Timid wave

Don't get too excited. I don't know if I'm back yet. But I had a small, silent urge to write and I thought I better seize the moment before it passed. So here I am. Writing. A little.

Today is Day 5 of my Ultimate Relaxation Holiday. No, I'm not at a spa. Or an ashram. I'm all by my lonesome down in my happy place in the South of France. That's right. I took one week off work to be by myself. Does that make me a freak? Maybe. But God it's so nice to not have to care about what anyone else thinks, wants, says, needs... No one else matters this week but me. And that is true luxury. That, and my iPad.

So here I am. I drove down from my little corner of Switzerland, winding my way past lakes and mountains, then through Italy (ah, Italy, how I have come to love you this year..) and across into France along the Côte d'Azur. It's an absolutely terrible drive to do if you get easily distracted by beautiful scenery (like me), dislike spending 20 minutes covered by a million tonnes of mountain as you go through the Gotthard Pass (like me), get easily annoyed by crazy Italian drivers (like me) and have a car that is less than comfortable with windy-hilly-pseudo-highways and has no AC (like me). But gosh it's stunning. Anyways, I made it in one piece, and have since been doing mostly nothing at all. Some running (trying to avoid the major roadside accidents of last year), some time at the pool, some time at the beach, some serious fall collection shopping in St Tropez. Heaven. Except that I have been bitten by so many mosquitos it looks like someone tried to write on me in braille. I'm thinking a sonnet.

I did have big plans to get cracking on the second book this week. Back around Christmas time I got incredibly inspired and started four different chapters of an idea I thought would revolutionize the concept of the American Novel. Or the French-Wannabee-American Novel anyways. And now... Well, now I hate it. I am so thoroughly bored by the idea it puts me to sleep just thinking about it. But there is one little nugget of something I like in one of the chapters. I wonder if there's somewhere I can go with it - maybe a short story. We'll have to see.

As for the first novel, well, like me, it is making it's lonely scary way in the world, trying its very best. Both the Kindle and the paperback versions have sold a few copies, and now I'm debating whether or not to try another round of agents. Especially after my recent run of disappointing reads that have left me thinking that if THEY found a publisher, then surely... We'll see. First, there are so many other things to sort out. Finding a new rental arrangement for my perfect little Parisian flat. Finding a new place in Switzerland (the flatmate and I are parting ways, amicably, and it's time for me to strike out on my own). Getting to grips with the job which is about to hit that difficult second year, where the novelty is gone and you have to work past all the annoyances and grievances and frustrations to make it something exciting again. And hey, maybe I'll even manage to get back to writing this blog...

Next Chapter

This is it.

Bags are packed (almost).  Twingo ready to go (hopefully).  I even have a new work email address all set up (gasp).  It's time to go.

Paris and Parisians, this is goodbye for now.  Next time you hear from me, little Res will be a little Swiss Miss.

Bisous.

My Life in a List

If you're a procrastinator like me, chances are you make lists.  Long ones, short ones, on the back of envelopes, in pretty lined notepads, lists you add to, lists you cross off, lists you forget, lists that breed more lists.

And when you're in the middle of finishing a novel, starting a new job and moving to Switzerland, the list-making gets so out of control you can't seem to find time to do anything else.

I've done less than half of the things I wrote down, but more than half of the things I didn't.  Which I guess makes it just about alright.

Things I have done:

• Run 20k, miraculously sparing my knee but now waddling like a duck from the sore muscles;
• Sent manuscripts to a total of 13 agents, bursting into tears over sealed envelopes ;
• Spent a long weekend of Parisian sunshine with the Hottie;
• Enjoyed champagne at the terrace of the Georges like a spoiled tourist;
• Painted my toenails dark blue on a whim;
• Read through over 450 INSEAD CVs, and others, to find "my team";
• Bullshitted my way through conference calls and email chains for a job I haven't started yet;
• Watched The Sound of Music again for the first time since I was eight.

Things I haven't:

• Packed my things for the drive to Switzerland;
• Found an apartment;
• Gotten Swiss health insurance;
• Resigned myself to the harsh reality of my imminent departure. 

Watching Paris Watching You

Marcel, Bernard, James and Res

The Americans are a pretty cool bunch. With the notable exception of a certain former President, and despite what the rest of the world thinks of them, they're generally quite clever and have invented lots of useful gadgets like the telephone and the ipod and electricity.

