So... no baby yet. If it's not here by Wednesday they're going to get the jump leads out I think. Isobel was induced, too - she came out at a whopping 4.2kg.

Talking of Isobel, she's starting a dance class next week. Here in France nothing is simple, though. So when we signed her up for the year we didn't just hand over a cheque: we had to show her certificate of accident insurance (nobody likes insurance the way the French like insurance) and, best of all, a certificate from her doctor to say that she's fit to partake in the activity.

Once you realise that all this is aimed at keeping people in jobs, it's all completely understandable, though - and it's how France works.

There's a chain of electrical goods shops here called Darty, which is I think the same group as Comet in the UK. Shopping there is like shopping in the Soviet Union, only with plasma tellies instead of pairs of right-footed boots. You get an assistant (eventually) who explains the product to you, then when you've decided to buy he'll sit you down and give you a chit, which you take to the window in front of the stock room. There a bunch of disinterested men are sitting talking about some girl one of them would liek to think he copped a feel of last night. Eventually one of them will take your chit and look at it as if it were something he found on the bottom of his shoe, and shuffle off into the stockroom.

Whole geological ages will pass, and eventually the guy returns with something that's almost, but not quite what you wanted. You'll point out that the combination waffle-iron and hair straightener he's offering you isn't in fact the washing machine you ordered, he'll sigh and then you're back where you started. This may happen two or three times.

And then you're ready to pay.

So... what's been happening with me?

Well, I'm still in Paris, and still in the same job (which is a bit of a record for me). I've moved out to the 'burbs though and bought an apartment in a nice leafy suburb. It's good to be out of the city and away from the tramps, the trannies and the dogshit. We used to live in an area that was cosmopolitan to say the least - so it'll be good not to be woken up by people of some nationality or other celebrating their country's latest win in the football, the cricket or a small war every few nights, too.

My lovely daughter (who is seen below celebrating her third birthday) is now five and a half and just starting her thrid year at school. She's at an International school now which means she has three days a week in French and a day a week in English, which she loves. She was saying to me the other day that she wishes all her lessons were in English. It's a bit hard to explain to a five year old that they'll be very glad they can speak two languages one day. We did, however, have a bit more success telling her that she could learn another language when she's older. Thanks to Dora the Explorer, Spanish is the current favourite.

We've got another baby on the way, too. Imminiently, in fact. It's a little boy this time, and I'm currently never more than a metre away from my mobile phone in case he comes. Actually he'd better get the timing right: if he decides to arrive in the morning the traffic between our place and the hospital's so bad that I can imagine him being born in the underpass beneath La Défense on the back seat of a Ford Fiesta. Which isn't really the ideal start in life.

Crikey, it's been a long time. June 9th 2006 was the last time I posted here, so I thought I'd bring myself up to date a bit.

Wigan Express started as a blog about six years ago now, right when having a blog was quite a hip thing to do (I notice while I'm writing this that the word 'blog' isn't recognised by the Firefox British English spellchecker). But I gave up when blogging was the big thing. To be honest I don't think blogs can change the world, and I do think that people like the BBC slavishly making a point of linking to what some blogger is saying about the latest technology or whatever is cringeworthy - it's a bit like your Dad discussing the latest Slipknot album.

That's not to say that blogs don't have their place - it's great to read about what someone like Steve Jobs does all day (although the fact I have no idea whether Steve Jobs has a blog or not rather shows that I don't really think it's that great). But people who fancy themselves as journalists and think that blogs are the next big thing in journalism? Forget it. If you were a decent journalist you'd be writing for a decent journal and getting paid for it.

So what are blogs for? Well I don't know. But I can tell you what Wigan Express is for. It's for me to talk bollocks.