint Michel. Parents ate. We drank. Boat to hotel. Champagne and nibbles on Executive Floor. Snooze. Shower. Underground to Chatelet. Got lost. Used map on mobile phone. Met friends. Had pizza. Underground to hotel. Slept.

Saturday. Woke up. Had breakfast. Taxi to Montmartre. Visited Sacre Coeur. Sat for a drink. Tourist mini-train to Pigalle. Underground to Arc de Triomphe. Lunch on the Champs Elisees. Underground to Louvre. Met friend with partner and two-month old baby. Walked to Palais Royal. Walked to Seine. Boat to hotel. Found a baker. Ate half a baguette and a chocolate éclair. Had three tall glasses of Suze at Executive Floor. Parents pretty tipsy too. Went for a lie-down. Freshened up. Went out for dinner. Got back to hotel. Watched Tour Eiffel light show from Executive Floor (yes, again!) balcony. Went to bed.

Sunday. Had nightmare. Woke up. Went for a run from the Eiffel Tower to Ecole Militaire to Eiffel Tower to Trocadero and back to Eiffel Tower. Showered. Had breakfast. Queued for tickets to Tour Eiffel. Queued for lifts to second floor. Queued for lifts to top. Enjoyed view. Did not enjoy wonky floor metal plates. Got food. Ate. Left hotel. Taxi to station. Checked in to Eurostar. One hour early. Train to London. Slept through Eurotunnel. Goodbyes to in-laws. Got home. Lovely cup of tea.

(road) In the UK a private road, where the local borough council is not responsible for the road's maintenance.

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A stratagem or trick intended to deceive or ensnare. To influence or lead by means of wiles; entice.

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