Trick or Treat!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Hurricane Sandy has wrecked her (his?) havoc in and around New Jersey, but my family is safe and sound, thank goodness, albeit with a lot of damage to the properties and streets around them.  My only hope is that, despite all the devastation, the children will be able to get on with their trick-or-treating, as only American children know how to do so well! 

I loved spending Halloween in the US 2 years ago, they really go all out and the atmosphere is so festive.

Dave and I took a stab at hosting a halloween party of our own this year.  It was a great success - although the people who make Halloween compilations of music need to work a bit harder!  Ghastly!  (Ghostly?  See what I did there?!)  But we had fun anyway and everybody made a real effort, it was great!  We had 2 skeletons, a pumpkin, a pirate, 2 witches, a mental patient and her male nurse, 2 zombies (one of the regular kind and one Bishop!), Marilyn Manson's bride (not really), Red Riding Hood, 2 goths and erm.... Blackmail!

We went to town on decorating the house and had a few scares under our belts.  We had eyeballs floating in the punch and plenty of vodka jelly shots to go around!  All in all, a very successful first Halloween Party at casa Ring.

Photo links after the jump....

So if you're going out tonight, beware of ghosts and goblins of the trick-or-treating kind, but most of all... have fun!

Click here for my photos and here for Dave's (far more professional) photos.

The wonders of the English language

I received this next post in the form of an e-mail from my Uncle about 10 years ago now and it has always stuck with me.  The person who wrote it - unfortunately anonymously - is a genius.  I wish I could claim it as my own, but I managed to find it online and thought I'd post it on my blog for posterity.

Here goes...

Let's face it - English is a crazy language.

There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple.  English muffins weren't invented in England nor French fries in France.  Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. 

Other examples of the complexities of our language are as follows:

The bandage was wound around the wound.
The farm was used to produce produce.
The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
He could lead if he would get the lead out.
The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.
A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
I did not object to the object.
There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
They were too close to the door to close it.
The buck does funny things when the does are present.
A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
After a number of injections my jaw got number.
Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

We take English for granted.  But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig. 

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?  If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth?  One goose, 2 geese.  So one moose, 2 meese?  One index, 2 indices?

Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend, that you comb through annals of history but not a single annal?  If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?  If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?

Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.  In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?  Ship by truck and send cargo by ship?  Park on driveways and drive on parkways?  Have noses that run and feet that smell?  How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which an alarm goes off by going on.

English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race (which, of course, isn't a race at all).  That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible? 

And why, when I wind up my watch, I start it, but when I wind up this essay, I end it?

Autumn is here...

... and that means oranges, reds, browns, carved pumpkins, halloween, fallen leaves, cool crispiness in the air, salted caramel hot chocolate from Starbucks... and the odd funny photo!

And that's just the beginning!

 

Management vs Leadership… a fine line, but an important one

I’m not too sure where I’m going with this post – I think it’s more a ‘soapbox’ entry than anything else, but I will try to explain my thinking as best I can.

I have never been a manager.  I have managed various things in my life – people, events, itineraries, heartbreak, appointments, travel arrangements and dinner parties – but I have never held a position with Manager in the job title.  However, most people who know me, know that I am pretty capable of managing most things, particularly when it comes to arranging things!  I’m a natural planner and definitely missed my calling very early on to be a Publicity Agent, Party and Wedding Planner or something similar.

Some people were born to manage – people, that is.  Management in the workplace holds this air of prestige, which some people aspire to, others not.  I fall into the latter category.

But does it necessarily mean that those people in management positions are the very best leaders?  That’s where it gets interesting to dissect the terms and separate the natural leaders from those who aim for management purely because of the entitlement the job title brings (hereinafter known as ‘BigWigs’).

Fortunately, I haven’t had to encounter too many BigWigs and only 2 spring to mind.  I have friends who complain bitterly about their management and I’m just thankful that I have only ever had one really bad experience.  Although I’m sure that there will be more to come in the next 35 years!

