Nothing To See Here

There were strikes today in France. We had been warned in advance by our ever present union buddys who man the doors on the way into work handing out leaflets. There are a hell of a lot of people at this site because there is also a chip fabrication plant here, so there is a proper modern factory feel to the place, and the unions are very noticable. Unfortunately the engineers didn't get the afternoon off as it didn't seem to apply to us. Probably for the best as I wouldn't have got paid. Anyway, it seems all the fun was had in Paris where the Police had to use tear gas. Citizen Smith used to wear a beret didn't he? It didn't affect me in the slightest as I don't need an excuse to avoid public transport...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/2912825.stm

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Car Trouble

A bit of a mis-nomer this, as there hasn't been any trouble at all yet; I just wanted to squeeze in an Adam & The Ants reference. It's true I was a bit nervous about the old driving on the wrong side thing, especially with the roundabouts and left hand turns accross dual carriageways etc, but it's been fine. Bringing the car has been the best decision I could have made, and in truth, when I go home to visit, I'm now more concerned that I'll set off the wrong way round the M60 on my motorbike. I was a little tentative too when faced with situations where piority was arbitrary, mainly because I knew the locals would be wanting to go first, but now I'm comfortable on the RHS, I can hold my own, and as long as there's no dithering, most road users don't care. My colleages at work keep telling me that the French are really poor drivers, which doesn't really tally with my own experience. When I ask why, they mention things like not indicating properly, and a tendency to cut you up, but it's not as bad here as it is in Manchester, and as for London, well.. My colleagues also claim that there is alot of drink driving in France. The limit here is 50mg as opposed to 80mg in the UK, but I think the system is graded as far as punishment goes, with bans only being imposed for more serious offenders, as opposed to the mandatory ban regardless of severity in the UK. You can also buy single use breathalyser kits for one euro, so there is obviously some attention being paid to the law.

All in all, I think the French here are still pretty much in love with their cars, perhaps not in a purist way as in England, but certainly for their practical benefits. One reason might be that the Metro is creaking at the seems and is to undergo a long improvement program. Another might be that the roads do tend to flow, even in rush hour. I've mentioned previously that they are building lots of new roundabouts in Toulouse, and roundabouts do keep traffic moving much more efficiently than traffic signals do. Perhaps also Toulouse is a relatively new boom town, and hasn't got to coerce old Victorian roads into urban highways. There are a few other more subtle differences between here and the UK:

Most roads do not have two sets of traffic lights facing the driver ie one at the near side of the junction and one at the far side. This means the French here save almost half of their road furniture costs, and also helps reduce the blizzard of information we now seem to face at every junction. Instead they place lights just on the near side of the junction, right where the driver stops. This could mean that the driver at the front of the line, would have a difficult time looking up through his roof at the signal to see when to go, but they've solved this conundrum by placing a small repeater signal at driver eye level on the same pole and facing the driver. Clever, huh? While on this subject, I asked yesterday what a prolonged amber flashing signal meant, as for the first time I'd got stuck at one, and observed some odd behaviour. On all previous occasions I'd been on a main road and speeded up in order to sneak through before the bastard turned red. It turns out it means that the signalling system is down, ie there is no signalling in operation, so take extra care! Oops.

I can also park my car in some pretty small gaps here too, because when driving into kerb sideways parking slots, I can put my passenger door right up against the car on my left and not inconvenience its driver whilst maximising door opening space for me and the guy on my right.

Sometimes when you are trying to figure out who should go at a junction, you try and eyeball the driver of the other car to see if they're either awake or if they're allowing you out. Even now in my fourth week though, I find I'm still either eyeballing the passenger in the other car, or wondering how there's a car driving itself in front of me, so I guess haven't quite cracked this side-ness thing just yet.

I am now getting used to being a bit of a celebrity on the road too. Pedestrians at traffic lights almost stop and stare (perhaps they're thinking my car is driving itself :-), and other car drivers let me out at junctions without hesitation, and smile, which I am assured is not the norm. Perhaps they think there will be a comedy moment coming up, which will be better viewed from behind. Given that I haven't seen a single RHD car here yet, perhaps this isn't too surprising. Toulouse is not really a holiday destination, so I guess very few Brits bring their cars down here, and there are few other countries that would be likely to source a RHD car.

And the best thing of all about having the car here is that my commute to work is 2 miles and takes only a few minutes. That will save me a lot of time, and also save me money too, as petrol seems comparatively priced with the UK, give or take a bit.

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Inclement Weather

I had hoped to go skiing again this weekend, but the weather put paid to that. Hurricane force winds arrived from the West during Friday night (I'm blaming the good ol' US of A again) and lashed the SW of France. Bordeaux got it pretty bad and several people died, along with numerous power outages accross the region. In Toulouse it was pretty bad, but by the time I dared to drive out at 1PM on Saturday afternoon, the only damage I saw was that many roads had trees down. Given that they tend not be huge great oaks down here, that wasn't so bad. The reason I'd ventured out was to go shopping instead of skiing though, but the met office had scared enough people to stay at home such that most shops were shut. Given the French tendency to throw a strike at a moment's notice, I shouldn't have been surprised.