But when Americans want to be really cool, they steal stuff from the French.

Like Frank Sinatra's "My Way" (originally Claude François' "Comme d'habitude").

And kissing.

And then there's Le Questionnaire de Proust, which was first stolen by Bernard Pivot before getting knicked again by James Lipton for Inside the Actor's Studio. Maybe not quite as cool as kissing, but also a fun way to get to know someone.

So here are the 10 things you always wanted to know about Res, using the Lipton version.

1. What is your favourite word?
In French, catimini. In English, serendipity. Apparently I like words that end in an "i" sound. Makes them sound happier.

2. What is your least favourite word?
In French, meuf. In English, grunt. But to be honest, if used in the right context, all words are great. It's not their fault some of them don't sound as pretty.

3. What turns you on?
Kissing (I'm not French for nothing). Dancing. Someone who looks me in the eyes. A boy who lightly places his hand on the small of my back when we're crossing the street. Hold on, was I supposed to pick just one?

4. What turns you off?
Vulgarity. Violence. People who have no passion.

5. What sound or noise do you love?
The sound of the cello. I'm serious. It's beautiful. Also the sound of someone who whispers 'I love you' and chokes up a little when they do it.

6. What sound or noise do you hate?
Yelling. Especially if followed by the sound of someone throwing something at my head.

7. What is your favourite curse word?
Saperlipopette. But to actually use: Putain de Bordel de Merde. 3 for the price of 1.

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
More like what profession wouldn't I like to attempt... OK, seriously though, novelist. Less seriously: stand-up comedian, ballerina, cellist, Christiane Amanpour, Coco Chanel, someone who gets paid to hike all over the world (what would that be called?!)

9. What profession would you not like to do?
Is it bad if I say consultant?! Hmmm... cleaning lady. Already painful enough cleaning after myself. And arms dealer. Or pimp. Or banker. Not that those things are the same in any way.

10. If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Come on, everybody's waiting to throw you a big party! Champagne's on me!

Good day sunshine

The sea's at a balmy 27°C. The pool at an even balmier 29°C. The sky is turquoise blue. The air smells like lavender and eucalyptus. I think there's a pretty fair chance I've actually died of swine flu and gone to heaven. Which is totally fine by me. I'm even feeling good about my muscles aching from the hike yesterday. The only thing missing are my girls (and boys). Though the parents are pretty cool too. (si si, je vous aime!)

Res Ipsa's Paris Updated!

Catch the latest seasonal recommendations on Res Ipsa's Paris.
And enjoy the fact that you're actually in Paris right now rather than rainy London like some people...

A la semaine prochaine

This has been a strange week. There were some nice moments (my induction into the bendy world of pilates, courtesy of Houston Hottie; meeting a fellow blogger over a lovely Korean meal) but also a lot of really painful ones (Death and The Boy: should be a play title, or maybe a Schubert symphony).

All in all I'm glad I made it through in one piece. More or less. Next week should be better: Legal Soldier is coming back from Afghanistan on leave, and I might pick up some plane tickets to an Italian reunion. Wipe the slate clean on this shitty week and start a new one.

This evening was rather special, though. While I had pretty much decided I would be spending the evening in a foetal position on my sofa, listening to the sounds of the wedding party from the restaurant below, my dear Ozzie friend managed to rouse me from my stupor and drag me to.... Paris Plage. It may come as a shock but I had in fact never been to Paris Plage before, having always felt too busy to go visit what I assumed was some kind of over-crowded, dingy tourist trap. And a lot of it probably is. But we managed to grab dinner at an ad hoc crêperie, our little table snuggled right up against the river with an amazing view of the sun setting over the Ile de la Cité.

So my choices were topping off a miserable week by crying myself to sleep, or drinking rosé with a friend on the river. I think I made the right choice. There's a lesson in there somewhere.

Talk more about ME...

For years I have been obsessed (well, maybe not obsessed exactly, maybe more like "recurrently titillated") by accounts of foreigners in France. Especially Paris. I blame Hemingway.

In particular, I love it when foreigners explain the mystery that is the French(wo)man and his/her unique vision du monde. I'm not being ironic, I do actually find it eye-opening. In fact, I have a little project sous le coude that is not entirely unrelated to this issue. But more about that later.