My very first encounter with a true ‘BigWig’ was at my first ‘proper’ job – one at which I excelled and was promoted fairly quickly.  I was 20 and ran my own 1-person department.  I was good at what I did and did my job efficiently, accurately and with a smile on my face.  But in a customer-facing job, you will always get one.  You know what I mean.  The one client who has the ability to turn your day from sunshine and rainbows, to thunderclouds and big ol’ fat raindrops.  I’m not someone who backs down all that easily and I stand up for what I believe to be right or true.  In this particular case, I assessed the customer’s situation and came to the conclusion that he was trying to pull a fast one.  A massive fast one.  And I told him, as I would do now, that I couldn’t help him, as to do so would mean committing fraud.  Needless to say, he complained to the MD aka ‘BigWig 1’.  I was summarily called to the MD’s office to explain why I wasn’t prepared to help Shifty with his problem and I explained that the story he was telling was implausible.  What he was saying had happened to the piece of equipment he wanted replaced would only have been possible if he had been supplied defective equipment to start with and given that he’d had the item for almost 2 years by that point – at no stage before then complaining that it didn’t work and in fact, declaring on the insurance claim form that he had had no prior problems with it – I quite accurately surmised that he was to blame for the defective nature that the item now found itself in.  Mr BigWig 1 instructed me to replace the item – ever faithful to the phrase ‘the customer is always right’ – which I duly did.  When it came time to explain my department’s expenditure and subsequent insurance claim, I referred it to the decision made by BigWig 1, as explanation, who – surprise, surprise – denied any knowledge of it.  I can only thank my lucky stars that I’m a water cooler kind of employee and my colleagues knew all about the case and backed me up.  Water under the bridge.  No harm done.  But… a lesson learnt to always document everything in writing. 

Jump to 6 years later.  The only time in my life that I have been subjected to bullying.  And given that it was in the workplace, it was emotional, rather than physical and I didn’t fully appreciate at the time that it was what was happening, but I admit now that I was bullied out of my position.  I loved my job, I loved my colleagues and I absolutely loved going to work every day.  A very rare combination.  The only thorn in my side was the MD aka ‘BigWig 2’.  A poisonous woman, who took pleasure in making others feel as belittled as possible.  And she continues to do it to this day.  She would make derogatory remarks about colleagues when they were sitting in the open plan office – well within earshot - in which she was situated.  She antagonised employees in front of their colleagues in meetings.  She actively blocked my personal development path at one point by instructing my assessor not to continue with an assessment session which was due to take place.  She is conniving, sneaky and incredibly unprofessional.  She is my prime example of someone who holds a management position and shouldn’t, the epitome of a ‘Horrible Boss’.  A woman of many faces, it still fills me with dread just to think about her.  Her plastered smile, fake laugh and inappropriate forging of relationships within her employee base, making a very obvious and clear distinction between those who were on side and those she’d rather squish like an ant under her shoe.  I started out as a favoured employee, but ended up as an ant.  And I still, to this day, don’t know when my status changed.  I did my job brilliantly, I received praise on an almost weekly basis for the speed and accuracy with which I turned work around for our external clients – something that a good manager usually appreciates.  I was a good egg and loved my job.  I don’t ask for positive feedback, I am not actually particularly comfortable receiving it, but  it remains a fundamental measure of performance in the workplace.  BigWig 2 is quite possibly, the most vile human being I have ever known.  I worked with a long-term friend at this company, someone I had known for 15 years, and BigWig 2 played each of us against the other, resulting in a fallout of mammoth proportions.  We didn’t speak for over a year.  But thankfully, blood is thicker than water, so to speak, and we resolved the issues once I’d had enough breathing space away from the company.  I have disliked a few people in my life, thankfully not too many, but to my mind, it takes one hell of a lot of effort to break someone down so far that they don’t recognise who they are or what they’re working towards.  But the scary thing is that it isn’t an effort for her, it seems to come naturally. 