I salvaged the rest of the afternoon by meeting up with a recent English starter, and going to one of the city centre's English pubs. Peter Chan used to work at Symbian, knows quite a few of the people I've met during the course of this work, and used to live in Sale - small world gets smaller. The pub was originally named, "The London Pub" and it sure charged centre of London bloody prices, as it was 6 euros for a metric pint (ie 0.88 of a pint = 0.5l). What a ripoff. I guess they can do it to stop people like me and Peter ploughing through their entire difficult to get hold off stock over the course of 1 weekend. The bitter was 2 euros cheaper and made up of the bulk of the afternoon's work, prior to a pizza. We seemed to struggle a bit finding somewhere to eat, because just like the shops, many restaurants had remained closed for the storm. Town had been pretty empty anyway, so a day off wouldn't have cost them much. I couldn't help think that in Newcastle, people would probably have gone swimming rather than give in to the elements, although the winds had been pretty fierce, albeit I sampled the worst of them from either bed or the safety of the garden.

Today around Toulouse was clear up day, where wheely bins were retrieved from the bottom of the roads by people too dim to have wheeled them to safety in advance. There had only been 3 days of storm warnings so easily done I guess. I'd often do a supermarket shop on a Sunday, but here they don't open. I am finding it a tad difficult to get used to the lack of an open all hours culture we enjoy at home. Once the worst of the winter is over in a few weeks, it probably won't matter as the weekends will be better used for something else - like skiing next week perhaps.....

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Ski Sunday

Having spent yesterday feeling sorry for myself moping around the house because I felt ill, I bounced out of bed today with one thought - skiing. I've never done it before and last week's purchase of some new skiing togs was gnawing away at my psyche begging to get blooded.

I'd tried phoning a couple of recommended resorts for beginners on Friday, and found there was no one at either who could speak English. Lessons were recommended to me but I couldn't book them if I couldn't be understood, so I thought, bugger it - go for a drive and see what happens. I went to the larger of two nearby resorts, thinking there would be more English speakers there. This was Superbagneres above the village of Luchon, and although I could have got a cable car or "egg" as they say over here, from Luchon, I elected to drive up from the village. There were times I thought I was going to regret this, as it is very high up, and the road gets quite twisty, but it was at least well cleared of snow, and to be honest was of no worse quality than some of the roads near Buxton/Matlock, but the scenery was off the scale. Each time I rounded a bend there was another rock the size of a planet in front of me, and the Pyrenees, although peaking at well over twice the height of Ben Nevis, are not even big compared to big mountains. I was very glad it was a sunny day and the weather forcast was good.

When I got to the top it was lunchtime, judging by the frenetic activity in the cafes. I wanted to get straight into action and so headed into the obvious ski hire shop for some boots and skiis (and sticks). They spoke no English at all, but needless to say I came out of the shop with all I needed, though without my passport. I even managed to coax directions to the skiiing school, but was disappointed to find that although there was an English speaking instructor on site, he would be unavailable for nearly 3 hours. The receptionist spoke enough English to tell me where there was a training area I could play on though, so off I went. At this stage, no-one had even shown me how to put skis on, let alone take them off, so although I may have looked the part, wearing and carrying all this fine clobber, I was basically an accident waiting to happen. I had however watched an awfull lot of skiing when I was younger (Franz Klammer was an early hero), both on Ski Sunday and through the Winter Olympics, and I was pretty sure that I knew enough to get started. The boots only go in one way anyhow, and the clicking of the heels into place is pretty much the last thing an alpine skier does just before he launches himself down a near vertical incline, so I'd seen it hundreds of times. I found a large flat area of snow and clicked myself in. With poles for balance, everything was easy, and I was suddenly standing on the top of a mountain, in skis. I pushed with the sticks, and now I was moving. An eery sensation, and there were some balancing issues, but given that the boots are so supportive, never a chance of falling over. I pushed a bit more, which takes surprisingly little effort, and I was moving quite sharpish. Stopping? No problem, just stop pushing and wait until the glide stops. I dossed around like this for about an hour, before taking a break for lunch and then carried on for another hour. Not once did I fall over during this time, although not once did I turn a corner either or do anything remotely technical. Then I started my 1 hour lesson, and from this point on I was on the deck quite a few times. I was taught how to plough stop, and how to turn and the effect of weight transfer etc. I was also doing this without sticks which made it harder as I'd got quite attached to them and had found them a useful ally. I also got to grips with a couple of different methods of getting back to the top of the slopes again, which is quite difficult to master initially. I found getting on these things at the bottom much easier than getting off again at the top! By the end of the lesson I was totally knackered and the question I was left with is how the hell am I going to get up when I fall over and I'm on my own? It was easy enough with Alain, my instructor to help, but I couldn't do it otherwise, and I couldn't get the bloody skiis off either. Maybe they were too tight .