So after the NY Times' Guide to the French, I bring you culinary author David Lebovitz's "15 Things I'd Miss About Paris If I Moved Away" (go read the detail on his blog, you'll love it):


1. The dorky sense of fashion (prevalent in a slightly older segment of the population)

2. The lack of wacky diets and exercise freaks (we love carbs and fatty cheeses)

3. Vélib' (Res confession time: I still haven't tried it, being more of a (fabulous) shoe on sidewalk kinda girl)

4. Les jeunes hommes with impossibly small waistlines (well, ummm, actually I prefer my men not to be thinner than me...)

5. The brusque-ness (yes)

6. The sense of humour (sometimes)

7. The butter (especially if employed in the making of a croissant)

8. The cheap (and drinkable) wine (obviously)

9. The lack of beating-around-the-bush (or "turning around the pot", as I like to call it; goes with the brusque-ness, if you're thinking something, just say it!)

10. You can get anything you want by flirting (in fact, sometimes the only way to get what you want is by flirting; consider it a rite of passage)

11. The volatility (for those puritan Anglos who may not have heard of it, it's called "passion"; the Spanish will know what I'm talking about)

12. Dining in restaurants (especially with cheap and drinkable wine)

13. Cafés (toujours)

14. Cutting in line (what line?)

and

15. The bakeries (ok, now I've gone and made myself hungry)

Now it's your turn. If you're a foreigner in Paris, or used to be a foreigner in Paris (interpret that how you wish), what are the things you'd miss?

A Perfect Day

I woke up at 10 to my ipod, in my own bed with its satiny sheets and just-so firmness. A little after 11, I finally emerged for coffee and a bowl of cereal (Country Store, how I've missed you) while catching up on the news and my favourite blogs.

Outside, the sun was shining and it was wonderfully warm when I walked out, elbowing past the tourists taking pictures (my house has a certain notoriety) to catch five minutes with Sophie, hairdresser extraordinaire. Of course, it being the sales and all, I couldn't resist popping my head in a few shops, notably the infamous Prune which once again managed to wreak havoc on the old porte-monnaie. Don't judge me, the shoes were 40% off. And it's a disease. I swear.

Once I got the shopping out of my system (and the euros out of my bank account), I grabbed a salad and gazpacho at the Daily Monop and plopped myself down for an impromptu picnic in front of the Pompidou. This is the good life, my friends. How could I have ever considered leaving Paris?

How the other BM lives

We've almost reached the half-way point of the OBT. Key takeaway? This is not the same BM I've been working at for the past 9 months.

There are many reasons for that. Here, we take time to use all the right "tools" and "techniques" rather than get stressed out by the client and spend our time fighting fires. We talk about "people" stuff more than about "levers of profitability". We stop work at 6pm to get ready for the karaoke bar.

But these are all the differences I expected. What I wasn't anticipating is that these people are not the same people I'm surrounded by in BM's Paris office.

I can't tell you if the difference is that they're not French, or if it's the international environment in itself I'm responding to. But I like these people. I get these people. I am these people. Don't worry, I haven't taken a happy pill, I still feel like pummelling quite a few of my fellow trainees. But not everybody. My new "training buddies" are not pre-packaged, pasteurized 23-yr-olds with scary zombie eyes watching your every move to make sure you don't do anything "different." Instead they relish individuality, they're open and honest and seem to love nothing more than to talk about how BM drives them crazy and how they love Gossip Girl over a couple (more) drinks.

Before coming here my boss told me I'd be re-energized and come back to the office happy. Instead, these past few days have brought home to me how uncomfortable and unhappy I've been feeling at work, and why. So now what? Do I need to transfer? Quit? Move to a different country?

I love France in a profound, irrational, emotional way. But why is it that I can't fit in?

The Definitive Guide to My Little Corner of Paris (Part 2)

MARKET: Le Marché des Enfants Rouges (rue de Bretagne)

Because its improbable name, a reference to the young pupils of the local orphanage, was coined at the start of the 17th century. Because the concept of choosing your lunch from a motley crew of international food stalls and then settling at one of the large wooden tables to eat with strangers is impossibly charming. Because one of the sweetest things the Boy ever did was order a pizza there just because it was called the "Res Ipsa Pizza" (clearly I'm easy to please when it comes to grand romantic gestures).

RANDOM SPOT: The wall at number 180 (rue Saint Martin)

Because over the winter it cheerily wished passers-by a "bonne crise" and because, now that spring has come, it assures us that all is well again in the world... sort of.

