In which I travel a lot. From Stratford International to Tours for the traditional TEI training course; from Tours via Poitiers and Limoges to La Vergne for a few days; then back to Bristol via La Souterraine and Paris; off to Nottingham via Gloucester to celebrate (a bit late) Belinda's birthday; back to Bristol for a day or two; back to Paris for back to back meetings, à savoir first the comité scientifique du LABEX Les Passés dans le Présent and then the Final Assemblée générale du consortium CAHIER . Concluding with a nasty surprise and an airplane.
Take 14h train from TM to Stratford International via Paddington and Kings Cross; check
in to cheesy Premier Inn at Stratford International. Get distracted by interesting exotic
upmarket food shops in that end of Westfield shopping centre, where I buy some proper rye
bread for Al and Betty, also some diwali sweets ditto. Then stroll to their gaff in goodish
time to pick up first Coco from nursery and then Daphne from after school club, which is all
very pleasant and domestic. Likewise an evening at the Kayes. Back to my hotel box by 1030.
And so to bed.Breakfast reasonable but I am too anxious to enjoy it. Catch packed commuter train at
0945 to St Pancras, and then Off we go, 2 hours ahead of departure time, for the 1230 eurostar
to Paris. Much queuing, but it all goes quite smoothly, since everyone is expecting it and we
have oodles of time to waste. Journey to Paris just as unremarkable as it should be. I am
seated at the very end of the train in carriage number 1, which means I have to walk for MILES
when we pull into gare du nord, but no matter. Then by metro 4 to Montparnasse. Plenty of time
to pop into c&A to buy some enormous but warming pyjamas, which will be needed soon.
Plenty of time for the 1726 tgv to Tours, a journey without incident. Check in to the familiar
comforts of the Grand Hotel, where everything is just as it should be. La Chope is closed, so
we dine at the Brasserie de l'Univers, which is absolutely packed, but the food is good
(magret de canard) Or maybe it's packed because the food is good. Up at 0730, out of the hotel, grab a creme et un croissant at the Dakota bar en route to
CESR, arriving in plenty of time for my 0900 Introductory talks. Lunch for all has been booked
at a large establishment in the picturesque old town square, currently packed with tourists of
course. The service is slow and begrudging, even though Sandrine had forewarned them. The food
is unremarkable: I wanted fish, which only came in the form of some scraps of salmon on an
industrial pizza. As compensation, dinner at the bistrot du marche with Elena et al was
delicious, after which she gives me a lift home and much cahier gossip.Up at 0730 again, meme jeu, since today is my teach-nearly-all-day day (see timetable).
Lunch was in the same depressing place, but the service was express. In the evening we dined
en masse upstairs at La Piazza, which was pleasant, though mass dining experiences are always
a bit of a strain. Up at 0730 AGAIN, sigh, but this is the last day, and I don't have to do any teaching,
just mop up after the others. Lunch as usual. Too tired to go out for dinner with Alexei
though I probably shoulda. Bought a scarf from Mistigriff (6.99) cf every other shop I looked
in at 30 or 40... Tried to get into the Yellow dog (no room), so fell back on La Maison
Berbere which served a really charming couscous and mint tea. A leisurely breakfast at the Grand Hotel, tho the scrambled eggs are long past their best
by the time I get to them. Sit in the lobby with laptop for an hour or so, overhearing lady
booking three successive visits up till April. Apparently the GH sees iself primarily as a
conference venue, since their competition is all the snazzy new hotels down the road like the
Mercure have stolen the commercial trade. And so to the 1222 departure for Poitiers, stopping
at countless improbably named hamlets, like Villeperdue, which it clearly isnt, and
Futurescope, which it is to be hoped it isn't. And at Poitiers, an easy 14 minute change for
Limoges onto another little TER full of polite students and schoolkids. And here we are in
Limoges, trying to get to the B & B hotel, which is not as easy as you might think. It's
about 50 metres as the crow fies, but crows can fly better than me. The staircase which once
led down from the station front entrance to the road where the hotels are is decidedly hard to
find and when you do, it is officially sealed off and condemned, unsurprisingly, since it is
falling apart. The way to get down there is of course not to start from here, but from the
side exit from the station, through the bus station, across the car park. Of course. And I am
then faced with an extremely unfriendly automat to do the checkin process since no human being
is on reception duty. (They did turn up later, but were slightly less friendly than the
robot). Set off in search of food, since I forgot to bring any lunch and it's now getting on
for four pm. In Limoges, on a drizzly Sunday afternoon, lifted slightly by a beautiful and
unexpected art nouveau palace half way up one of the many hills which characterize this urban
architecture, which seems to be holding some sort of local artist exposition. As I slog on up
the hill, I find several places offering drink or fancy cakes but nothing like food unless I
want to wait till six pm, which I do not. I press on and eventually reach the Cafe de Paris,
which being a simulation of a real Parisian brasserie, is ready to serve real food almost any
time of day. Hoorah. Burger Maison and frites and a glass of rouge for me thanks. After which
I feel much better, and stroll all the way back down the hill to the B&B box without
further incident. Breakfast at the Hotel B & B is minimal, like the hotel, but only costs 6.50. Do what
I can to get my money's worth, then walk out across the carpack and up into the station, then
down again to platform J where my little two carriage TER is waiting for the first journey of
the day, to Gueret via Saint Sulpice. Quite a few other passengers. At gueret, I trundle my
bag successfully to the Centre 23 Frais, which is of course closed because it's Monday.