The journey back down from the mountain was in the car just as spectacular as the journey up, although once down on the main roads I found they have traffic queues here too, as people returned to the city, not that this was going to ruin a geat first day skiing.

http://www.lespyrenees.net/en/station,11,Luchon-Superbagneres.html

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One Week On

Well, it's been a week since the initial flurry, so what's happened?
Well workwise I'm still settling in really. I have now been assigned a pretty tidy batch of Clearquest Problem Reports (or as they and Prince2 call them, Change Requests), so to that extent I feel right at home already. I also now have a better idea of the dynamics of the team I am in, and to some extent the two related teams. I am in the Audio team. Under the same uber-manager (he of party-car-vomit fame), there is also the Telephony team and the Power team. There are others, but this makes up the S60/Nokia interface. Within Audio, there is Ivan, our leader, who seems very efficient, and is also very quick witted (in English & French) and a bit of a joker. I'm sure there's a large stick lying under his desk in case it's needed though. I'm guessing he is new-ish to this role and has yet to grow cynical after numerous horrible projects. Then there are three other jokers, who have made me very welcome, Gregory, the architect, Renaud and Arnaud. Arnaud is the one I usually go to for help at the moment, as he is, well, the most helpfull. These three are like the three musketeers, and Arnaud was specifically told by Ivan not to send too much spam mail to the audio mailing list when I was introduced, and has totally ignored this request ever since. These 3 are often joined by Isabelle (married, but very cute), very much one of the lads and also a joker. A few of the quieter guys are Jean-Pascal (or JP), Jean-Christophe and Thierry, who is my early mentor despite having only been here a month himself. The blind leading the blind? Then there is Michel, who appears to be proud to have cultivated a reputation as a sexual deviant, and Fabien, who seems very laconic, but has also been very helpful. Everyone goes to lunch and coffee breaks en masse, and this makes for a very tight group, although its small size helps too I guess, but lunch has become a real highlight (and there's absoultely no talking shop!). I remember when I first joined SEMC, lunches were like that, and it was a shame it stopped, sometime around the canteen refurbishment. Myself, Ray, Bhupendra, and often Ian were the only ones left in the end.

On a sadder note, on Wednesday, my tooth split while tackling entrecote, which left me feeling a bit down as it was the one that had received such excellent root canal service. It didn't hurt, because of course the root was gone, but it's made for awkward eating using one side of my face. As of now it is still split and should be attended to on Monday, when I should find out if it can be saved :-(

The big news this week however is that Freescale have announced a worldwide cost cutting initiative. Words like "bollocks, frying pan and fire" spring to mind, as this has invariably lead to the axing of contractors at every company I have been at. At this stage, the plan is that every Freescale site will shut for a period in the first quarter of the year. As of now, that means a forced week off in February. If it stays like that, or even if it is repeated every quarter, I'll be happy, but it's a bloody long way to come to get sacked already! To be fair, Eric, my agent, reckons there is no real problem in the cellular products division. The heat is being turned up because of the poor performance of the automotive division, which is tightly coupled with the US's fucked automotive industry. Hopefully Eric is right, but I'm going to curse America again anyway, because I want to.

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The January Sales

Today was for shopping. The French sales are not allowed to start until well into the New Year, and this year they started on the 7th. This was to be their first weekend, and I had been advised to go early and be well clear by mid-day. Good advice as it turned out. I went to Decathlon to buy my skiing gear, and as I'm now becoming accustomed to, drove right up to the front door and climbed out of the car and into the shop. Decathlon is a very big and popular chain in France, and I'm sure I got there soon after opening, but the staff were already struggling to keep the shelves stocked. I've never skiied before, no I've never bought ski gear before. I'd asked for advice at work the day before and I made a quick call to Simon in the UK for a bit of last minute help. Jacket, trousers, thermal liners, socks, neck protector, hat, gloves and goggles. Strewth; I hadn't bought that many items of clothing in the previous year, let alone in one hit. Jacket & trousers first I thought, as everything else was 'accessory'. The proper sporty kits were eliminated simply because it would be inappropriate for someone to be wearing them while sat on their arse for hours at a time. The puff padded kits were out because I prefer the layered approach. Other stuff was eliminated because they didn't have my size, and in the end I was really left with just one decent jacket and trouser matching combo. Perfect. The accessories fell into place quite quickly once the colour scheme was established (a sort of red jacket and brown trousers), and I still had time for a bonus purchase. I bought a France footy shirt, but failed miserably to get it badged as "Cantona 7" - something to do with licensing after the player has retired. I had a great laugh with the staff about it but they remained unconvinced when I told them, "Je m'appelle Cantona" (you can have anything if it is your own name).

In the afternoon, I went for a haircut. I phoned my agent to get an idea of where to go, and headed off to the village I had first arrived at. There were two on the street he had given me, but one was unable to do it today anyway, so hobson's choice got the job. The manager spoke a little English, but the staff spoke none. I knew this wouldn't be a problem because they all have magazines, so I just flicked through one to something in the right ballbark and pointed. A few finger gestures later and she got stuck in. It's easy to forget how much easier life is with short hair, and everytime I get it cut short I feel pleased, before getting bored again and giving up on the idea. No turning back now for a month or several though...

On the way home I popped into the supermarket again. I was a bit bolder with the food selection this time, and got a bit more fresh stuff in. I also couldn't resist an Islay Malt, although at 31 euros for a 10 year variety, I'll try to manage that stock through airports in future. That's quite expensive, but what is not expensive, not surprisingly, is wine eg. Chardonnay starts well under 2 euros a bottle, perhaps half the price you'd pay for the same stuff in the UK.