I had turned from a really upbeat, positive person, to one who constantly complained about my day, couldn’t seem to get motivated and didn’t really have any ‘get up and go’ in me anymore.  Poor Dave would get it in the ear every single day – it came to the point when all I knew to do was let off steam about my day at work and his was the only pair of aching ears available.  Thinking back, I feel terrible about how much I had to complain about.  It’s a wonder that he stuck around, when I was seemingly so self-absorbed in my own self-pity after a horrible day, week or month at work.  My only saving grace was a colleague, who I am proud to have been able to call my mentor - a true leader - who saw my potential and nurtured it.  She involved me in everything that she did, helping me to regain some semblance of pride in my work.  She was a larger than life personality who I am very grateful to have known until her untimely death earlier this year.  A true friend, but more importantly, one of the true leaders that I'm talking about.  I’m absolutely certain that, had she not been around to take me under her wing and had I not eventually made a break for it, BigWig 2 would have whittled away every tiny bit of self-respect I had.  I was really close to feeling properly depressed about the situation I found myself in with this awful person.  I had to put an end to it.  I had to dust off my boots, lift my chin, put the smile back on my face and get out of there.  Which I did.  In the middle of the economic downturn and against over 100 other applicants, I was successful in securing a position at a company which I knew I would, and still do, feel extremely proud to work for.

When I handed in my notice, BigWig 2 asked me for my reason for leaving.  Once again, right at the very end, still waving the flag of authority over me.  She told me it was for the company newsletter in which she would announce my resignation, which I thought was laughable, given that I’d been at the company for nearly 4 years and had never received a company newsletter.  A lie, plain and simple, although not entirely unexpected from her.  I managed to defer the answer until the day after I left the company.  I then sent her my reason for leaving in the form of an open letter to the entire management team, explaining exactly why I had felt that I needed to leave.  And I made it crystal clear that SHE was the reason I had left.  I listed all the incidences which had led me to the decision and I explained that I was sending it as an open letter, in the hopes that someone else in her team would stand up to her and pull her up on her absolutely appalling unprofessionalism and lack of management skills.  I had no expectations that this would actually be the case, but if I could just plant one seed…. Well, it turns out that I’m pretty green-fingered, because the seed was planted and I received an invitation to a grievance meeting – the first HR process which I had ever encountered at this company.  I had proposed on a number of occasions that an in-house HR function be set up, which was always rejected without reason.  To receive a letter inviting me to a process they knew nothing about was laughable.  I politely explained that I had never requested a grievance case be opened and nor would I ever consider stepping foot inside the same office as the woman again.  I had felt the most unbelievable sense of freedom the second I’d walked out of the door on my last day and there was no way I was going to go back there.

I will never forget the day when Dave looked at my ID pass for my new job about 3 days after I started – the photo on which had been taken on my first day – and he said to me ‘you look so happy’.  And I was.  For the first time in 3 years, I was happy professionally.  I wasn’t necessarily in a position that I wanted to stay in for the rest of my life, but I was out of the employ of one of the most awful people I have ever had the displeasure of meeting and I was content.

I am a leader, but I never want to be a manager.  I am comfortable being managed, as long as I am given the freedom to express myself through my work.  I don’t live with a lid on my head, preferring instead to inspect the outer walls of the box.   That’s a choice that I’ve made and it’s one that often brings me back to consider what my ultimate career goal is.  I get impatient with inadequate management processes.  I also get impatient with unnecessary bureaucracy.  I am resistant to people who are change-resistent.  I tend to rebel against a system which sets unchangeable rules.  Rules need to be augmented to fit the purpose for which they’re put in place.  If they aren’t malleable to a certain extent, they get broken.