CAFE: Café Beaubourg (next to the Pompidou)

Because, while admittedly overpriced, it has one of the best car-free, people-watching terraces in Paris. Because there's a small chance the art from next door might seep in subliminally while you're having your beer, making you terribly cultured.

BAKERY: Berko (rue de Rambuteau)

Because even though you're living in the Magical Land of Patisserie, sometimes you crave cheesecake. Or cupcakes. Or both. And because when that happens, walking into Berko feels like you've died and gone to frosting heaven.

SUPERMARKET: Daily Monop' (somewhere near you)

Because they're open late enough for weary consultants and other non-35-hour-week folk. Because they have loads of fresh, pre-prepared dishes that mean I no longer have to cook when I get home at some ungodly hour and am feeling rather lazy. Because shopping there with my Duane Reade "Bag It For a Greener NY" tote adds a certain element of bobo chic to the experience that is not entirely unpleasant.

The Definitive Guide to My Little Corner of Paris (Part 1)

Really, I should have started this a long time ago. Over the past couple years I've used this blog (and previous incarnations) to provide unsolicited and rather ill-informed opinions on what to do in New York, California and Australia, and have never taken the time to share my favourite Paris spots.

This shocking state of affairs will now be made right, with this first instalment of the "Definitive Guide to My Little Corner of Paris."

A few ground rules and disclaimers before we start.

1) This guide will be completely random. You will find within its pages recommendations for restaurants, bars, museums, as well as shops, streets, parks, events, times of day, whatever I feel like, really. And in no obvious order.

2) This guide will probably focus mostly (but not exclusively, see rule n.1) on places that are within walking distance of my apartment. This doesn't mean there aren't other nice things in Paris. Or that you should use advanced triangulation techniques to find out where I live and stalk me. That wouldn't be very friendly.

3) Its "definitive" nature is entirely relative. I will feel free to add or subtract to it at any time. And it's going to be broken up into lots of different parts, which means you'll have to keep coming back to find out more. Devious, eh?!

OK, now that we've got that out of the way, here it is:

THE DEFINITIVE GUIDE TO MY LITTLE CORNER OF PARIS
By Res I(p)sa

BAR: Andy Wahloo (rue des Gravilliers)
Because the deco is loosely based on the very Parisian (and strangely not considered either derogatory or racist) concept of the "Petit Arabe du Coin," North-African style. Because it's tiny and intimate (which makes it a bit too crowded on Fridays and Saturdays, though). Because the DJ is likely to play music you've never heard before but immediately think is very cool. Because the house cocktail with ginger makes you go "Woh."

RESTAURANT: Le Réconfort (rue de Poitou)
Because I've been going here for years, and even though the place has abandoned its cutesy-colourful look in favour of designer-chic, the menu has essentially stayed the same. Because said menu is printed inside second-hand books. Because the food is simple, very French, and yummy. Because it's a fabulous date place, even if you're not on a date.

RESTAURANT: Les Philosophes (rue Vieille du Temple)
Because of the Tarte Tatin à la Tomate. Because it's the best place to bring tourists, without paying tourist prices. Because the outside tables are always full and after you've managed to get your hands on one, you feel cool.

BAR: La Belle Hortense (rue Vieille du Temple)
Because it's a great place to have a glass of wine before having your Tarte Tatin à la Tomate. Because it's actually a bookstore, and having wine in a bookstore is one of those things that has to be done.

BOUTIQUE: Ann Tuil (rue Vieille du Temple)
Because it sells shoes - really nice ones from designers like Sergio Rossi. Because it has a nice, small, neighbourhood feel and the guy running the place recognised me on my second visit.

BOUTIQUE: Prune (rue des Archives)
Because it sells shoes - really nice ones from designers you've never heard of and can't find anywhere else. Because it feels more like an upscale art gallery than a shoe store.

HAIR SALON: Atelier 7 (rue Saint Claude)
Because it's not a chain, but a boutique salon where you can get your hair done by the owner (Sophie). Because it feels fun and friendly rather than clinical and scary. Because I got the best haircut of my life there on a day when I was feeling like crap (so the stakes were extremely high).

MUSEUM: Musée Rodin (rue Varenne)
Because even though it's not in my neighbourhood, it remains my favourite museum in Paris. Because it's beautiful.

to be continued...

Settling In

In terms of settling into my new apartment, I'm not doing a very good job. There are still a few (too many) boxes around, I'm still sans wardrobe, I'm still taking hours to find my stuff in the mornings, and there's still no food in my fridge.


