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My Life in Le Pays Basque
Thursday 4th October 2007
I am back! Contrary to common belief and village gossip, I have not been incarcerated for the murder of my husband
and his mother. You know yourself there were a million opportunities had I actually wanted to murder them both but I
thought, how freaking boring life would be without their presence?!
My darling children still fill my life with love, laughter and a deep seeded desire to pack a hold all and feck off. My eldest
hormonal blond highlighted, designer jean assed teenager continues to behave in a way that requires his mother to hold
a rosary beads regularly and ask for wisdom about non combative behaviour. His usual September departure to school
came unstuck when he professed utter and complete joy at the prospect of returning to Ireland, to sit on his butt for a
year to enjoy "Transition Year." Bad move, he may have thought that but it was a major error in judgement to tell his
ever loving, but continually cash strapped parents.
Result? Now, I find myself in the thrilling role of actually parenting all of my children, all of the time. My ever loving all
singing, all dancing, all dieting, all Basque, complete moronic husband, flipped and miraculously found Jack a place for
one year in the local Lycee, entered on the European Program. So now I have the inexpressible joy of experiencing Jack's
hormonal surges head on. This has already involved scooters, women, cigarettes, beer, happy hard core and rap music
and that my friends, was week One! This is going to be a fun, fun, fun year for all of us. I now own and parent three
children within the French school system, I continue to own a Basque husband who has just been told he HAS to lose
over 2 stone or face complete destruction, and I suppose the greatest news of all..............The Abuelas, my ever loving,
ever present in laws have decided to live in my village, well not just in my village, but on my street, actually not just my
street, in my bloody house and have asked me nicely albeit, to move to the house across the street....this my friends
requires Lisa's full attention.
Agur for now,
Lisa
I am back! Contrary to common belief and village gossip, I have not been incarcerated for the murder of my husband
and his mother. You know yourself there were a million opportunities had I actually wanted to murder them both but I
thought, how freaking boring life would be without their presence?!
My darling children still fill my life with love, laughter and a deep seeded desire to pack a hold all and feck off. My eldest
hormonal blond highlighted, designer jean assed teenager continues to behave in a way that requires his mother to hold
a rosary beads regularly and ask for wisdom about non combative behaviour. His usual September departure to school
came unstuck when he professed utter and complete joy at the prospect of returning to Ireland, to sit on his butt for a
year to enjoy "Transition Year." Bad move, he may have thought that but it was a major error in judgement to tell his
ever loving, but continually cash strapped parents.
Result? Now, I find myself in the thrilling role of actually parenting all of my children, all of the time. My ever loving all
singing, all dancing, all dieting, all Basque, complete moronic husband, flipped and miraculously found Jack a place for
one year in the local Lycee, entered on the European Program. So now I have the inexpressible joy of experiencing Jack's
hormonal surges head on. This has already involved scooters, women, cigarettes, beer, happy hard core and rap music
and that my friends, was week One! This is going to be a fun, fun, fun year for all of us. I now own and parent three
children within the French school system, I continue to own a Basque husband who has just been told he HAS to lose
over 2 stone or face complete destruction, and I suppose the greatest news of all..............The Abuelas, my ever loving,
ever present in laws have decided to live in my village, well not just in my village, but on my street, actually not just my
street, in my bloody house and have asked me nicely albeit, to move to the house across the street....this my friends
requires Lisa's full attention.
Agur for now,
Lisa
October 23rd 2007
It's all a bit crazy here at the moment. The cats are obviously like Kizzy and refuse to respond to any language other than
Basque, and so I have spent the last two weeks in a state of dimentia, nothing new there then! A nationalist dog is one
thing but adding two cats to the frame has created what the authorities could surely call, an active cell! Bat Cat is shall
we say challenged, he likes nothing better than swinging from the curtains, lamp shades, your leg, infact any part of your
body he feels like. Junior and Luke find this hilarious, I on the other hand find it maddening but as I cannot say "Shag off"
in Basque, he is unaware of the feelings of anger I feel towards him.