And so around to the point of this post.  Does being a Manager automatically mean that you are the best person to manage a team of other individuals?  In my experience, absolutely not.  Does gaining a title automatically arm you with the skills, emotional responses and willingness to lead well which are often needed in positions of that kind?  I don’t think so.  I honestly don’t think this is the case.  I believe that people are either leaders or followers and being a manager does not make you the former.  A leader is an individual who motivates, who inspires his workforce and who is in it for the long-term, not just until they see how big their bonus cheque is.  They are those people whose say things like ‘how can it be achieved?’, not ‘it cannot be achieved’ – a book-open, not book-closed mentality.  They are empathetic, they have a vision which extends beyond sales targets and organisational charts and they empower their workforce to reach their personal goals in order to succeed.  The sky is the limit.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s very simple.  A manager 'don’ts' and a leader does.

Celebrity? I just don't buy it

I often tell people this story to help justify my decision not to buy the latest edition of the hottest tabloid magazines on the shelves - even though I so desperately want to see pictures of Jen's engagement ring, Drew's baby or Suri throwing a strop in the park.  I learnt a little while ago that what some celebrities go through in order for us to get our 'celebrity fix' just isn't worth it. 

I admit it, I'm a celebrity junkie. 

I love all things celebrity and in particular, anything coming out of the US - although I draw the line at reality TV.  I can't think of anything more boring than watching a bunch of Z-listers lying around a house with cameras in every corner or watching said Z-listers eating witchetty grubs on a not-so-deserted island.  It's not entertaining to me in the slightest.

As we've already established earlier in my blog, I'm a huge fan of US drama series and devour them as soon as they hit our screens.  If they meet with the Lins stamp of approval, I will spend my hard-earned money on the box sets once the DVDs are released.  As I said... a fan!

I remember being addicted to Santa Barbara when I was much younger - the only soap opera I've ever watched.  Kelly Capwell was my idol and I wanted to be just like her.  I wrote off to NBC and asked for signed photographs of the cast and I was ecstatic when I got a few replies!  Nothing ever arrived from my idol though *sniff* I have no idea where those are today, I wish I still had them. 

When I moved to the UK, I had a weekly ritual - Tuesday was HEAT magazine day and Thursday was OK! magazine day.  Glamour magazine and New Look were monthly editions and I knew exactly when they would hit the shelves.  I couldn't get enough of the celebrity gossip, the pictures of who had been spotted with whom, who was making up and breaking up and who was getting their star on the Hollywood Walk Of Fame.  I remember pouring over all the details of Brad and Jen's wedding, even modelling my own wedding ring on Jen's - yes... true story!  (Although I couldn't afford 20 diamonds, so had to settle for 3 instead).

When my friend and I went to California in 2006, I was like an Energiser Bunny.  LA, Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Rodeo Drive, Universal Studios... I don't think I've ever been so excited for a holiday before.  And going to Orange County, where The OC was filmed?  At that point, I don't think either of us could imagine something ever being more exciting!  (Unless, of course, I'd bumped into Britney or my BFF Jen Aniston... then I'd have fainted.)  And ironically, we didn't see a single celebrity.  New York, on the other hand, is teaming with them.  I'll never forget sitting next to Joseph Gordon-Levitt in the Comedy Cellar in Greenwich Village and my cousin being nearly apoplectic telling me to keep it on the 'down-low' because he could see my excitement was at boiling point having just spotted my first 'real' celebrity!  And I could never forget our chance discovery of a red carpet, our long wait and subsequent spotting of Anthony Hopkins, Edward Norton, Selma Hayek and P Diddy among others at the premiere of Red Dragon.  For a celebrity junkie, this is just about as good as it gets!