Grumble a bit and schlep suitcase on into town centre to do a minimalist shopping at Monoprix
(milk, butter, ham, bread, a few veg). Then coffee at the Moderne before the trusty TAD
arrives. Hello house! Hello sun! Hello grass that needs cutting... Concentrate my efforts on
initially on getting a fire going and making a comfortable clean bed to sleep on. Walk into Bussiere to get some more food from Jean Luc, not that he has much it being
Tuesday. Also Benoit is shut. Never mind it's still sunny. My amazon delivery arrives while I
am walking back, so when I get home I can use new saw to make some more firewood very
satisfying. Woken infeasibly early (i.e. 0830) by UPS man delivering recycled printer. Walk into
Bussiere AGAIN, this time getting some fresh veg from the lady who sets up her stall outside
the church on Wednesdays. Locally grown proper veg. very cheap and a nice chat. Also get pills
for itchy legs from Pharmacie, steak from JeanLuc, and a chicken leg from the butchers. Benoit
is open for lunch, but it will take 20 minutes to heat up his fish fryer, so I settle for a
bavette and frites instead. No other customers to speak of, but it's early. Back home I have
another go at getting my bill into Chorus Pro, and also realise the extent of my folly in not
having purchased any toner for printer. Of course it's not included. And of course it's no use
ordering it now, because tomorrow is a jour ferie so no-one will deliver it before
Monday.A public holiday. Chorus Pro disdainfully rejects my first attempt at a bill, but does
not deign to explain why. Spend an hour or two trying to submit a version of the bill it will
accept (i.e. with no TVA). Console self with lunch of sausage and lentils, delicious, and the
sun is shining enough to sit outside and eat it. TV aerial conked out in the middle of Asterix
movie, curses. Rose at 10. Coffee machine unco-operative, seemingly because when I tried to decoke it
yesterday I left it running with no water for too long. Curses. Fall back on the bialetti
machine. Hacked some more overgrowth off the shed to encourage the vine. Sorted out firewood a
bit. Lunch on pasta with sauce of ham, leaves, tomato, rather nice. Bother. Shawn appeared and
gave me a barrowful of logs he had nicked from the place he works. Very satisfactory. We
arranged to meet for beer later on, and I gave him a jar from my small stock of home made
bramble jelly. Around 1745 I set off to walk to Bussiere, through the dark but with my trusty
phone torch to show the way. Very peaceful walk with no boggarts or surprises. At Benoit's
Shawn and Lisa drinking quietly in corner with someone called ?Don, a musician. Two beers and
a chat. Shawn holds me personally responsible for the evils of the internet. Lisa is not going
to work for Deidre, no thanks. After a bit realise I am drunk, which is nice. Lisa then drives
us home, so to bed by 11. Stayed in bed till 10. It's raining. Breakfast in my warm corner after checking that it's
too wet to do anything outside today. Cleaned up kitchen a bit. Did some laundry. Worried
about the chauffe eau. But the coffee machine has fixed itself. Spend most of the morning
writing an XSLT stylesheet for @catoMinor whoever that is. They want to convert a biblStruct
as output by Thing to simple text. formatted according to some project specific rules which
are not all actually feasible, because not detectable from the markup. By the time I've got it
working, it's lunch time, late lunch time. I am having my steak today and (whisper it not in
Gath) some proper chips, as well as the rest of the green leaves. To complete the weekend's
decadence, a glass of wine. Watch another Public Eye, and then start this blog, since it's
still warm in my typing corner.Stayed in bed till ten. Why not. Read some more Cahier witterings. Put my chicken leg in
the kitchen to roast and go out for a virtuous stroll round the lake, since it's not actually
raining and I havem't done this yet. Lake is deserted : fishing season closed at the end of
October. Trees and mist looks like a parody of autumn. Go and check on Deidre's wood store,
since she is nagging Lilette to nag me to give her some: predictably she has more logs than I
do. Back home in time to slightly overcooked chicken and enjoy it with a glass of wine. The
chauffe eau seems to be behaving itself better, and (once I have reinitialised everything) so
is the telly. Settle down therefore beside my roaring log fire to enjoy North by Northwest, on
Arte-tv. Or rather, "La mort aux trousses": Cary Grant speaking French is all part of the fun.
