My hometown:

Twenty years spent in this shithole.
No wonder I still listen to punk rock, now approaching my 36th birthday!
"No Future" was a reality down there...

2 Rue Fabert in Moyeuvre-Grande on a glorious sunny day.

This used to be Roland's lair...
... and my wife's family house. This is where I met Evelyne and we used to spend whole afternoons listening to punk records in her room on the first floor (house on the right, first floor left window overlooking the garden at the back).
However, the place was sold some five years ago after the passing of the grandmother who occupied the house on the left and used to run a sewing shop (orange canopy).
Now the "shop" is run by some kind of quack, a bad fortune teller who only sees a few customers a day, mainly old farts seeking some comfort into the hands of a younger slick man.
As regards the house on the right, well, if there comes a day when all the mosques have been blown up in Baghdad, this place will be the right substitute and is big enough to accommodate yet another score of worshippers...

Festina Lente.

This caption is dedicated to my father-in-law.
His name is Roland.

This is the last feature: Rome fountains.

And that's almost the end of the trip... Rome skyline.

Del Colosseo

Sunset over the old ruins.

Walking towards the old sight.

Planning next day's trip at restaurant L'Angoletto ai Musei.

This really was an excellent address near the Vatican, courtesy of Le Guide du Routard, the French equivalent of the Lonely Planet guide.
A purely Italian trattoria where the only language spoken apart from Italian was the language of the signs.
The only thing was, every time the door opened with the memorable bell ring -and it did four times within 10 minutes- you could bet the customers knew some French. That's what we can expect from such guides I guess.

After a whole day spent walking, this and a pint of lager (Italian!) came as bliss.

Winter sports in Rome.

Palazzo Farnese

One of the most beautiful palaces in Rome, designed by Michelangelo in the 16th century. It is also the French embassy, apparently the costliest to run abroad as France actually rents it from some private owner...

At a time when the French government cuts down on all expenses and starkly diminishes the number of its mainland civil servants, there are still those abroad who continue to live lavishly at the taxpayer's expense.

Having spent two years abroad, working for my country, I was also a regular guest of the local embassy and I remember many a reception when champagne was flowing while in the street the natives were starving.

The funniest, if I may say so, was the reception in honour of the Minister in charge of the Foreign Affairs who was touring the African capitals just to say crap. He started his speech in the gardens of the embassy under a canopy while all the attendants were in the sun. His speech lingered for ages, and, as it was about 44°C in the shade, all the listeners dressed in their Sunday's best, started to drop one by one. For me, the party ended when my housemate fainted in front of me and I had to take him to some cooler spot.

No champagne was had on that day...

Acronyms.