OK, I give in.

As from now, this corner of amateur journalism is officially no longer a FrogBlog. I no longer feel sufficient whimsy for my everyday life to wax lyrical about that sweeeeeeeet foie gras market stall holder, nor do I wish to get annoyed about about the rank-and-file antisocial bastards who are the plague of urban life in this otherwise fair country. In short, I'm just going to get on with posting my random thoughts about life in general, which was, after all, the main reason for starting this online diary in the first place. These ruminations may or may not include pictures of women with large breasts. Sorry to Keith and Sarah for their kind words, but unless my random, vaguely chauvinistic ramblings are not to your taste, then I'm afraid I'm not your cup of tea. After all, no-one was meant to read this blog, anyway.

I have to say that my view of everyday life in urban France is, in any case, pretty jaundiced. Though not suffering from any kind of victim complex I have to say that, in this case, I may have a point: we pay overtly good money for a flat in the best part of town, only to find out later that the surrounding properties are not insulated, meaning we basically live in a bass drum, played by our tone-deaf neighbours. After four years of hell on that front, the moment we get a considerate neighbour constellation, a collection of marginals move in to the flat across from us and proceed to impose their homeless values on the entire building, resulting in us calling the police to break up drunken fights in the stairwell etc. The stench which emanates from their place might render it impossible for us to sell ours, too, as any potential buyer visiting our flat might take exception to the Eau de Cigarette, Sueuer et Chien that will hit him/her in the face as soon as they open the front door. In the meantime, our children are getting older and are still deprived of green, as French town planners don't seem capable to providing enough parks and gardens for their populations. I can see why so many people choose to live outside big cities; the only advantage to living in them is that it makes it easier to pop down to the police station to lodge complaints about the antisocial, selfish bastards you're forced to cohabit with.

Went to see Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy this morning (yes, this morning; had to use up a ticket). Seeing as my father worked in MI6/Soviet Counterespionage, it was funny to see Colin Firth - someone I have been told on many occasions I resemble  -  unmasked as the mole. Maybe the family resemblance goes deeper than just looking like an actor I've never met.

Peace to you all. And especially if you choose to move in near us.