A few years ago now, I watched a documentary called 'Stalking Britney' and it was about the Paparazzi business, particularly in LA, but in the US in general.  It was heart-breaking.  Remember these photos?  Most people, myself included, believed the tabloids when they told the story of a broken Britney, who had fallen from grace and gone mental on her ex's car.  The entire world saw these photos and read the inaccurate portrayal of the situation.  This incident was captured in the documentary and it was so blown out of proportion by the tabloids to make the paps a few million, that the actual footage pales in comparison to the tabloid stories printed within an hour of this incident happening.  The clip in the documentary shows Britney scared and cowering away from Paparazzi cameras, which are literally being shoved in her face through the car window.  You can hear her asking, and eventually pleading, for them to leave her alone.  Which they don't.  Cue a very traumatised, scared and angry girl, getting out of the car and bashing an umbrella into the pap's car out of sheer frustration, then getting back into her own car and driving away.  That's it.  Finished in less than 90 seconds.  And I can't say that I blame her.  At one point in the documentary, she is being interviewed in a hotel and the camera pans to the street where there are hundreds of paps lying in wait.  The interviewer asks what would happen if they were to leave the building and Britney answered something along the lines of 'We can't. We couldn't just leave'.  And so it carried on.  A paparazzo actually hid in a dustbin just to be able to get the first shot of Ashley Olsen's new haircut as she left the salon!  They're relentless.  It showed other celebrities being accosted in the street, not being able to walk down the road because there are cameras shoved in their faces.  At one point, it showed Britney pulling up at a store to go shopping and not being able to get out of the car because of the masses of paps bashing against the door, trying to open it to be able to get a photo of her.  She was terrified and visibly upset.  Another shot in the documentary showed about 10 cars lined up outside her property, just lying in wait until she left her house so they could follow her.  I could go on and on.  It was awful and definitely one of the most disturbing documentaries I've ever seen.

At some point towards the end, Dave walked into the lounge.  He watched it for a little while with me and then got up to go to the kitchen.  He said to me in passing 'You see?  This is what goes into getting the pictures that appear in your celebrity magazines'.  And that was it.  Lightbulb moment.  From that day on, I have never ever spent a single penny on a tabloid magazine.  I refuse to line the pockets of people who make a living out of traumatising someone in the public eye, just so that they can get their perfect shot and million dollar pay cheque.  I know that my boycott won't make a blind bit of difference, but I feel good for having made the decision.

And this is why I like Twitter.  I need something to get my celebrity fix and so I follow the celebrities I want to follow - yes, Britney is one of them - and I am safe in the knowledge that they are communicating with their fans in the way that they want to, not by way of having photos of their unmade-up faces first thing in the morning or sweaty backs after a yoga class plastered all over the latest newsstand release.  Some people don't buy into the whole idea of celebrity, but the fact of the matter is that it's a money-spinner and almost certainly always will be.  I just don't agree with the tactics they employ to obtain their coveted shot.

A tweet from Kelly Osbourne yesterday summed it up for me really.  She said 'Just so you know, this is B-S'. 

Celebs setting the record straight in their own words and speaking out without the need for a session on Oprah's couch.  I love it.

A long weekend in Normandy... the verdict

Well, after 3 lovely days away in a country I would ordinarily have avoided at all costs, I can say one thing... leave Paris behind and take the rest of France by storm!  Paris?  Beurk!  Honfleur, on the other hand?  Magnifique!

Dave has been doing quite a lot of research for this trip and believe it or not, I was not the itinerary holder for this weekend.  He did everything and although he'd told me basically where we were going, I didn't have a clue what was coming next, it was great!  After going to Belgium 3 years ago via the Channel Tunnel, which meant that we had our own car for the weekend, we decided that it was the most comfortable way to travel in Western Europe - no flights, no check-in times, no luggage allowances, no liquid restrictions.  You can just throw all the last minute things in the back seat and off you go.

We took an overnight ferry from Portsmouth to Le Havre and had a private berth.  It was a lot more comfortable than expected and made the 8 hour crossing pretty bearable.  Although it wasn't the most restful night's sleep, it was certainly far better than we'd have had on a flight of that length.

We arrived in Le Havre at 8am and after about an hour spent disembarking, we were eventually on the road towards Memorial Pegasus, or the Pegasus Bridge museum, our first stop for the day.  We made our way over Normandy Bridge in the rain, but towards some sunshine, so we knew we were headed for better weather!  It wasn't all bad though, we saw 4 rainbows on our first day - and one where we could see BOTH ends at the same time!  Pity we didn't have lottery tickets for that day!

