Exam results

The A level results have come out. I'm delighted for my nephew who has earned the place he wanted at the university he wanted. His mother is justifiably proud.
Ten years ago, I was in the same position, and my son won the place he wanted. He went on to the right university for him, coming out with a good degree, and then went on to get a Masters as well. A week later, on a French airfield, my daughter rang her school from the public pay phone to get her GCSE results. With no speaker phone, she repeated out loud what they told her for her nervous mother standing next to her.  She did herself and her school proud.
Like ten years ago, I've been planning to go to France, but things conspire. Elderly aunt might need some support this week; planes no longer fly to Grenoble; trains take seven hours, and no way am I driving 500 miles.  How did I do it in 1997 with two small children in the car? Even taking several days with a stop in Paris at friends and at a campsite on the way down, on my own, a single parent, - how did I do it? But I would now like to go away for a holiday in the sun.
At tae kwon do, I (discretely) asked a mother what her son's results were. His mother looked grumpy, muttered quietly what his results were but pointed out that anyhow he didn't need them to get where he wanted to go. Neither did I when I did my A-levels - I already had my place at training college so I had no motivation to do really well at my A-levels so I think he's done fine. I was on the point of telling his mother this and congratulating her to have got him through his first 18 years and he could start his adult life, when she grumbled about all these people on Facebook announcing their offspring's wonderful results.  It's funny because she's being putting on Facebook what a wonderful holiday her family was having in several different countries - it sounds wonderful and I'd love to do that too.  Was she boasting about her holiday, but grumbling when others boast about their children's successes?  No.  She was just sharing her pleasure.

Never ever give up

Remember.

The end of another gliding day.

Versailles kir

Nice trip to Versailles with nearest and dearest to finish off my PhD with a celebratory glass of kir at the Open University degree ceremony.

That's my third trip to France this year.

Les aires de France

We've been to Bordeaux, travelling by car from St Malo, a long drive but with frequent stops at aires.

Les aires are the motorway breaks on French autoroutes. They tend to occur every 10 to 20 kilometres, more frequently than British motorway stops, but also much much smaller. Some aires provide only toilets, benches and a few tables in the shade, but are frequent enough and pleasant enough to encourage you to stop.

Some aires have fuel, toilets, a small shop that sells coffee and sandwiches, and a terrasse with shade and a few chairs and tables, set in the shade, perhaps with a glass roof in case it rains. The flowers and shrubs are frequented by birds, and small animals living on the crumbs that people drop. We sat at a table in the shade, listening to the sparrows, watching them chase each other through the trees or attempting to hover around car fronts wanting to pick the dead insects off.

Trains and composted tickets

Home on a TGV (train à grande vitesse) - very fast non-stop train from Bordeaux to Paris. We remembered to composter our tickets as we entered the platform. Composter means to validate, and rather than having ticket inspectors at the barriers to the platforms, French (& Italians too) require you to compost your ticket at a yellow machine that stamps the time and date on it. If an inspector gets on the train and you haven't composté, you're in trouble. In Italy, you have to pay the total cost again. I don't know what they do in France, but don't want to find out.