Jack is loving his new life in France just a little too much. His year of cultural and language development has taught him
many things, among them Jet, which is some cocktail or other teenagers drink (needless to say - it is not apple juice),
garden hoses and dogs. He learned these vital life lessons at the weekend at a barbecue. If for some strange reason, you
find your stomach doing a wheelie having indulged in this green liquor called Jet, simply turn to the trusted hose. When
there is a group vomiting session in the garden, the one most steady on his feet must grab this innocent garden instrument
and hose the vomit under the nearest bush and having a dog I believe is also a key ingredient. He did not go into detail
as to the need for a dog, he told me use my imagination.
If you then come home to your mother and father having helped the roses, watered some strangers garden and fed their
dog, you should not lie across the end of their bed and tell them the world is spinning. You should also not have
regurgitated Jet all over your clothing. Can I also suggest to any teenage readers, you should not also ask your parents
can your two friends sleep on the sofa as they are afraid to go home because they can't stand up due to the amount of
Jet on their hair, sweatshirt and shoes.
It can be difficult when you stand in your sitting room late on Saturday night and find two very large, very tipsy 17 year
olds watching a replay of the World Cup Final, what do you do that does not involve murder? Calling a mother in French
is difficult at noon, choosing the right words in English on such a call can be hard, but doing so at midnight in French is a
nightmare. Playing nurse maid to three sick teenagers who have had their first alcoholic moment is not advisable when
your husband has been travelling for 2 weeks and he needs his sleep. Tom didn't appreciate my suggestion of giving
them a brandy to settle their stomachs and took the more direct approach. It involved buckets, fingers down throats, alot
of roaring, threats and a duvet. He restrained himself from smothering all three in a random act of violence and instead
opted to sit with them to ensure no one died on his watch. He felt if Jack was to die for bad behaviour, it was better done
with Jack in his senses so he would be aware of the magnitude of drinking to excess.
Suffice to say, Jack is back in the attic, enrolled in the Foreign Legion and banned from interacting with the world until he
is 40 Years old!
On Sunday he told us we should be proud of him because he came home, brought his friends to a "place of safety" and
ensured no one died on their own Jet vomit...........................................
Noting Tom's reaction to this statement made him feel less safe, and certainly more aware of what safe means!
Lisa
October 12th 2007
It's Friday, and it's a Spanish holiday which means those of us who cross border for work are sitting in our pyjamas right
now. Mine just for the record, are a particularly fabulous rugby/Mickey Mouse combination. The leggings were on sale
and are lilac, think sherbert and the desire to throw up kinda lilac - this is set off beautifully by a fetching yellow and
green Aussie rugby shirt. Think Thomas the Tank slippers and you have me. What a image ! I know my wardrobe
combinations of J-Lo pants and superb nightwear are the envy of women everywhere. So if you are reading this and
you are not the proud owner of such a delightful combination, just live with it. Although it should be said that when I
took the one eyed dog out for her morning stroll in my ensemble, Pierre the postman was deeply shocked although he
admired my bravery with colour while quietly suggesting an eye test!
I gave birth yesterday, in a manner of speaking obviously. My sister's house nearby is large, empty and has a rolling
pasture filled with fruit trees. Falling fruit attracts hungry field fairies. And as much as I love animals I have no desire to sit
on the terrace while watching the local Mouse Olympics. Remy and his friends from "Ratatouille" made a brief although
heart stopping entrance and so yesterday we adopted two kittens, one ginger, one caramel. A boy and a girl,
neutered, tagged and vaccinated. The names, isn't it obvious? Bat Cat & Peanut.
As I write, Bat Cat is doing a marvellous Bat impression as he is suspended from my sitting room light. It is new, it is nice
and I am not loving him right now. OBVIOUSLY Bat Cat has special powers and according to Junior he can fly,
whether that is because Junior has thrown him from the balcony to test his flying powers I am unsure.