Memorial Pegasus is a museum in Caen, Normandy which houses the famous Pegasus Bridge, which was captured by British forces on the night of 5 June 1944 during World War II.  In history class in SA, we learnt the very basics about WWII and so this was a unique experience for both of us, but while Dave knew what to expect, I did not.  I had no idea what Pegasus Bridge was, nor what significance it held in the overall WWII story.  It was a typical museum, with amazing artifacts found in the area, as well as original guns, jackets, helmets and tanks found after the war, and preserved in the many museums of its kind in this part of France.  The one thing that stands out for me from this museum was finding out that Allied Forces (and presumably the baddies too) had escape maps made out of silk sewn into their jackets and there were a number of these on display.

Our next stop was Gold Beach, which was the main landing beach for British troops on the 6th June 1944.  Although today, this is just a beach with your usual array of surfers, dog walkers and children with their buckets and spades, the one thing that betrays the sense of this being a 'business as usual' beach are the massive concrete blocks dotted around the coastline - presumably broken off pieces of the remaining walls of Mulberry 'B', a harbour which was created in Britian, towed across the channel and assembled at Gold Beach for use by Canadian and British forces.  Mulberry 'A' was assembled at Omaha beach and they were collectively known as Mulberry Harbour.

Our next stop was a German gun graveyard (my own name for it!) at Longues-sur-Mer.  There are 4 guns remaining to this day, pointing out from bunkers towards 4 of the 5 landing beaches - Utah, Omaha, Juno and Gold beaches.  They are set in a massive expanse of brilliant green grass with absolutely nothing else around them.  The bunkers are carved into the hillside, so that from behind, you would never even know they were there.  I'm sure, during the invasion, this area was a flurry of machine gun fire and bodies, but the sense of calm the area now has is pretty unsettling.  Especially since you can go into the bunkers and position yourself behind these absolutely massive machine gun-type things and take in each landing beach from the SS forces' perspective.  Each of these launchers had a 12-mile range - well out to sea from where they're situated.  As I said, unsettling.

Next stop was Omaha Beach - a familiar name to me, because it was the one we learnt about in history classes at high school.  As we arrived, the heavens opened and we started on our way around the memorial grounds in the midst of a monkey's wedding.  For me, this place was, by far, the most humbling experience of the entire trip.  And this is why...

So many crosses.  So many lives lost.  At each of the beaches, Dave and I both remarked on the fact that it was hard to imagine that so many people had died on the very spot where we were walking, but this American Cemetery at Omaha Beach ensures that you never forget about each and every person who's final living moments were spent where we were just walking during the hour before.  And so it should be.  For the very same reason that Auschwitz remains standing to this day, this cemetery stands tribute to the fact that - certainly in my lifetime so far - we haven't had to experience a war on this scale, which means that some of us are never made aware of the sacrifices of the men and women who give their lives up for their country - willingly or not.  On my infertility forums, I have come across so many women who are 'military wives' and my heart breaks every time I read that their husbands are being deployed to Iraq or Afganistan in the war currently being waged over there, because I'm not sure I could be as brave as them.  The thought that any of my loved ones could end up as one of these crosses fills me with dread and makes me thank my lucky stars that I've got to the age of 32 without having to experience something like this.  I'm always incredibly humbled when I visit places like this - Ground Zero in New York, Auschwitz in Poland, Isandlwana in South Africa - because although I couldn't ever fully imagine it, the proof is right in front of your eyes when you're there.  I could go on and on, but it truly was the highlight (in a strange kind of way) of my weekend.

 

And special mention to people like this... heartbreaking that they were never able to be identified.  The inscription reads 'Here rests in honoured glory a Comrade in Arms known but to God'.

