Desperate Anglo Housewives : Bordeaux > she's back and dating in her 50s

Having recently turned 50 (argh) the French state sent me an invitation for a free mammo. I took this very seriously and went in for a check up. Breast cancer, the second commonest cancer worldwide  (1.4 million new cases: 11% of all global cancers and 360,000 deaths), is the commonest potentially fatal cancer of women. T here is currently a greater than 4-fold variation in age-standardized incidence rates between countries with the lowest (East and Southern Africa) and countries with the highest (Western Europe, North America and Australia/New Zealand).  We all have friends who have had scares and ops and I am the first to step up. But, I have to honest, I really hate mammos (who doesn't!), and frankly, they scare me. I have over-read about the risks of over-radiation with testing and over-prevention. In the end, who cares, I feel it's better to check myself out.I don't believe our health is something to play with. The new testing system in France is the Rolls R...

Are you a modern machine fan or do you prefer it the old fashioned way...by hand? OK relax this is not a post about sex toys...that will be another day! I have admired Nigella Lawson for years, although must admit that since she lost her wobbly bits I am not identifying as I once did. I have all her recipe books which I actually read. In one of my favourites, Kitchen, she lists her " Kitchen Gadget Hall of Shame." Everything from jam makers to super juicers were fired from her kitchen. Totally understand these ridiculous fixations we all get for unnecessary kitchen gadgets - I once stayed up until 3am trolling the web for a second hand ice cream maker because I "NEEDED" it. I have had everything from sausage makers (only used once because the experience was hideous and put me off sex for weeks!...what was I thinking, a sausage maker!!!) to thermal steamers not to mention the drawer full of once-used hand tools such as melon ballers, cherry pip removers,...

Days off from work make me realise just why I love my life in France so much....walking, market, coffee, crowd watching, cooking... "Eating the seasons" has become a life choice in France. And it's easy! On my days off I just throw my basket over my arm and head off to the market where I find all the seasonal spoils. It probably sounds like a cliché but it's not. In Bordeaux we are utterly ruined with good markets - the best has to be Capucins where the fruit and veg are lined up like jewels, the choice is phenomenal and the sellers charm you into buying twice as much as you need.  I follow the market shopping with a long coffee outside on a terrace and watch the world go by then meander home and cook. It's bliss. Today the markets were full of new season's asparagus in every colour, shape and form. Proudly sporting my new basket, I went to my usual chap who just loves to test his English on me. After buying what seemed like a few kilos of aspara...

It's official - I am going to be reincarnated as something that doesn't  go through menopause! Just yesterday I received a knowing kind nod from a total stranger on the tramway when I pulled out my glasses to read a text -burning up in a hot flash,they completely fogged up as soon as I put them on. Note to self : must tell optician to devise temperature resistant lenses!   For me it's the hot flashes which are the killer. My whole body transforms from clear skinned to blotchy burning scarlet in a matter of seconds - human combustion can't be urban legend after all. You could fry an egg on my chest!  Clothes get peeled off at top speed only to be thrown back on again ten seconds later when the chills come on. My poor students have an air-conditioned classroom in the middle of winter - I'll be lecturing in a t-shirt (although would rather just be standing there in a muslin kaftan with no undies!!) whilst they are all shivering under their coats.  Honestl...

Last week I asked one of my marketing students which population target group I belong in. Having expected " Baby Boomer" or "Generation X,"  imagine this Desperate Housewife's inner goddess when he simply said, "  Old.  "  Trying to help him out of the hole he'd just power-dug himself I foolishly asked him to elaborate. The hole became an abyss. " You are a Senior Madam, " at which stage he started giving me retirement advice. Briefly touching my head, just making sure my hair hadn't morphed into a tight blue perm, I asked him to define " Senior ." He raised his eyes to heaven and replied, " 4O plus!  " Putting this into perspective, France is considered one of the better places to grow old. Pensions are high but the honey-jar risks being empty when my time comes around.  The legal retirement age in  France  now stands at 62 for people born between 1955 and 1973. However a full state pension is only aw...

After a 4 year break I had one of those hallelujah "in France" moments today that forced me back to my keyboard.... No longer a 40-something, I recently turned the page,rather reluctantly,to 50! Since I reached my half century,I have been reflecting largely on educative matters...hmmm would that have something to do with the myriads of teenagers dragging their designer-booted tooties through my corridors..? I don't know about you but I was always told " manners before God !" What is it about we anglo-saxons,whether harking from the South Pacific or floating somewhere off the French coast (jab!), that makes manners and being polite a true part of our culture. I would go so far as to state that manners are "indigenous" to us...needless to say, this is open to anthropological debate. So, the hallelujah moment...early this morning my trusty York,Harry, and I were out for our morning stroll. Spring is in the air, clear skies ( and that is rea...

As the Olympics draw to their end,  this DesperateAngloHousewife is wondering where her next wee buzz will be coming from.... I know I should be having a good old rant about sportsmanship, international cooperation and team spirit but instead I am going to be completely honest. ...All those bodies beautiful! Am I the only 40-something who has been blowing bubbles into her Chardonnay during the  men's diving?  Was I the only creature on the planet who was reaching for the smelling salts as the men swimmers came out announced and pranced across to their starting block whilst unzipping their sweatshirts to reveal not just the most heavenly of six packs but also shoulders to  weep over? Of course one can wax lyric over the grace of the pole vaulting, the panther speed of Mr Bolt, the incredible concentration of the archers, the tenacity of the walkers... Did anyone else notice the female athletes, their tone and all of that in their " undies?" I did have a ...