I got back to find that Michel had gone away for the weekend, and I would have the house to myself. All that meant was that I could be messy and noisy in the kitchen when cooking my evening meal (agneaux=lamb).

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The Aftermath

I had left the party last night thinking things were drawing to a close, but it seems not and there's going to be more fun had on Monday. The departmental boss and a few others had gone on to a pub (post 2AM!) and then to a night club. Jean, one of the engineers, had been nominated to drive a few people home, and the boss had thrown up in his car. At 5AM Jean was busy cleaning up the mess before he could get to bed. Everyone else had made it into work on Friday, but the boss had dipped out, so I am really looking forward to lunch on Monday. There will be no pulling rank, and the boss is going to get crucified :-)

Workwise, my induction (if that's what they want to call it) is all but over. I have already had problem reports assigned to me via Clearquest and I will be paired with another guy, Thierry who started a month ago, to sort out 45 of them on a new project. On Monday we will have a kick off meeting and divvy up the work. We are to be the first developers on this new project, as the old one is signed off and the rest of the team tidy up any loose ends prior to them coming over too. I'm about to start my first JTAG hardware debugging session, which will be far removed from the cosy confines of application debugging using the emulator.

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The Private vs Public Debate

Some background: on 23rd Dec last year, one of my upper rear molars decided to throw a hissy fit and the nerve died. Abscesses were followed by murderous pain and an emergency session with the dentist resulted in nothing more than antibiotics and painkillers. To be fair they did the trick and Xmas dinner turned out not to be the ordeal I'd feared. My dentists felt unable to tackle a triple root canal (the uppers have 3) and said it was a specialist job , and we both agreed there was little chance of getting this sorted before the trip. I tickled him for another batch of antibiotics the day before I sailed, "just in case", and set about trying to locate a dentist on arrival.

With a little help from Eric (the guy is a star) I had arranged an appointment for this morning. This turned out to be a double bonus, as the snow from last evening had continued throughout the night, resulting in a complete whiteout. My appointment was late morning, and by the time I had set off, the main roads were pretty clear, but every roundabout had a broken car hanging off it, most of which were barely, if at all, pushed to the side of the road. I was glad I hadn't been involved in this at rush hour.

The dentist seemed to be operating from her own house, and very nice it seemed. She spoke little English, but had a very detailed model of the various things that can go wrong in the mouth. With surprising ease the problem was described by pointing at the model and then inside my mouth, plenty of laughing and a concerned frown on her part occassionally. She said she'd have a look, and this would involve removing the temporary filling I was sporting from my home dentist. I wanted a bit more than a look if she was going to open up what had been a relatively well behaved tooth of late, but I didn't have the words to make this clear, so I resigned myself to a gamble. I needn't have worried though. She had no reservations about tackling a triple root canal, and while I thought she was still taking bits out, she had actually been filling it in and finishing off, and the whole thing was over in well under half an hour. She showed me the before and after x-rays (the afters showing 3 bright white lines where the roots once were) and said she had left another temporary filling in "just in case". Then we talked money; less than 37 euros to be precise. I don't think you can even get an NHS filling for that in England! I had just had a filling, 2 xrays and a triple root canal purging, and the private cost, in what seemed like the living room of an eminently capable dentist was less than the cost of one bloody NHS subsidised filling. I want to know where my NI contributions are going, because between this and other medical events I've paid for around the world, I'm starting to smell a rat.

I got to Freescale, very pleased with the morning's work, and just in time for lunch. I went straight to the canteen, heeded the dentist's advice not to tackle anything too heavy for an hour, and went for a light fish lunch.

Afternoon in the office was again spent fettling my PC in between reading documentation. No one was particulary industrious today, as there was another piece of luck coming my way. The Audio team had not had time for their Xmas party before Xmas, so they were having it tonight instead. This meant two things: (1) I got to leave work early (2) I was going to use the Metro for the first time.

The most noticable thing about this night is that when people arrived at the bar in the restaurant, there was no immediate rush to hang upside down under a gallon of lager. In fact no drinks were even ordered until we were all present and sat down. Now this is not my territory at all, but I played along to see how it went, and in fact it went very well indeed. The usual array of madmen and perverts exist within the team, but 8 pints isn't required to coax them out. The sangria and wine did arrive, but the party was well under way well before any alcohol had had any effect. It was quite illuminating to see people having a good old craic without needing to be comatose to loose their inhibitions. Perhaps they just never had any... We were entertained by an in-team magician too. I still can't believe what I saw him do with his colleagues less than a foot away, but no one had clue how he was making things disappear, reappear and pass ghostlike through each other. It was awesome to see it so close.

I had a great time, feeling lucky to get in an early bonding session, and left about 1:30AM. It took a while to flag a taxi afterwards, but having found one, it had me back home in about 10 minutes. About half of the time the Metro had taken to get me the other way. Hmm...

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The Supermarket

Having secured somewhere to live, tonight I thought I'd make use of the cupboard and fridge space I've been allocated, and do a first proper food shop at a spupermarket, and I even found the place without my TomTom, using directions from Michel.