After that, it was onto Bayeux to see the famous Bayeux Tapestry - something I had never heard of, but Dave was very excited to see, after learning about it as a child.  This embroidered cloth, almost 70m long, depicts the story of the Norman invasion of Britain in 1066, otherwise known as the Battle of Hastings.  A visit here takes less than 15 minutes as you're given an audio commentary along each 'chapter' of the tapestry.  Given that it is nearly 1000 years old, it is actually an unbelievable work of art - my limited knowledge of embroidery notwithstanding!  Quite gory in its detail too - beheaded knights with bloodied axes held above the corpses, arrows in eyeballs - it is quite a sight!

We wandered around Bayeux for a little while afterwards and all we wanted was something to drink, but do you think that we could find a shop or cafe open at 5pm in the afternoon?  Not a chance.  Strike one for Normandy!

After Bayeux, it was time to head over to our hotel in a tiny village called Saint-Louet-sur-Seulles.  Look what greeted us!

We arrived at this gorgeous place - called Manoir de la Riviere - and were promptly given a drink on the house - strike for Normandy quickly revoked!  This hotel (or B&B, we're not quite sure!) is a 16th Century farmhouse, which has had a few of its buildings converted.  There is still an enormous expanse of building at the back, which hasn't yet been touched.  One of the first things we did when we arrived was take advantage of the jacuzzi in the spa room, where we relaxed with a drink and looked out onto the old stone buildings, even spotting a deer or two running past the window!  It is a charming little place - although 'little' is not quite the word because there are 37 acres of 'little' here!  The wooden staircase up to our room was so wobbly and crooked and the resident cat took up post on the ancient-looking wooden handrail on the stairs.  Gorgeous!  My hubby done good to find this place.  We took the owner's recommendation and went out to eat at a little Italian place in the nearest village where we both dined on veal (rose, thankfully!) and amazingly creamy ice cream.  Ahhh!  Then it was back to the hotel where we could both hardly keep our eyes open after such an eventful day.  I had to close the interleading door to the enfants chambre because it was a little too 'Woman In Black' for my liking, but apart from the creaks of the old wood, the wind howling outside and the rain pelting down in the early morning, we had a lovely night's sleep in the 500 year-old farmhouse.

The next morning, I woke up to some really sad news from my sister.  My brother-in-law's father had passed away a few hours before we woke up.  It was an incredibly sad way to start our second day and I just really wanted to make sure that he and his brother, sister, mother and nephew were okay.  It's times like this when I hate being so far away from family.  I had only been in Mike's company a handful of times, but he was a lovely man and will be sorely missed, I know.

We had a lovely continental breakfast with the best hot chocolate EVER!  I give hotels marks on exactly 2 things... whether or not they have conditioner in the bathroom and whether or not they have hot chocolate on offer.  It is the usual case that only one of these happens - the conditioner and not the hot chocolate - but on this occasion, it was the opposite.  But it was okay... I'd brought my own conditioner.  Okay, okay... I had also taken my own hot chocolate!

After breakfast we were off to Le Mont-Saint-Michel.

Again, as with the day before, I knew next to nothing about Mont-Saint-Michel, but just seeing it was enough to pique my interest.  I have to admit though... looking at it filled me with dread, because the only thing going through my mind was 'how on earth do you get up to the top of that without having to climb, like, a gazillion steps?!'  Well, it wasn't quite a gazillion, but it seemed close to that... but I made it.  Grumpy and tired, but after a minute or two to cool down, I was fine and ready to go.  The village itself is absolutely beautiful - really quaint and in a strange way, reminded me of Turkey or Morocco, only because of the narrowness of the streets with the stalls from each shop jutting out into the pathway of the hundreds of people trying to pass on the cobbled street that led up to the Abbey.

The Abbey itself is just a large empty stone building and each room we went to seemed to be another chapel.  There were no explanatory plaques anywhere, so unless you had the audio commentary, you didn't necessarily get the full story of each of the rooms you went through, but it was pretty anyway.  We even saw a monk, which - let's be honest - is all you really want to see when you go to a place like that anyway!
 

