<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" ?>
<feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xml:lang="en">
  <title>Myweekin.net</title>
  <link rel="alternate" href="http://www.myweekin.net/"></link>
  <id>http://www.myweekin.net/</id>
  <updated>2008-04-27T00:00:00Z</updated>
  <author>
    <name>Ali Wallace</name>
    <author_email>contact@myweekin.net</author_email>
  </author>
<entry>
  <title>French Provincial Kitchens</title>
  <link rel="alternate" href="http://paris.myweekin.net/blog/postcard-from-paris-4"></link>
  <updated>2008-04-27T00:00:00Z</updated>
  <author>
    <name>Ali Wallace</name>
  </author>
  <id>postcard-from-paris-4</id>
  <summary type="html">French provincial kitchens only exist outside France.  The average French kitchen is a modest, uncluttered, practical affair.</summary>
</entry>
<entry>
  <title>Postcard from Paris 3</title>
  <link rel="alternate" href="http://paris.myweekin.net/blog/postcard-from-paris-3"></link>
  <updated>2008-04-05T00:00:00Z</updated>
  <author>
    <name>Ali Wallace</name>
  </author>
  <id>postcard-from-paris-3</id>
  <summary type="html">April  may  well  be the cruelest month, but in Paris it can also be the grumpiest  month.  People generally feel if they can get through January and  February then for sure things will start to get better by mid-March or thereabouts.  
</summary>
</entry>
<entry>
  <title>Madame in the Loire</title>
  <link rel="alternate" href="http://paris.myweekin.net/blog/madame-in-the-loire"></link>
  <updated>2008-03-12T00:00:00Z</updated>
  <author>
    <name>Ali Wallace</name>
  </author>
  <id>madame-in-the-loire</id>
  <summary type="html">Just when you think winter is over and spring is about to begin a cold snap arrives out of nowhere throwing you off balance.  The shutters you folded back in great expectation now have to be shut.  The bikes you hauled out of storage and chained to garden</summary>
</entry>
<entry>
  <title>Postcard from Paris 2</title>
  <link rel="alternate" href="http://paris.myweekin.net/blog/blog-post-2"></link>
  <updated>2008-02-20T00:00:00Z</updated>
  <author>
    <name>Ali Wallace</name>
  </author>
  <id>blog-post-2</id>
  <summary type="html">From my apartment I can hear the bells of Saint-Eustache, the sixteenth century church where the future Louis X1V received first communion, Moliere was married and Madame de Pompadour, mistress of Louis XV and intermittent friend of Dr Who, was baptised J</summary>
</entry>
<entry>
  <title>Postcard from Paris 1</title>
  <link rel="alternate" href="http://paris.myweekin.net/blog/blog-post-1"></link>
  <updated>2008-02-02T00:00:00Z</updated>
  <author>
    <name>Ali Wallace</name>
  </author>
  <id>blog-post-1</id>
  <summary type="html">I don’t know why I have an alarm clock because the ancient radiators and hot water pipes in my building start gurgling and ticking away like a dinosaur’s digestive system from about 6AM onwards. </summary>
</entry>
</feed>