It was a pretty similar experience to home in many respects too. When you need glasses for distance as I usually do, and you don't understand the language, it's all to easy to set off down the feminine hygiene aisle in a quest for tissues, and I have done this a few times in Sainsburys too, but the main problem is the length of time it takes to figure out the layout of a new supermarket. At home I tend to settle on just one that sells what I need and then I can be in and out, and £120 lighter in 15 minutes flat. When the capitalist bastard owners decide to move stuff around to shove this seasons must buys in my face, I get really pissed off, as it upsets the routine and I forget stuff. Here the problem is going to be compounded somewhat by the additional time it is taking me to analyse every can or packet, both words and pictures, to see exactly what is where. Some stuff is easy enough, but it took a few trips up and down to find the tinned crab and noodles for example.

The fresh stuff revealed a few things I've never seen before, and I must get a picture of one of them sometime. The best description I have at this stage is it looks like root ginger in a side plate sized jellyfish shape. Which reminds me I've also had two vegetables in the work canteen that have thus far escaped me at home; sweet potatoes and artichokes - both gorgeous and both will be added to my next domestic list. Potatoes don't occupy 5 aisles here as they sometimes seem to do at home either.

I've convinced myself that I got all around the supermarket and through checkout without anyone realising I'm not French. Bonsoir, merci and au revoir are the threes staples required to pull this off, and unless you deliberately venture outside your limit, many tasks can be accomplished with these - so long as you don't need any help of course. Oh, and you can buy one time use breathalyser kits at the checkouts too for 1 euro each. It would be silly not too....

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Chez Michel

Today at work was more of the usual induction ie reading documents until you start crying with boredom/tiredness. It's been the same almost everywhere I've been and it just has to be endured. It is probably the only chance you get to just soak up the chosen technology though without having a deadline for a work package hovering in the background. Just before I left though I was finally presented with a PC. I think it had been stolen from someone else, as it did have another account on it, and most of the software I need seems to already be installed. I wonder what happened to the other bloke. There are strange rumours about people getting sent to Bangalore never to be seen again.

In the evening though, I had a new home to go to. Eric had sorted me out lodgings with a bloke called Michel. This is of course pronounced Michelle which does take some getting used to when you're staring at a stubly bloke of around your age. Anyhow, I get the spare bedroom as his daughter has buggered off to Canada for studies. I also get bits and bobs of storage in the bathroom, kitchen etc. All costs are thrown in, and that includes WiFi and free telephone calls, including international apparently (the benefits of a TV/Internet/Phone package).

Michel seems like a decent bloke, likes his football etc, and even referees once or twice a week. He has trophys for this, darts and cycling dotted around too. His English is way better than my French, but is still pretty basic, but we can resort to drawing pictures if all else fails.

I'm viewing this as a temporary solution while I settle in, so I can look around properly before tying myself up in legal stuff by renting my own place. The rules here are much tighter than in the UK, and 3 month notice periods operate, so some extra time will help me make a better job of getting my own place as when I do I will be unlikely to be able to change easily. There are already some obvious advantages to lodging though; all the cupboards are full of utensils, and I don't have to phone utility companies asking for English speakers to get me connected before I die of hypothermia.

Actually, a slight lie about the utilities thing. Michel doesn't have a kettle, only one of those proper coffee machines that makes a thimble full. I've already microwaved 3 mugs of water with which to make tea. It works, but I know two people back home (hi S & J) that would have kittens if they saw how my tea making technique has departed even further from how granny used to. I'll soldier on though...

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New Starter

Well, the bit I hate finally arrives. I don't like starting new jobs. There's too much uncertainty, and process to learn, too many new people to meet and names to remember and even finding your way around a new building can be a challenge. There's also the knowledge that for a fair amount of time, you really are useless, and even the current office numpty looks down from a position of power. Just grin and bear it.

The commute was easy though, but even so, agent Eric led the way and took me into reception. Once there, I was told my boss would be late, as he has kids, so someonele else would come down. This turned out to be Gregory, who took me up to meet the rest of the group. I think there must have been about 30 people in all, and Gregory proudly introduced me to all of them with "He's ok, he likes football", which was generally greeted with much approval. Not a bad start then.

As with nearly all first days I've had, they were woefully underprepared. Not only were no computer accounts set up, but no bloody computer was set up either. This will arrive tomorrow apparently. There was also no door pass, which means "asking permission" (borrowing a pass) to go to the toilet. A temporary pass would be available at the end of the week, although this would still not get me into the Series 60 software section. SEMC had to implement some extra security measures to use this software, but this place is tighter than a duck's arse. No pass would also mean no access to food in the canteen, as the cards are charged up with cash at machines, and then used to pay at the tills. A good temporary solution in my mind is that my first week's lunches would be free :-)

One thing that did strike me as odd, is that there were no coffee machines anywhere. It turns out you have to go to the canteen for coffee (in a separate building), with only water being available in the office. Coffee breaks here though are social occasions and last over half an hour, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Having so little caffeine (usually via tea) will take some getting used to as I used to have between 10 & 15 a day at SEMC.