But in terms of settling into my new Parisian life, I think I'm almost there. I really thought it would be harder, and lonelier, than it has been. While at INSEAD, everyone was talking about Dubai, London, Singapore, and I was worried I was going to get left behind. Instead, I now find myself in the "most happening" city in the INSEAD world! Whether it's because of the current job market, the fact that Paris is on the way to most places, or simply because people have finally realized this is the most beautiful city in the world (there's the chauvinist in me), France's capital has definitely become a hub of INSEAD activity. At least once or twice a week I find myself surrounded by former classmates having dinner, going dancing, celebrating housewarmings or making Charlie Chaplin films (don't ask). And of course there are the old friends, the ones who have stayed true despite the Fontainebleau hiatus during which I fell off the face of the earth, and who are now happily re-found.

So here I am with a busier social life than I have ever had, requiring the investment of significant physical and emotional energy. Don't get me wrong. Despite what some have said, this is not a continuation of INSEAD. Things today are very different; this is not just another "P". The people around me are not the same as a few months ago, or the ones I would necessarily have expected to be part of my new life. Some friends have been lost (or at least temporarily displaced) by the effect of geography, timing or life's unpredictable quirks, and others gained. Happily, there are also the two or three people I am so lucky to have kept close, and with whom I am now developing something perhaps more serious, and more "real" than what we might have had during those fickle INSEAD days.

A new career, a new apartment, a new city, new bonds, new feelings (not to mention a new, historical, US political landscape - go Obama!)... These first few months of my post-third-life-crisis life have been rife with upheaval, an ever-changing cartography I'm now slowly adapting to. Fortunately, some things never change. Like the fact that I can still ramble on for hours about absolutely nothing just for the pleasure of sending my thoughts into the ether. Like the fact that it's often a strong emotional reaction to someone close to me that gets me writing, and yet I never actually write about it (is that frustrating for you, I wonder?!) Like the fact that cigarettes, beer and melodramatic music (Pink Floyd, this time) always get the creative juices flowing.

It's good to know there are some things you can count on.

Bling and Empathy

To all my French readers: ever wanted to know how our American friends perceive our very médiatisé, newly-wed leader? Here's an interesting editorial about Sarkozy and the reasons for his party's debacle in the latest municipal elections: "President Bling-Bling".

On a completely unrelated note, a big thank you goes out to the person who kindly subjected themself to my fumbling attempts at conducting a "Rogerian interview" for my final Psychological Issues in Management project. Aimed at learning how to improve our listening skills and develop empathy, this exercise has been one of the most challenging and moving experiences I've had at INSEAD, and one from which I've learned a tremendous deal. I'm sure it's not easy to be on the other side of the table, agreeing to open up to someone who will record you, analyse you and write a report about you, so thank you again. To the current and future INSEAD students who are considering taking Bartolome's class, try to get beyond the initial shock when faced with a man who appears rude, insensitive and at times downright insane. This class is definitely worth it.

Time for me now to rush off to negotiate teacher salaries and classroom sizes. Seriously.

Lessons learned

Springtime feels like it's finally around the corner. The sun shone all morning on our humble chateau easter egg hunt, the weather is starting to get (slightly) warmer, and the trees are quickly turning green. All of this is heartwarming, of course, though it also signals that the end of INSEAD is nigh. My first mini-elective of P4 is over next week, most job applications are in, and thoughts are already turning to grad trip and summer plans. As for me, I'm in denial. Always the best approach.

I read something today I wanted to share with my foreign friends, who I know have been struggling to adapt in France (though as I try to explain to them, Fonty life is not France). The NY Times' Paris correspondant has bestowed upon us a "Guide to the French" in 8 simple lessons. Apparently we're quite an easy folk to understand... So here goes (make of it what you will; the full article is quite entertaining):

1. Look in the Rear-View Mirror: The French are obsessed about (their) history, and to understand us you must understand where we come from (and why we care). Fair point.

2. An Interview is Sometimes Not an Interview: A journalist's views on freedom of the press in France when it comes to the President. Can't really judge this one, or how much it differs from the situation in other countries. Also not terribly clear to me how this "lesson" applies to anyone other than journalists.

3. The Customer is Always Wrong: My personal take on this? The customer is a person as much as the service provider is, and either may be wrong, or obnoxious, and will be treated accordingly. But that's just me.