The one eyed Princess thinks they are her puppies and loves them, now that is either because as a visually challenged
dog she cannot actually see them, or she is being maternal! She has not even growled at them, and last night sat with
them on the special bed chair. I am now the proud owner of 1 Basque dog, 2 Basque kittens, 2 birds, 5 fish, one Basque
husband and three lunatic children,one of the hormonal variety and two of the annoying variety. As with our dog, the
kittens hold a Basque passport as when you adopt from the government rescue that's the nationality, Basque. How
much easier would the political situation around here be if they just decided all the indigenous population were animals
and gave them a Basque passport.
Oops must fly as Tom just read that last remark and is uttering loving things at me..............
Agur Lisa
Bonne Weekend
October 10th 2007
Am I alone in thinking all men are stupid? God knows I live with enough of them to cast this opinion. Yesterday,
Tuesday was a big day for me as my company took it's first full time employee (meaning other than myself) to work to
introduce her to my clients. She was magnificent, she was intelligent, quick to learn, pleasant and professional. All that
I hoped for and more. It was nice to be part of a team again and not a loan ranger. I know we both felt all grown up
for a few hours, in suits, working the clients, it was fun, enjoyable and I am excited about my company's future. Our
other job being moms, it was pleasure to be in a world where we did not wipe one ass, nobody farted in our presence
and my clients although all male did not mention the word pee pee once. If they had, I admit even I would be
shocked!
So I drop my wonder girl back to her car, collect the two small boys from school, come home, feed the dog and bring
her out to do her business as she has just had an accident. I bleach her "accident" and give her a dose of meds for her
weak bladder. Then I begin dinner while the boys are unpacking their schools bags all over the kitchen table, dead
apples, a rogue juice box and for some reason a tea towel. I am none the wiser whether Junior robbed it from the
school kitchen or robbed it from my kitchen - as it looks like mine but it's still white in colour which means it can't be, as
everything white in this house is greyish/pinkish/blueish/reddish depending on what sock took up asylum in the whites
laundry basket.
Son number three, otherwise known as Jack arrives in from Lycee to say he has rowing and needs to be taken to St.
Jean for body conditioning. Body freaking conditioning what's that for God's sake? Anyway, my darling Tom is due in at
6 0'Clock so I figure I can take him in that window of time. Tom's schedule only allows for a quick shower before
heading out for dinner with God's representative on earth - a BIG CLIENT with a LARGE cheque book who needs my
husband's nerdiness to sort a multi million Euro project. Bless. Tom is happy as he gets to eat something other than
lettuce for the first time in a week, he has booked the BEST restaurant in Biarritz for their little tete a tete and in doing so
ensures his diet goes AWOL for another week.
So I get dinner, unload the laundry, sort the clothes into the two piles. Pile one is the clothes that if left un ironed will
make us all look like we have fallen out of bed, and Pile two is the type of clothing that we can get away with if I hang
it quickly. The pasta boils and I start shovelling bologna and twisted swirls of pasta on plates, round up the troops, shout
at them to get them to the table. Take two work phone calls and send one important email, respond to the questions
the response created, clear the table, load the dishes in the sink. Still no Tom. Jack is clock watching so I decide to load
children and dog into car to stop the heavy sighing routine. For some reason as I am strapping Junior in, Jack decides
his freaking body is conditioned enough and says its too late anyway, he has missed half the session. Call him some
name that would not be considered loving and take a deep breathe. Unload children and dog.
Still no Tom. Check Tom's restaurant reservation and confirm. Still no Tom. Finally he arrives, late, flustered, pissed off
and shall we say not happy with the authorities...........The La Guardia Civil (Spanish police) have stopped him at the
border, got him out, checked the car, took his licence, ran checks, kept him for 20 minutes, kicked the tyres...........did
their thing.............flashed their guns.........and then said thank you, Good evening. No comment to this as it would not be
Christian. And that's only what I have to say about Tom!
I then bathe the kids while Tom stomps around plotting quite worrying things to do the next time he is stopped, which
most likely will be tomorrow, as it appears they are looking for someone who bears an uncanny resemblance to him! So
then I look at my wall calendar and see oh shoot or words to that affect, I have a parents teacher meeting for Junior
at 8 0'Clock. Super a meeting in French and Basque - just up my street - about my son who is rounding up recruits in his
bid to form a new country - Great I need this like a hole in the head. I get boys to bed, Tom leaves to meet God and
eat his face off. I attend aforementioned meeting for over two hours, they take this seriously in these parts. I eventually
fall in the door deranged having worked my brain considerably. Tom then called to say he would be late and as I had
a quiet day and he was knackered and feeling quite weak from all the talking he was doing, would I walk the dog and
get out his "good" suit for the morning and make sure his blue shirt was ready, and if it wasn't, would I give it a quick iron.