When luchtime arrived though, what a treat; the staff canteen is absolutely fantastic. There are 5 different serving counters dealing with different types of hot dishes, and the meat components of all are cooked in front of you. There's a salad bar, a desert bar, and a drinks bar, wine included. The guys in the team all piled in together and sat together, and it seemed to last for ages, although including coffee, it was perhaps an hour. It was a proper lunch though and not some hurried bollocks sandwich, gobbled at your desk, while surfing the net and spilling crumbs into the keyboard. Not that I've been doing that for the last 4.5 years, as SEMC's canteen was ok too, but most of my working life has been punctuated only be sandwiches for lunch, which is frankly, utterly shite and should be deemed unacceptable conditions for all employees. Eating the biggest meal of the day at the end of the day is a sure fire path to poor health.

So after a very good lunch (some form of white fish if you want to know) I settled down at my baron desk to consume the documentation I'd been given. Another downside of first days is the terminal boredem as you try and soak up poorly written, inaccurate and out of date documentation, written by people who didn't want to, and who you suspect might be trying to booby trap your whole career by writing mischief.

While I was busy soaking up the new job, Eric had been busy trying to find me somewhere to live. So in the evening I went to view a spare room in a house he found a mile or two from the office. It's an all inclusive price, the run of the house etc, and my own space, and is only a temporary solution while I hunt down the flat of my dreams, but it's good enough for a month, maybe longer. This night would be my last with Eric and Carine and the cat and dog. My stay finished as it had started, with an Italian meal, and wine.

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Eric and Carine

I've mentioned Eric a few times so far, so perhaps it's time to provide some detail. I got this job, via a rather circular route, and without actualy looking for it. I got a call from an English agent who had found me on linkedin.com, who wanted to put me in touch with a French agent, Eric Cariou. Eric works for a company called Aptus, who supply consultants to a wide range of IT companies accross Europe and the world. After the initial introduction, most of my contact has been with Eric. He conducted the initial one hour phone interview, to ensure I would be a suitable candidate for Aptus, and arranged the interview with the end client, Freescale. When I went over for that interview, he was there to meet me in the Aptus office next to the airport. Sometimes when you meet people for the first time, there's just something right about it, whether it's in the sincerity of the smile or the warmth of the handshake. So it was with Eric; we got on well immediately. He told me all about Aptus, their clients, what he thought they could do for me, and I for them. Beforehand he gave me some tips on how to sell myself at the client interview, to which he would be driving me, and which he would attend. This was very different from the kind of experience I'd had in the UK; the very idea of my sponsor being sat next to me to babysit me was odd, but in reality, there was a good reason. He spoke almost perfect English, whereas the client's English, although good, would lead to some misunderstandings. It turned out that Eric's English was so good because he'd attended university in England, for the very purpose of developing his English. He also picked up some other English habits; he liked tea and had a kettle, and could swear idiomatically in English at other car drivers. Fantastic.

It turned out that there would be two jobs on offer in two different departments within Freescale, so if I fancied doing two interviews that day, I could double my chances of success. The only snag was that they could not be done back to back, and would involve a break for lunch. Eric was quite happy to show me around Toulouse in the interval, and buy me lunch, in between driving me backwards and forwards to these two interviews. I can't imagine that happening with any English agent I've ever met. Afterwards, he also paid for the hotel, which was more than had been agreed in advance, so I could have a night in Toulouse.

A week after returning, I'd been offered both jobs, which was going to present me a problem. I wasn't sure I wanted to leave my house in the UK and I didn't want to leave SEMC earlier than necessary, as it was the best placed I'd worked, and I wanted to see it out. Eric wasn't pushy in the slightest. After chatting to him about what I thought, and his own country switch, I could feel my doubts disappearing. I think now I definitely made the right choice.

Between accepting the job and the start date, Eric helped me make some preparations, including finding some temporary accomodation to start with. As it turns out this fell through, because the two people that had agreed to provide a spare room, inconsiderately buggered off somewhere else as I arrived, so Eric came to the rescue by providing a spare room in the house he shared with his fiancee, Carine. Carine's English was not as good as Eric's, but it was still good. The main difference was in the speed with which I could speak to be understood. Her job involved assessing and correcting the gate of professional sports stars. It's something I've been meaning to have done myself, but I didn't want to push their hospitality. I had the run of the house, and a cat to play with, and free food. Their dog was a garden resident, kenneled, so I didn't see much of him. The cat was also normally a garden resident, mini-kenneled, but was very adept at sneaking in as you opened the door, often without you seeing her. She quickly learned I was a soft touch, and had my hands shredded in minutes. I would get no more peace from her as I sat with my laptop on my knee in the evenings.

I stayed with them for four nights, until moving into some other accomodation which he found for me (it could be said he had some motivation :-). He has since also helped provide me with a dentist, and numerous translation services when I phone through to an answering machine. In fact, this whole trip would have been much more difficult without his help. He and his fiancee Carine are due to get married on Feb 14th, St. Valentine's day.

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First Full Day in Toulouse

I got up late morning, and Eric was in but Carine had gone out. Eric explained that the key would be left in the post box outside (in the garden wall - imagine doing that at home!), and I was free to come and go as I pleased. I had breakfast and drank a lot of Eric's tea, at which point the cat, Maya, introduced herself. The cat turns out to be very young (6 months) and very playful, and in no doubt at all that you are there for no other reason than to entertain her. I know my place in the cat hierarchy, so we would get on just fine.