4. Make Friends With a Good Butcher: Absolutely, unless you're a vegeterian. But even then there's the fromager, the poissonnier, the caviste and the man at the fruits and vegetables stand in your local marché that you should definitely bond with.

5. Kiss, But be Careful Whom You Hug: Kissing is a must. Hugging may be an invasion of personal space. Even my 5-yr-old cousins understand that.

6. Don't Wear Jogging Clothes to Buy a Pound of Butter: If you remember nothing else about the golden rules of living in France (especially living in Paris), remember this one. It was also listed as one of the most important lessons learned by Australian journalist Sarah Turnbull in her book Almost French (highly recommended reading for any INSEAD-er thinking of living in this beautiful country of mine after graduation, and entertaining for anyone else).

7. Feeling Sexy is a State of Mind, or: Buy Good Lingerie: Duh.

8. When it Comes to Politeness, There is No End to the Lessons: For a country so universally viewed as rude, France is a place where rules of politesse are extremely complex and very, very important. I have already sought, in vain, to convince my friends of this little-known fact, and will not try again here. You're just going to have to trust me (and the NY Times).

So there you go, the French explained in eight lessons. See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?!

2 Days in Paris

Saw Julie Delpy's film yesterday, about a French photographer and her New York boyfriend, and their very un-romantic stay in Paris with her family, friends, and numerous exes. While there is an attempt to make a general statement about adult relationships, this is really just another re-hash of the classic "frog-eating, free-love-indulging, once-a-week-washing Frenchie" meets "puritan, hypochondriac, fast-food-obsessed, only-English-speaking Yank" scenario. It is the French that are the most vividly and somewhat cruelly portrayed, in the form of Delpy's neo-68, left-wing artistic entourage. Theirs is not the Paris of Amelie and her garden-gnome. Their Paris is rude, dirty, often obscene, and enjoys nothing more than laughing at the Americans' expense, especially if some frightening carcass of a formerly cute animal is involved. The cliches are all there, with a couple post-9/11 nuances thrown in for good measure, but they are taken to such outrageous extremes and replicated with such evident fondness by Delpy that, instead of being insulting, the film is for the most part really funny. It is a shame, though, that films about that complex, passionate relationship between France and America must always be reduced to slap-stick comedy.

Speaking of inter-cultural mayhem, tonight I have a second opportunity to meet my future classmates. The great tell-all will be posted tomorrow.

Le Beeg Buss C'est Moi

Barely extricated from the sauna that was my Twingo after a 14-hour trip back from vacation, and still slathered in sunscreen, I hurried to my computer to check on NV and see what my favourite bloggers had been up to in my absence. (OK, what I actually did was crack open a beer and then sleep for 24-hrs straight, cause I'm not that much of a geek, but it made the intro sound better...)

And oh, what fun it was to discover that DTLF had seemingly lost his/her cool, and created a new form of INSEAD-blogger: the profanity-spewing, mud-flinging, manic-depressive and potentially homicidal MBA student, a sort of Zorro-cum-Terminator for the 21st century's upper middle classes. And why this sudden outburst from the Guru of Zen? The notorious "Career Leader", a program which professes to be able to tell you what exactly you are meant to do with your life after having spent that hefty sum on b-school.

Undaunted and, I must admit, somewhat looking forward to being told that my ideal career path was to become either a potato-farmer in the Midwest or a road-train driver across Australia, I hastened to take my very own Career Leader test, as instructed to by INSEAD's already greatly-maligned career services. And, lo and behold, the results were.... spot on. You have no idea how disappointed I was; finally, I thought, an opportunity to draw additional readers to my blog by jumping on the "rogue blogger who shies not from telling the truth through expletives" bandwagon. But it was not to be, for Career Leader correctly identified me as a bossy, big-mouthed, smart-ass whose ultimate career goal is to achieve Total World Domination. (I apologise in advance to my future group members).

For those of you who are actually interested, here a few choice extracts from my "Professional Report":

You have a notable interest in three core elements of business work:
- Enterprise Control
- Influence Through Language and Ideas
- Managing People and Relationships

Your most promising career paths:
- Entrepreneurship

- General Management
- Management of New Product Development
- Marketing and Marketing Management
- Non Profit Administration
- Dictator of a Medium-Sized Country (OK, I just slipped that one in to see if you were paying attention)

Organizational Culture
You would fit best in an organizational culture characterized by an aggressive "rough and tumble" give-and-take in daily activity and by a high level of activity overall. ... People who thrive in these cultures view meetings, discussions and negotiations not as distractions from the "real" work but rather, as the work. And they have no qualms about making a little noise in order to get their ideas heard.