I am signing off now because this is where it gets unpleasant and I am dialing directory enquiries to get the emergency
number for the police to tell them, the guy they are looking for is dining with God in Biarritz and if they hurry they will
catch him. Hey they might hold onto him for a week tops, and by then I might have calmed down!!
Men, can't live with them, can't live without them but hey I 'II give it a go for a week.
Agur, Lisa
October 8th 2007
Now that's what you call a weekend of rugby ! Wow, finally something to shout about. Not that my lot need much of
an excuse let's face it, they can make a racket with two flies going up a wall. It was one of those weekends where it
was pasta, pasta and pasta. Don't you love those types of dinners that require little more than a pot of hot water to
make, toss a few rocket leaves around on top, lob a bit of grated cheese, slice the baguette and voila, lunch is served!!
I can't feel sorry for the All Blacks or Australians, because as we all know, rugby is won and lost on the bounce of a ball.
My two favourite men of rugby lined out this weekend. Jason Robinson and Betsen and were part of teams that
rewrote the script the pundits expected to unfold. France were magnificent and boy did we revel in the fireworks that
lit up the Salies de Bearn night sky. We were in Salies for the weekend, on technically Irish/English soil, (my sister is married
to a Brit) and so even though the men in my life shouted for Australia, I couldn't desert my man Robinson, and boy was I
smiling at the final whistle. The family came together to shout for Les Bleus, more out of loyalty than any real sense that
they could put out the tournament favourites - but as always, the French love causing an upset. When you see men
like Serge Blanco pictured in the stand crying, you begin to understand how much it means. Even better was that
Hamilton, DID NOT, win the World Championship this weekend and it comes to the wire in Brazil - so that kept Tom
happy. I cannot go into the reasons why he dislikes Hamilton as they are too vicious and legally it's a minefield, but
suffice to say, he is not a fan.
On the Basque front, 23 Members of BATASUNA were arrested on Thursday night here in Le Pays Basque by the Spanish
authorities. The Basque response as one would expect was to take to the streets in their thousands on Saturday. I am
proud to say the rallies passed off without incident. The arrests are being seen by those on the hard left as a declaration
of war by the Spanish government and last Thursday's development simply inflames an already agitated left
movement. Whatever reported splits or fractures that may have resulted within the party since December's bomb in
Madrid, have now miraculously healed. The Spanish have simply galvanised those who may have felt disenfranchised
from the movement and seamlessly restored their passion and belief in their cause. Some might think BATASUNA
suffered last Thursday night, but those that have been on the fringes have realigned themselves and those of us on the
ground might feel that a new set of martyrs have been created.
Paisley in the 80's springs to mind, and not unlike the queues in West Belfast that resulted following his vitriolic rhetoric, I
have no doubt a similar phenomenon is happening here. I have called Tom at work and am confident that he is at
work.............................................passions run deep. Junior is missing from his class but I am confident that his age is against
him. Well, they do call him Che Guevara at school! Shocking on two fronts, one that 4 year olds know who the heck the
guy is, and secondly that I own a child that has the ability to lead a revolution! I swear I do not know where he got it!
One of the final things to share with you is the smell a vision. Can you smell my home this morning? In particular that
den of smelliest odours down the hall. Jack counted among his birthday gifts. - aftershave - HUGO BOSS to be precise.
And I find myself this morning able to breathe without a gas mask. I have been able to enter his room without using
the cut and dash method of grabbing his laundry pile. Today was good. Today was pleasant. Today was sweet
smelling and to say he has gone to school in a blaze of scent is an understatement. God help the poor yoke who has to
sit with him as I have no doubt they will faint. Not being au fait with the spray a little approach, he has lathered
himself in it and left here on a cloud, although lets be honest, at least it was designer!
