les Davey de France

Well last Saturday we met our granddaughter for the first time. She is the finest looking baby I have ever seen, with the exception of her uncle and her mother, of course. She has fine features, a decent amount of hair and is unusually alert. She loves having her head massaged or being gently tickled, and has taken to feeding as if milk is going out of fashion, which, of course, it soon will. She's generally calm but is subject to violent nocturnal attacks of unremovable wind. The life of a grandparent is as wonderful as they said it would be. In other news, after a week of procrastination I have submitted my application for French citizenship. I hit two snags on the website application : 1) they asked me to upload a United Kingdom DBS. However their list of documents didn't have that, and it would need to be officially translated, and I have lived in France for 19 years. If I need to do that then I guess I'll have to. 2) What category does pastor fit into? Am I employed? S

So have we had a week! Our daughter, Catrin, has been pregnant for some time, expecting a little girl in mid-October. Once your estimated due date arrives  you go to the maternity unit every two days to be assessed. If all is well they send you home to continue the long wait. If necessary they will intervene to bring the pregnancy to a happy conclusion. Thus it was that every two days we have been on tenterhooks for some little while. On Thursday they decided enough was enough, and that Catrin would stay in hospital until the baby was delivered. This was followed by gentle induction of labour ( déclenchement in French), then less gentle induction, then finally a caesarian section yesterday afternoon. And so Dorothea Anwen has entered the world. We're very proud of everyone - Catrin, Théa and Froim dealt with the whole process with enviable sang-froid, coping admirably with every medical decision and every change of plan. I was amazed - and I don't amaze easily. I regularly tak

The news arrived the other day of the sudden death of one of my cousins. People from South Wales usually have lots of cousins, and so did I, though the number is falling fast. Weddings and funerals are important occasions to get together and acknowledge the place that family plays in our lives. We usually can't get home for them, and I doubt if this one will be any different. Meanwhile a senior colleague is leaving Bordeaux. He's a wonderful man who knows the area really well. He's retiring up to the Dordogne - I teased him about going to live in the English region - and he'll be a big loss to the Bordeaux scene. I wouldn't want to retire up there - maybe to the coast - but he says he needs to give his successor some scope, and that everyone can understand. This week in Bordeaux they've been filming a period drama about the life of Chopin in Paris. Bordeaux was remodelled around the same time as Paris, so people often call it "the little Paris" - same

This week in Bordeaux saw the 1000th lifting of the Chaban-Delmas Bridge. The Chaban-Delmas Bridge is named after one of Bordeaux' former mayors, a resistant during the Second World War and a man already honoured by an enormous statue in the town hall square. The bridge is the largest lifting bridge in Europe and raises and lowers to admit ocean liners and tall ships into the heart of the city. Ocean liners have been a matter of debate in the city for a while. They are very big indeed, towering over the already imposing buildings on the quays. They come into the heart of the city and moor at the bottom of the Place des Quinconces, the huge ceremonial square where two main tram lines cross. Tourists gain immediate access to the shops, cafés, restaurants, parks and museums of the city without having to take transport to and from their ship. However their presence causes congestion on the quays. Pat and I ride along the quays to the cafe most days, and when ships are in, sometimes two

Alongside our block of flats runs a one-way road, and alongside that, the tramlines - Tram C, to Villenave. After that is a rendered wall, embellished with art by some school children some years ago. The wall borders what I always thought was a drainage channel, set there to channel any possible flood waters.  I was wrong. Between those walls, channeled alongside the tram rails, within view of our balcony and far better seen from the roof garden, beloved of ducks (we see them fly over and hear their stand-up comedy sessions) - runs the River Ars.  

 We belong to a book group 'for busy people', which means we meet only three or four times a year. Next week we should have read Wuthering Heights. I haven't. It's a thoroughly nasty book. I found some Spark notes and a family tree, and I've read selected lowlights, and that's quite enough for me.