In bed just before midnight, reflecting that I seem to thrive on this simple routine, of
minimal breakfast, adequate lunch with much veg, and porridge and prunes for a bedtime snack.
I even wrote a paragraph or two of introductory talk. The day begins gray and drizzly and doesn't get any better. I do my duty, tidying up,
consuming everything that can be consumed and throwing the rest away. I even sweep the floor,
but draw the line at moving the carpet which I claim is a two person job. After lunch of
courgette-based fritata, I find myself numerous mindless organisational tasks, like copying
files from the raspberry to a stick so I don't lose them, writing emails, booking tickets for
the next few stages of this odyssey, etc. but cannot screw myself up to do any proper work.
Shawn arrives about 16h50 which is a little tight for the 17h28 departure from La Souterraine,
but we get there with a few minutes to spare. Lots of people on board, every one of them
masked. And so, on to Paris, a journey I haven't done in quite a while. The Intercite train is
no better or worse than it has always been... as likewise the long haul on ligne 5 to Gare de
l'Est where I am overnighting at the Ibis on St Laurent street. All checked in, I forego the
free drink in favour of a stroll round the block to an expected surprise pleasure i.e. the
Batifol, which almost is a "pleasure mythique", being an impressively reconstructed genuine
Paris bistro, with friendly and enthusiastic staff, who find me a quiet table to enjoy my
cheesy pasta dish of "Ravioles Dauphine" and a glass of Bourgogne Aligote before I waddle back
to bed. Hoorah. Standard Ibis (France) breakfast i.e. boil-your-own egg in lukewarm water, drinkable
coffee, industrial baked goods. But nice jam. Go up and down three flights of hotel stairs to
check the state of my health: not good. Undeterred, I set off up the familiar rue Magenta,
buying decent bread en route, amd resisting the atavistic urge to pop into the Marche St
Quentin. For a 1315 eurostar, they say you need to get there by 11.15, which seems mad, but if
you believe them at least the checkin process is less tedious and comparatively quick. I get
through two passport checks by machine and two by human beings in under 15 minutes, so I have
time to queue for a second breakfast sandwich from M. Paul. Then a long wait during which I
tinker with Cahier data, and eventually off we go. The usually uneventful Eurostar on this
occasion was forced to slow down and stop in the middle of nowhere (well, Normandy) allegedly
by sangliers on the track. It set off again ten minutes later, presumably as a result of
intervention by Obelix, but we still arrived 15 minutes late, much too late for me to catch
the 1502 train to Bristol. My belief that this didn't matter and I could just hop on the next
one was put to a severe test by various GWR functionaries and ticket gates (I will spare the
details) but justice eventually prevailed, thanks to Andy in the ticket office at Temple Meads
and I returned home having only paid 10 quid to upgrade my cheapo ticket, rather than having
to buy an entirely new one (36 quid). My diary is uncertain as to whether we are going to Nottingham today or tomorrow. The
train tickets say it's today, the hotel booking says tomorrow. Belinda sends us a text
promising venison burgers tomorrow which seems decisive. I proceed to spend most of the day
catching up on my Cahier work,trying to get Vodafone to stop billing me for the broadband I
disconnected in September, and of course getting my useless train tickets refunded. The last
of these turned out to be a couple of clicks on the website, while the second was a total
nightmare, involving hours of waiting in call centre hell, three different mutually
incomprehensible agents, each with only limited abilities to actually do what I want done. The
first also took a decided turn for the better when Elisabeth pointed out that the program has
been changed, so I only have to do a shared presentation with her, and not a solo spiel as
well. I actually focussed long enough to produce some draft remarks for her consideration and
went to bed feeling very virtuous. Off we go, by bus (when it comes) to Temple Meads, in plenty of time to collect a
gazillion bits of orange cardboard from the ticket machine, since we are split-ticketting via
Gloucester, where we change for Worcester Parkway, and Tamworth. Taking slow trains which stop
everywhere is OK if the weather is good and the trains not too crowded, and the prospect of
seeing exotic places like "Filton Abbeywood" station for a minute or two appeals. Taxi to the
usual Mercure, drop bags, and pass through Lidl to the Blue House, in time to go and collect
boys from schools, and escort them to piano lessons. Louis goes first, so we wait at bottom of
stairs with Harvey who does his reading homework right there. Very impressive. Music teacher
likewise. A late breakfast at the Burnard-Walkers, followed by a late birthday lunch with Belinda
and James at the Crafty Teller on Mansfield Road Sherwood: a curious establishment which looks
like a pub on the outside but is mutating into a restaurant on the inside. Ladies consume
cocktails and assorted starters; I enjoy fish and chips. Hanging with the boys... till it's time to get the train home again. For some reason this