Agur for now, Lisa
October 5th 2007
You never really forget do you? That slow dull pain that starts somewhere in the lower back and within hours can only
be compared to a train coming down the track. And by some freak of nature, I could not stop the TGV, no matter how
many profanities I used. The threats to kill all in the delivery room, also fell on deaf ears - and so it went on and on. I was
24 years old and my body was about to break in two, and the train kept coming. It being almost 10lbs of baby and the
track being my nether regions.
Today, that round fat very hungry baby turns 16 years old. Jack is still large, not fat more muscular, and his feeding
habits have changed little. He still has the ability to eat me out of house and home, the only change being, it is
thankfully not my left boob but the fridge and larder press under assault!
He was born with jet black hair - he now favours the sun kissed surfer look courtesy of a good hairdresser and WELLA hair
colour. His ability to communicate is not unlike 16 years ago, I still don't know what he wants, needs or bothers him.
Grunting is another throwback to the nappy days as is the laundry mountain he can create in minutes. He now keeps
us awake at night because he NEEDS music to sleep, so I find myself listening to a variety of rappers killing their mothers
and girlfriends in the dead of night.
Tom is lamenting the fact that there is a giant birthday cake in the fridge which he cannot eat and that believe me ,
has set the tone for his day. Lettuce versus Chocolate cake? No competition really.
I need to sign off as the Abuela has arrived - and I can assure you it is not yet daylight - as it's Jack's big day, she needs
to ruffle his hight lighted head, kiss him to death and make sure he feels like a pop star. I am now heading for the happy
hard core play list looking for a song that murders the mother in law.
Agur Lisa
It's all a bit crazy here at the moment. The cats are obviously like Kizzy and refuse to respond to any language other than
Basque, and so I have spent the last two weeks in a state of dimentia, nothing new there then! A nationalist dog is one
thing but adding two cats to the frame has created what the authorities could surely call, an active cell! Bat Cat is shall
we say challenged, he likes nothing better than swinging from the curtains, lamp shades, your leg, infact any part of your
body he feels like. Junior and Luke find this hilarious, I on the other hand find it maddening but as I cannot say "Shag off"
in Basque, he is unaware of the feelings of anger I feel towards him.
Jack is loving his new life in France just a little too much. His year of cultural and language development has taught him
many things, among them Jet, which is some cocktail or other teenagers drink (needless to say - it is not apple juice),
garden hoses and dogs. He learned these vital life lessons at the weekend at a barbecue. If for some strange reason, you
find your stomach doing a wheelie having indulged in this green liquor called Jet, simply turn to the trusted hose. When
there is a group vomiting session in the garden, the one most steady on his feet must grab this innocent garden instrument
and hose the vomit under the nearest bush and having a dog I believe is also a key ingredient. He did not go into detail
as to the need for a dog, he told me use my imagination.
If you then come home to your mother and father having helped the roses, watered some strangers garden and fed their
dog, you should not lie across the end of their bed and tell them the world is spinning. You should also not have
regurgitated Jet all over your clothing. Can I also suggest to any teenage readers, you should not also ask your parents
can your two friends sleep on the sofa as they are afraid to go home because they can't stand up due to the amount of
Jet on their hair, sweatshirt and shoes.
It can be difficult when you stand in your sitting room late on Saturday night and find two very large, very tipsy 17 year
olds watching a replay of the World Cup Final, what do you do that does not involve murder? Calling a mother in French
is difficult at noon, choosing the right words in English on such a call can be hard, but doing so at midnight in French is a
nightmare. Playing nurse maid to three sick teenagers who have had their first alcoholic moment is not advisable when
your husband has been travelling for 2 weeks and he needs his sleep. Tom didn't appreciate my suggestion of giving
them a brandy to settle their stomachs and took the more direct approach. It involved buckets, fingers down throats, alot
of roaring, threats and a duvet. He restrained himself from smothering all three in a random act of violence and instead
opted to sit with them to ensure no one died on his watch. He felt if Jack was to die for bad behaviour, it was better done
with Jack in his senses so he would be aware of the magnitude of drinking to excess.
