The Beast

In the UK I usually blip after dinner, while we're all watching a bit of wind down telly before the kids' bedtime. Here in France we have no telly, so my computer does the job. I generally don't want to watch as much telly as the rest of them, so it's the perfect time for family-friendly blipping.

Problem (kind of) solved. We've been meaning for a while to get a French mobile so today we bit the bullet and marched purposefully into the Orange shop. And waited. Then Conor had to go for a wee. Then a very rude French lady said she was first and I wasn't quick enough with any of Raheny Eye's handy pocket insult pack to push back in.

Finally a terribly helpful man sorted us out. I'm generally quite a capable person. I don't think of myself as one of life's damsels in distress, and I'm generally in charge of all the technology in the house, but somehow all the purchasing decisions need Mr B. This was made all the more absurd by the fact that our bank account here and the all important EdF bill are both in Mr B's name. So the phone had to be in Mr B's name. I tried to explain to our lovely helper that this all made me feel like a Victorian wife, but despite his polite laugh I think it may have lost a little in translation.

Our helper may have been very patient, but his "it's easy, just plug it into iTunes and it will all work" did not quite cover the saga of new iPhone ownership - including using all household tools imaginable to open the SIM tray and engaging in my first on-line tech chat in French to find my PIN number.

But, to cut a long story not very short, my iPhone is now set up, and here's a pic of my regular blip machine, with attractive dinner debris backdrop.

There's a whole other story today about registration at the decheterie (tip) but typing on the iPhone is driving this touch typist crazy, so I'll save that joy for another day.