Alpine Mummy

A new life in the middle of nowhere


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In which Alpine Boy gets squashed by a trolley

Cooking

Half-term holidays – cooking with Alpine Boy

Alpine Boy is currently on half term holidays for two weeks so I’m pushing my parenting skills to the limit to find something new and exciting for him to do each day.  I’ve been spoiled by two months of handing over my son to someone else between 8.30am and 4.00pm each day and, despite the fact that I love him to bits (and yes, blah blah, I know I said he saved me from loneliness etc etc), I do find myself desperately looking forward to his nap time, when the entertaining can stop for an hour or so.  Is that really bad of me?!

Anyway, I’m actually rather proud of the holiday activities I’ve provided so far (yes, ok, it’s only Friday of week one.  And yes, ok, yesterday was a public holiday so Alpine Papa was around to assist.  So that’s only four days of entertaining.  But still).  We’ve been for walks in the snow, and walks in the rain, and walks in the sunshine.  We’ve been to visit friends, we’ve had friends visit us.  We’ve made things and drawn things and painted things and stuck things and put Play-Doh all over the sofa and in our hair (well someone has.  And it wasn’t me).  We’ve cooked things and eaten things and watched DVDs.  But still, the most exciting thing to happen to Alpine Boy this week?  The supermarket trolley fell over.  With him in it. Continue reading


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The fridge smells of farts

I love it here in the middle of nowhere.  And I tell people that.  But that makes for a boring story, really.  Sometimes people want to hear the juicy bits, the rubbish bits, the bits that give them an opportunity to sit back and say “well, yeah, it’s alright I suppose, living in the middle of nowhere like that Alpine Mummy does, but it’s not all great – did you know [insert relevant horror story]….?”

So for those of you who think like that (don’t be shy, I love hearing about other people’s misfortunes!), here are some of the crap bits about living here.  This is not a racist tirade against France, you understand (or at least it’s not intended to be…), nor should it be seen as an indication that I hate it here and I’ve made some kind of terrible mistake in moving out my entire family (I don’t and I haven’t).  But maybe some of these points will be useful to throw back at me if and when I ever get a little too smug about how great it is here…

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