I thought I'd have a potter about in Toulouse centre today, and the route from chez Eric was basically due East for 3/4 miles. As I got to what I thought was as close to the centre as I would be able, in a car, I jumped into a parking space and then stood at the nearby machine looking stupid for a minute or two. I pretended I knew what I was doing by carefully moving some coins about in one hand while furrowing my brow. I failed miserably obviously, as a voice from behind me offered a helpful hint. After making it plainly obvious that I was out of my depth, I did manage to grasp the thrust; it was free parking on Saturday. Doh! I thanked the chap and strode off, vowing to learn the language tout de suite. It turns out I had bailed out of the roads a stage too early, but this had the advantage of taking me for a walk accross Pont Neuf on the river Garonde to get to the town centre. The part of the centre I saw on this visit is very pretty, with little paved back streets and no car access, opening out onto a large pedestrianised concourse that looked like the "town hall square". The building in question is actually called The Capitolium, and you can walk through its courtyard, through to another smaller area which has mazy lawns, water features, and some monuments. There were plenty of people doing nothing other (it seemed) than just being there, and in due course, I'll be one of them, when I'll have time for a proper exploration.

My first bit of shopping in Toulouse was easy enough, and was for a more up-to-date WiFi card than my current one, and this was obviously done in a geek shop. Even in a foreign language a geek shop is home. I felt on a roll, so I threw in a pair of USB travel speakers too. At this point I am still cursing when I spend money earned in Sterling on products costing Euros. It seems like I'm paying too much, which is true. I'm going to be much happier when it's the other way around.

When I got back to the car, I told Kate to take me to my new office (Freescale) so I would have some familiarity with the route, come Monday. It is located very near chez Eric, easing the transition in very nicely. It seems so far as if everything I need is in the SW quadrant of the city. Big bonus, is that my commute is approximately , ooh, 7, maybe 8 minutes :-)

In the evening, Eric and Carine took me to the cinema to see Young At Heart. The cinema has a restaurant and the closest place I can think of is the Cornerhouse in Manchester. It shows a similar non-mainstream type of film, but the Cornerhouse is more bar. This cinema is quite famous and one of only 10 such places in France, 2 of which are in Toulouse. Dinner there was on me by way of thanking Eric and Carine for their hospitality. We were served by a Dutch girl, who could speak a lttle French, but spoke pretty good English, and with a kind of northern twang. Carine sensed me latching onto this and seemed hell bent on pairing us up, which amused Eric no end. I did ask her about her English, more specifically where she'd been to get the accent, and it turns out she'd never been to England in her life, but the Dutch watch a whole lot of English TV. So she spoke pretty fluent English, which an authentic accent, off the back of television topping up whatever formal training she'd had. Pretty amazing I thought (perhaps you'd have to hear her to understand why), so I added it as a technique to try myself, although I'm reliably told French TV is spectacularly bad, so we'll see.

The film was excellent; it has a rather bitter-sweet ending, but is a real feel good film and really puts things in perspective. As I turned 40 I was being investigated for bowel cancer (turned out ok obviously), and it's useful to be reminded how nothing should be taken for granted. I resolved to bow out bawling Temple Of Love over the top of my BMW zimmer.

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Are We Nearly There Yet?

Another early start in the breakfast canteen, but this time there would be no cider afterwards as there was driving to be done. I did feel remarkably good after two days of over-indulgence, but I still needed a fair few fluids to ease the transition back into the full health, and breakfast was quite rushed because we were set to disembark at 7AM. The handful of cars that were present were all joined by their owners in time, and thankfully no-one needed an emergency jump start, so within little more than an hour or so of getting out of bed, I was turning the key and rolling forward. Computer Kate had been told to take me to Toulouse.

It was dark, and I had only driven on the RHS of the road on one previous occasion, and then in a car designed for the purpose. Being in a RHD car on the RHS was going to feel very strange indeed. The first 100 yards threw up a roundabout, which I navigated simply by following the car in front, as Kate had said. Same again at the next corner, a right hander (the easy ones). The next right hander I was on my own, and then...well as it turns out, no more turns at all until Toulouse. Just miles of straight road, the majority of which was motorway/dual carriageway. Easy peasy. And it really was. There were perhaps 3 things of interest: (1) toll booths are not cut out for RHD cars, and there were about 8 or 9. Nope; they're a right royal pain in the arse, and I quickly learned to peel over to the end ones, so that I wouldn't hold people up. At one I had to get out like a muppet to see if the machine was broken, only to be helpfully told "automatique" (cue laughter), ie your car needs a transponder and you cruise through without stopping. Put it down to experience and move on, blushing. (2) Passport control between Spain & France looks like a toll booth plazza, but there are no other obvious defining features that I noticed (gun placements, soldiers, asylum seekers sneaking aound in the undergrowth), and the main difference is that no one stopped as you would at a toll booth - unless you had a transponder. (3) I can't remember now, maybe it'll come back to me.