Suffice to say, Jack is back in the attic, enrolled in the Foreign Legion and banned from interacting with the world until he
is 40 Years old!
On Sunday he told us we should be proud of him because he came home, brought his friends to a "place of safety" and
ensured no one died on their own Jet vomit...........................................
Noting Tom's reaction to this statement made him feel less safe, and certainly more aware of what safe means!
Lisa
October 12th 2007
It's Friday, and it's a Spanish holiday which means those of us who cross border for work are sitting in our pyjamas right
now. Mine just for the record, are a particularly fabulous rugby/Mickey Mouse combination. The leggings were on sale
and are lilac, think sherbert and the desire to throw up kinda lilac - this is set off beautifully by a fetching yellow and
green Aussie rugby shirt. Think Thomas the Tank slippers and you have me. What a image ! I know my wardrobe
combinations of J-Lo pants and superb nightwear are the envy of women everywhere. So if you are reading this and
you are not the proud owner of such a delightful combination, just live with it. Although it should be said that when I
took the one eyed dog out for her morning stroll in my ensemble, Pierre the postman was deeply shocked although he
admired my bravery with colour while quietly suggesting an eye test!
I gave birth yesterday, in a manner of speaking obviously. My sister's house nearby is large, empty and has a rolling
pasture filled with fruit trees. Falling fruit attracts hungry field fairies. And as much as I love animals I have no desire to sit
on the terrace while watching the local Mouse Olympics. Remy and his friends from "Ratatouille" made a brief although
heart stopping entrance and so yesterday we adopted two kittens, one ginger, one caramel. A boy and a girl,
neutered, tagged and vaccinated. The names, isn't it obvious? Bat Cat & Peanut.
As I write, Bat Cat is doing a marvellous Bat impression as he is suspended from my sitting room light. It is new, it is nice
and I am not loving him right now. OBVIOUSLY Bat Cat has special powers and according to Junior he can fly,
whether that is because Junior has thrown him from the balcony to test his flying powers I am unsure.
The one eyed Princess thinks they are her puppies and loves them, now that is either because as a visually challenged
dog she cannot actually see them, or she is being maternal! She has not even growled at them, and last night sat with
them on the special bed chair. I am now the proud owner of 1 Basque dog, 2 Basque kittens, 2 birds, 5 fish, one Basque
husband and three lunatic children,one of the hormonal variety and two of the annoying variety. As with our dog, the
kittens hold a Basque passport as when you adopt from the government rescue that's the nationality, Basque. How
much easier would the political situation around here be if they just decided all the indigenous population were animals
and gave them a Basque passport.
Oops must fly as Tom just read that last remark and is uttering loving things at me..............
Agur Lisa
Bonne Weekend
October 10th 2007
Am I alone in thinking all men are stupid? God knows I live with enough of them to cast this opinion. Yesterday,
Tuesday was a big day for me as my company took it's first full time employee (meaning other than myself) to work to
introduce her to my clients. She was magnificent, she was intelligent, quick to learn, pleasant and professional. All that
I hoped for and more. It was nice to be part of a team again and not a loan ranger. I know we both felt all grown up
for a few hours, in suits, working the clients, it was fun, enjoyable and I am excited about my company's future. Our
other job being moms, it was pleasure to be in a world where we did not wipe one ass, nobody farted in our presence
and my clients although all male did not mention the word pee pee once. If they had, I admit even I would be
shocked!
So I drop my wonder girl back to her car, collect the two small boys from school, come home, feed the dog and bring
her out to do her business as she has just had an accident. I bleach her "accident" and give her a dose of meds for her
weak bladder. Then I begin dinner while the boys are unpacking their schools bags all over the kitchen table, dead
apples, a rogue juice box and for some reason a tea towel. I am none the wiser whether Junior robbed it from the
school kitchen or robbed it from my kitchen - as it looks like mine but it's still white in colour which means it can't be, as
everything white in this house is greyish/pinkish/blueish/reddish depending on what sock took up asylum in the whites
laundry basket.