time the journey seemed even more tedious... probably because the train was full most of the
time, and also very noisy and bnmpy.Ah bed. How nice. No need to do anything much, so we don't. Oh wait, I am supposed to be
getting the Cahier talks ready.Working hard on finalising the Cahier talk, which is pleasant, and keeps me quiet. Leave the house in no hurry to get to TM, which is good, since my ticket (the other half
of the return I had so much trouble with a week ago) is valid for any train... I can miss the
1430 and take the 15h instead, and still have enough time to cope with the rush of people
trying to get onto a train at St Pancras. There are three departures, at 1802, 1815, and 1902,
and I am on the last of these, but because I am early I still have to share the processing
queue for crossing the frontier with the other two trains worth of people. Actually, it was
not so bad. And the eurostar was calm and efficient as ever. From Gare du Nord, a 10 minute
walk up the road to find my hotel, not far from Montparnasse. The receptionist proclaims
enthusiasm for my British passport which I try unsuccessfully to persuade him may be a
mistake. Up pleasantly not early. Consume rubbish coffee and croissant hotel breakfast, then go
for nice morning stroll round Montparnasse, before getting Metro at Anvers, change at Etoile
for the red line A to Nanterre. At Nanterre in time to sit and eat a sandwich before
proceeding to the LABEX CS meeting, which was intellectually quite a work out, but worth
while. Back in the evening, I check into my next hotel (Le Lys, rue Serpente: much restored)
and then meet up with Geoffrey at Polidor, ostensibly for a solitary gossip fest, but in fact
as it turns out with ML as well, plus two bottles of cote de rhone. Very enjoyable evening. Up amazingly early (0730). Manage to consume rubbish coffee and croissant hotel breakfast
before plodding off up the road to the Metro ligne 2 with all the other early morning
commuters. Change to ligne 12 at Marcadet Poissonier, and so in due course to the Campus
Condorcet, where we are greeted by striking admin staff thrusting leaflets at us: I cannot
blame them for the anomie of working in this spot, still recognisably a building site with
nothing but bleak modernist monsters on it. And yes its further than you think to the Maison
Nord. But here I am, still in good time and reasonably stocked with bonhomie. Meeting duly
happens. My talk seems to be well received. We adjourn for truly dreadful cantine lunch of
which the least said the better, reconvene for more French waffling, and eventually I get the
metro back to the hotel. Then, with Elisabeth, to the Bouillon Chartier, an elegant
establishment where we are due to dine en masse. Everything is fine, up to the point, some
time between first and second courses, when my poor belly decides it cannot cope and I need to
go home to lie down forthwith. Which I do. Then spend an hour or two groaning theatrically
until my belly gets its way and I am able to vomit forth everything since breakfast ... Stay in bed. Less groaning, but definitely no way am I going to a meeting, which is a
shame as I wanted to hear the other talks. Hotelier is persuaded to let me stay in bed till
the evening by the offer of more money. Sips of water rehydrate me slowly. I listen to most of
Elena's talk about tools via zoom, but am feeling too feeble to contribute anything to the
traditionally mournful discussion. And at 5 pm, I am able to get moving, slowly. RER B to CDG,
which is very crowded at first, but calms down as we get outside the city. What a lot of
stations there are between Gare du Nord and the Airport! Anyway, here I am unwillingly going
through the traditional lunatic motions of getting onto an aeroplane. And so to Bristol by
night, where I take a taxi straight home to my lovely warm wife, and bed. Taking it easy all day, thanks. Tried to do my my day 2 test, but gummint has changed goal posts, so my prebooked (and
paid for) Boots LFD test is not registered. I should have done it before I left! Dutifully
order PCR test, but for free on the grounds that my LF one was not valid. Much more fun
working on the Victorian Plays project proposal. Test arrives by post! VPP continues to be interesting. Tracking down Mattacks gives a
glimpse into the tangled incestuous world of academic english ... Take PCR test and send it off, despite impossible cardboard box. Decide my VPP proposal
is as good as it's going to get and plan to send it off. Also contact James C. to see what he
recalls of the original project: He says "Looking through my email archive I now
remember giving them some advice, after she took a TEI workshop of ours and encoding a sample
TEI P4 file mostly to demonstrate castList for them. I also remember we reviewed their AHRB
(at the time) application technical appendix. They seemed mostly want to use TEI to store the
metadata but not the text of the plays, with the idea that they'd enhance this with
transcripts of the plays at some point in the future. I answered a variety of random encoding
questions from them and in 2006 they had a job advert offering a pitiful amount of money an
hour with a small maximum number of hours to do some encoding. I forwarded it to places like
TEI-L. But that was the last I heard, or thought, about them.", which all sounds all
too plausible.