So I crossed the boarder without really noticing it. In fact the penny really only dropped when I noticed the change in language on the road signs, and I think the first sign I noticed this on was for Lourdes (Catholic education needed for that one perhaps). I stopped twice between the border and Toulouse, once to get some fuel, and once to take some piccies of the Pyrenees. I did this at a motorway services type place, and there were a lot of French families there who looked like they were having picnics. Odd I thought, but then I wondered if they had any way of telling I was English without me opening my mouth. Maybe they could see my invisible tail wagging or something. I eased myself in gently by just getting some water, which involved no more than "thank you and goodbye". The route to Toulouse was around the northern tip of the Pyrenees, so there wasn't much climbing to do and the mountains proper were quite a distance away. Still, they were unmistakable as proper mountains, and they will be visited properly.

Several hours later, and a few reminders from Computer Kate about fixed speed cameras (totally ignored with reckless abandon because I had English plates), and I was approaching Toulouse. Now my accomodation plans had gone awry because the people I was expecting to temporarily move in with, were still on vacation. A problem? Not likely - in steps the French agent who placed me. This guy deserves a page on his own, and could teach the English agents a lot about what looking after your clients is all about. Eric said they would put me up in a hotel, or, he and his fiancee would be pleased if I would come and stay with them for a few days, until the vacation was over and the world returned to normality. Wow. I'd met Eric when I'd come over the previous month for the interview, and I had been very impressed with him then, and we got on very well. Computer Kate had been given Eric's address, and she now had to get me from the city limits, through a French suburb (Tournefeuille), in mid afternoon. Roundabouts. Bloody loads of them. Toulouse is being re-designed a la Milton Keynes apparently. They were very strange at first, but the horror stories about right of way being given to those entering the roundabout, as opposed to those being on it, are thankfully a thing of the past. The French have adopted the rational method, and now the only difference is the direction thing. To be fair, on most occasions the road coaxes you into the right approach to slip naturally onto the roundabout, making it nigh on impossible to go the wrong way. The only remaining obstacle is to ensure you look left and not right to avoid crashing. I felt very pleased with myself as I approached chez Eric, as I hadn't had a single horn honked at me after what felt like zillions of the darn things. Eric came out to meet me and once again repeated his offer of the spare room rather than a hotel, and I gratefully unpacked a few of my bags. The dog greeted me as if I was the last human on Earth in the way that dogs do, while the cat looked at me out of a corner of one eye in the way that cats do, before tucking her head back under her tail. I was already glad I hadn't chosen the hotel before I'd got to my room. I spent an hour or so unpacking and re-configuring my mail settings after connecting to Eric's WiFi, grabbed a shower, and joined Eric and Carine, Eric's fiancee, who had been out when I had arrived, for dinner. We ate Italian pasta, and drank red wine, and I finally felt like I was in France. We spent an hour or so chatting, mainly about my journey over, before I retired for an early night, my first en France.

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Outward Bound, New Year’s Day

I was up at 07:30 and having a full English by 08:00. Nothing unremarkable in that except for 2 things: (1) I was pretty much the only fool on the boat paying for it, as opposed to having tokens and (2) If I’d mis-timed this by half an hour, I would have been queuing for a very long time indeed, perhaps forever. Still it was worth the tenner and the staff told me a neat trick of taking extra pots of hot water for which I wouldn’t be charged, but which could be readily converted into free tea.

The hangover was still not really evident yet, but I knew what was coming, so after breakfast I strolled on to the nearest bar. I was rather surprised to find you could get a pint of Strongbow at 08:30 in the morning, but evidently not as surprised as the waiter was to be asked for one. I hadn’t been sat down more than 5 minutes when a voice from behind me said, “Where did you get that, mate?” I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder at the bar, and so began my friendship with Dave, a 40 something, from Buckinghamshire I think. We got on famously for what remained of the voyage (1 day and night for me), and shared various stories of alcohol related gaffs. His worst was a 'moment' of madness during which he was caught by his wife in the car, in the garage, in flagrante with the neighbour, an event which predictably ended his 20 year marriage, and did nothing to temper his alcohol intake.

Dave was accompanied by Sean, who was a prison warden in womens' prisons, and had locked the door on most of Britain’s finest in recent years, including Rose West. Sean had a bizarre habit of sloping quietly off to get another pint while his current one was well over half full. Maybe the psychologists amongst you can explain this, but Dave and I found it hilarious. He was one step away from buying a pint before he'd bought the one he had yet to drink, if that makes any sense. Anyway, we all decided it was a shame we could no longer ship prisoners off to distant lands like in the good old days, but the risk of them returning with a vengeance was too great - witness the Aussie bar syndrome in London.

The three of us mossied around the ship’s bars for most of the morning and into the afternoon, rattling off a couple of games of bingo along the way (£1000 jackpots too, which we were spectacularly far from winning). By mid-day, the whole ship was sat in front of some form of booze, and the atmosphere was buzzing again, and seats were getting hard to find. We helped by parting briefly for a mid afternoon break, before taking up again around 17:00.

This evening's entertainment was Robbie Williams, although we weren't paying much attention. Unfortunately my schedule meant that I was going to have to be in a fit state to drive around the Pyrenees the day after, so I had to make an effort to retire to bed soon after. I hate leaving parties ridiculously early, but Dave and I swapped email addresses, although if I missed anything, he won’t remember a bloody thing to tease me with anyway.