Son number three, otherwise known as Jack arrives in from Lycee to say he has rowing and needs to be taken to St.
Jean for body conditioning. Body freaking conditioning what's that for God's sake? Anyway, my darling Tom is due in at
6 0'Clock so I figure I can take him in that window of time. Tom's schedule only allows for a quick shower before
heading out for dinner with God's representative on earth - a BIG CLIENT with a LARGE cheque book who needs my
husband's nerdiness to sort a multi million Euro project. Bless. Tom is happy as he gets to eat something other than
lettuce for the first time in a week, he has booked the BEST restaurant in Biarritz for their little tete a tete and in doing so
ensures his diet goes AWOL for another week.
So I get dinner, unload the laundry, sort the clothes into the two piles. Pile one is the clothes that if left un ironed will
make us all look like we have fallen out of bed, and Pile two is the type of clothing that we can get away with if I hang
it quickly. The pasta boils and I start shovelling bologna and twisted swirls of pasta on plates, round up the troops, shout
at them to get them to the table. Take two work phone calls and send one important email, respond to the questions
the response created, clear the table, load the dishes in the sink. Still no Tom. Jack is clock watching so I decide to load
children and dog into car to stop the heavy sighing routine. For some reason as I am strapping Junior in, Jack decides
his freaking body is conditioned enough and says its too late anyway, he has missed half the session. Call him some
name that would not be considered loving and take a deep breathe. Unload children and dog.
Still no Tom. Check Tom's restaurant reservation and confirm. Still no Tom. Finally he arrives, late, flustered, pissed off
and shall we say not happy with the authorities...........The La Guardia Civil (Spanish police) have stopped him at the
border, got him out, checked the car, took his licence, ran checks, kept him for 20 minutes, kicked the tyres...........did
their thing.............flashed their guns.........and then said thank you, Good evening. No comment to this as it would not be
Christian. And that's only what I have to say about Tom!
I then bathe the kids while Tom stomps around plotting quite worrying things to do the next time he is stopped, which
most likely will be tomorrow, as it appears they are looking for someone who bears an uncanny resemblance to him! So
then I look at my wall calendar and see oh shoot or words to that affect, I have a parents teacher meeting for Junior
at 8 0'Clock. Super a meeting in French and Basque - just up my street - about my son who is rounding up recruits in his
bid to form a new country - Great I need this like a hole in the head. I get boys to bed, Tom leaves to meet God and
eat his face off. I attend aforementioned meeting for over two hours, they take this seriously in these parts. I eventually
fall in the door deranged having worked my brain considerably. Tom then called to say he would be late and as I had
a quiet day and he was knackered and feeling quite weak from all the talking he was doing, would I walk the dog and
get out his "good" suit for the morning and make sure his blue shirt was ready, and if it wasn't, would I give it a quick iron.
I am signing off now because this is where it gets unpleasant and I am dialing directory enquiries to get the emergency
number for the police to tell them, the guy they are looking for is dining with God in Biarritz and if they hurry they will
catch him. Hey they might hold onto him for a week tops, and by then I might have calmed down!!
Men, can't live with them, can't live without them but hey I 'II give it a go for a week.
Agur, Lisa
October 8th 2007
Now that's what you call a weekend of rugby ! Wow, finally something to shout about. Not that my lot need much of
an excuse let's face it, they can make a racket with two flies going up a wall. It was one of those weekends where it
was pasta, pasta and pasta. Don't you love those types of dinners that require little more than a pot of hot water to
make, toss a few rocket leaves around on top, lob a bit of grated cheese, slice the baguette and voila, lunch is served!!
I can't feel sorry for the All Blacks or Australians, because as we all know, rugby is won and lost on the bounce of a ball.