You would enjoy a culture that has a competitive spirit (internally as well as against industry rivals) and that encourages healthy conflict. ... People who thrive in these work environments tend to feel comfortable with conflict. They have no qualms about challenging co-workers when they think doing so will shed helpful light on a business decision -- or will give them the advantage in a negotiation or debate. Your tendency in this direction is very strong, so pay close attention to this aspect of any organization you consider working for.

And this is the best part:

Your assessment indicates that you are highly sociable, assertive, and outgoing. You like excitement, and you want to be where the action is. You're not someone people would describe as shy or easily manipulated. These qualities are great assets, but they can also cause you some trouble in your career.

Because you tend to have a strong, dominant personality, you may experience difficulty listening to other people and really hearing their ideas, concerns, or objections. At times, you may come on too strong, and be unable to take a back seat during a discussion or project and mesh with other members of a team. Without intending to, you may intimidate people who are less forceful than you are.

Habitually taking up too much "air time" can pose a danger in class discussions (if you're in school or in a workplace training seminar). This tendency can also hurt you during negotiations and on-the-job meetings. Be careful that you don't get a reputation for "sucking up all the oxygen in the room." And remember that sometimes the best thing to say, especially during a negotiation, is nothing.

I can hear my friends gasping for air as they roll about on the floor in embarrassing displays of belly-aching mirth. All I can say is, sorry DTLF but, either you did the test wrong, or you really are supposed to sell double-glazing to middle-aged women in hair-curlers...

On a completely unrelated note, here are a few pics from the past two weeks:

Above, and below, the Vienne Jazz festival, as shot in front of the local Roman temple.

And, of course, the beautiful St Tropez:

I don't have my friends' authorization to disclose pictures of them dancing, wearing bikinis, or pretending to be handy with barbecue tongs, so the above will just have to do for now.

A final note, in what seems to be a developing Australian-gag-of-the-week theme: can someone please explain the rationale behind Sydney's new "Go-Bag"? And, more importantly, if someone could show me how I'm supposed to carry my cats around in a cotton pillowcase (through a panic-crazed mob), that would be super. Thanks. In the meantime, I'm off again for a week but will be looking out for your suggestions, diagrams, youtube videos demonstrating this amazing feat.

Impromptu update

I just missed you guys too much, I had to scramble around for an internet connection to relieve my need for self-expression and give you a quick progress report on my vacation.

So, things all started very smoothly, as we drove my miniature car towards the southern sunshine at a nice, leisurly pace, stopping at Vienne overnight (no, not Austria) for an evening of jazzy relaxation. Vienne has some surprisingly well-preserved Roman ruins, including one mightily impressive temple surrounded by cafés, where a group of young musicians had decided to set up camp on this second evening of the annual jazz festival. There were lots of other bands around town, and the evening was passed in a most pleasant fashion café-hopping from one improvised concert to another.

On the second morning of my vacation, my car got towed. Turned out we parked it in the middle of the place du marché (conveniently not actually called "Place du Marché", and remarkable only by the surprising absence of any "no parking" signs; details, details). Fortunately, small-town police in southern France are extremely friendly people, as are those responsible for towing tourists' cars, so the whole thing got sorted out amidst much merriment and back-slapping comaraderie. Sweetened by a hefty fine.

After many hours spent in heavy traffic, we made it down to the mediterranean sea-front, apparently the one and only place in Europe to actually have had sight of the sun so far this summer. And if it wasn't for the tendonitis in my knee which is preventing me from running (swimming is such a boring replacement) and the three days of mistral currently swirling above our heads, everything would be perfect. Hopefully, both the knee pains and the howling winds will have quieted down by the time my gaggle of friends descend upon the house to turn it into Party Central.

Further updates are unlikely before another week at least, my loyal readers, but I do promise you pictures once I get back to a more internet-friendly environment. So stay tuned. Please. I'll buy you a steak dinner. (OK, I won't really, but I will be super grateful).

Oh, and for those who are wondering about my pre-reading by the sea, I have managed to read six whole chapters of my microeconomics book, all of them mind-numbingly dull.