Once we'd finished at the Abbey, it was lunchtime and we went on the search for some sustinence.  We were preparing ourselves for the fact that the restaurants would be quite pricey, given the monopoly they have, but we were pleasantly surprised.  All of this arrived in front of Dave for less than 10 euros!  There must have been 100 plus mussels on his plate!

On the way back to the shuttle bus, our trip wouldn't have been complete without some delicious crème glacée.  Dave tried an apple calvados-flavoured one, which he wasn't too impressed with, but mine was amazing!  I had one which was just described to me as having 'biscwit' in it... Del.ic.ious!  Yum!  After a very frustrating wait in the freezing cold wind for a shuttle bus (whose driver decided that the BACK of the queue was the best place to stop to let people on, thereby making everyone who had been waiting the longest, wait even longer) we got back to our car and started on the drive back to our hotel.  We went to the same restaurant as the night before - mainly because we liked it so much and knew we'd be able to get something we liked (yes, we both acknowledged that we were pretty boring choosing the same place again!) but also because I wanted to try a dessert I'd seen the night before.  It's called an Iceberg and it is one of those desserts that just makes you want it because of the picture on the menu - regardless of what it actually contains.  It is so simple, so indulgent, but SO delicious!  So, here goes... take a sundae glass.  Put one scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the bottom.  Then put one scoop of chocolate ice cream on top of that.  Take a triple (or so it seemed!) shot of creme de menthe and pour it on.  Now eat up.  YUMMM!  The only thing that would have made it any better would have been some lindt chocolate pieces broken up into it (but now I'm just getting carried away!).  Then it was back to the hotel for our last sleep in Normandy.

In the morning, we went down to breakfast - both continental and cooked this time - and I again enjoyed a really good mug or 4 of hot chocolate.  Bliss!  You know what they say... it's the small things.  Really good hot chocolate is my small thing.  After packing up and settling the bill, we were on the road again, this time towards Honfleur.  What a pretty little village!

It reminded me a lot of Copenhagen - for reasons I can't describe.  I think it must have been the boats moored up against the canal - each of those boats belonging to someone who lives there, possibly even having a drink right on the canal right next to their pride and joy.  I don't know what it was about this place, but it was quaint and sweet and really, really pretty.  Full of art shops too - not something that ordinarily excites me, but the couple that we went into were amazing.

We wandered around for an hour or two, weaving into and out of tiny shops of various descriptions.  It was a typical lazy Sunday, ambling along the cobbled streets in a tiny fishing village, with no set agenda.  It was lovely.

We settled on a place for lunch and grabbed a light bite to eat before heading back to a shop where Dave had cunningly spotted some Calvados and Cider on offer.  On the way there, we went past this really, really old church in the middle of small square - there was nothing to describe what it had once been or how old it was, which was a shame, but I just loved the building.  It looked like it was on its last legs and about to crumble to the ground.  I hope it doesn't though!

It was then back to the car for the short journey back to the ferry port for our crossing back to Porstmouth.

For Dave's full photo album, click here.

All in all, what a lovely weekend.  And my verdict?  As I mentioned at the beginning... if you really want to see France, give Paris a miss.  It's the quintessential tourist trap (for obvious reasons) and for that reason, is probably why it has the reputation it does for having such rude inhabitants - the more people who visit a place and encounter said rude inhabitants, the more bad press the place is going to get.  To be fair to ALL Parisians, I'm absolutely certain they're not all like that and some may have a tolerance for tourists, but those who don't should not be in the customer-facing positions they hold.  In Normandy, we encountered some idiotic people (the shuttle bus driver with no brain cells to rub together) and one rude lady (who I'm not absolutely certain wasn't actually German), so all in all, a refreshing change and one that I'm very glad I experienced.  So my massive thanks go to Dave on this one, because I didn't lift a finger.  He arranged the entire weekend and wanted to prove to me that France wasn't all bad and you know what?  He succeeded.  I'm reformed and now willing to experience all that France has to offer.... so long as what it has to offer in the future doesn't take me within 50 miles of Paris!