My two favourite men of rugby lined out this weekend. Jason Robinson and Betsen and were part of teams that
rewrote the script the pundits expected to unfold. France were magnificent and boy did we revel in the fireworks that
lit up the Salies de Bearn night sky. We were in Salies for the weekend, on technically Irish/English soil, (my sister is married
to a Brit) and so even though the men in my life shouted for Australia, I couldn't desert my man Robinson, and boy was I
smiling at the final whistle. The family came together to shout for Les Bleus, more out of loyalty than any real sense that
they could put out the tournament favourites - but as always, the French love causing an upset. When you see men
like Serge Blanco pictured in the stand crying, you begin to understand how much it means. Even better was that
Hamilton, DID NOT, win the World Championship this weekend and it comes to the wire in Brazil - so that kept Tom
happy. I cannot go into the reasons why he dislikes Hamilton as they are too vicious and legally it's a minefield, but
suffice to say, he is not a fan.
On the Basque front, 23 Members of BATASUNA were arrested on Thursday night here in Le Pays Basque by the Spanish
authorities. The Basque response as one would expect was to take to the streets in their thousands on Saturday. I am
proud to say the rallies passed off without incident. The arrests are being seen by those on the hard left as a declaration
of war by the Spanish government and last Thursday's development simply inflames an already agitated left
movement. Whatever reported splits or fractures that may have resulted within the party since December's bomb in
Madrid, have now miraculously healed. The Spanish have simply galvanised those who may have felt disenfranchised
from the movement and seamlessly restored their passion and belief in their cause. Some might think BATASUNA
suffered last Thursday night, but those that have been on the fringes have realigned themselves and those of us on the
ground might feel that a new set of martyrs have been created.
Paisley in the 80's springs to mind, and not unlike the queues in West Belfast that resulted following his vitriolic rhetoric, I
have no doubt a similar phenomenon is happening here. I have called Tom at work and am confident that he is at
work.............................................passions run deep. Junior is missing from his class but I am confident that his age is against
him. Well, they do call him Che Guevara at school! Shocking on two fronts, one that 4 year olds know who the heck the
guy is, and secondly that I own a child that has the ability to lead a revolution! I swear I do not know where he got it!
One of the final things to share with you is the smell a vision. Can you smell my home this morning? In particular that
den of smelliest odours down the hall. Jack counted among his birthday gifts. - aftershave - HUGO BOSS to be precise.
And I find myself this morning able to breathe without a gas mask. I have been able to enter his room without using
the cut and dash method of grabbing his laundry pile. Today was good. Today was pleasant. Today was sweet
smelling and to say he has gone to school in a blaze of scent is an understatement. God help the poor yoke who has to
sit with him as I have no doubt they will faint. Not being au fait with the spray a little approach, he has lathered
himself in it and left here on a cloud, although lets be honest, at least it was designer!
Agur for now, Lisa
October 5th 2007
You never really forget do you? That slow dull pain that starts somewhere in the lower back and within hours can only
be compared to a train coming down the track. And by some freak of nature, I could not stop the TGV, no matter how
many profanities I used. The threats to kill all in the delivery room, also fell on deaf ears - and so it went on and on. I was
24 years old and my body was about to break in two, and the train kept coming. It being almost 10lbs of baby and the
track being my nether regions.
Today, that round fat very hungry baby turns 16 years old. Jack is still large, not fat more muscular, and his feeding
habits have changed little. He still has the ability to eat me out of house and home, the only change being, it is
thankfully not my left boob but the fridge and larder press under assault!
He was born with jet black hair - he now favours the sun kissed surfer look courtesy of a good hairdresser and WELLA hair
colour. His ability to communicate is not unlike 16 years ago, I still don't know what he wants, needs or bothers him.
Grunting is another throwback to the nappy days as is the laundry mountain he can create in minutes. He now keeps
us awake at night because he NEEDS music to sleep, so I find myself listening to a variety of rappers killing their mothers
and girlfriends in the dead of night.
Tom is lamenting the fact that there is a giant birthday cake in the fridge which he cannot eat and that believe me ,
has set the tone for his day. Lettuce versus Chocolate cake? No competition really.
I need to sign off as the Abuela has arrived - and I can assure you it is not yet daylight - as it's Jack's big day, she needs
to ruffle his hight lighted head, kiss him to death and make sure he feels like a pop star. I am now heading for the happy
hard core play list looking for a song that murders the mother in law.
Agur Lisa