Rise up mes braves

If there's one thing I hate, more than anything, it's unnecessary rudeness and wasting my time. I had a big run in with my bank recently, because we are in the house of a friend and have no utility bill in our name, to get them to change our address. I eventually managed it with a signed affidavit from our previous mayor.


In anticipation of a similar problem with our local Prefecture, when trying to change the address on my carte grise (car log book - because the insurance company wouldn't issue a new certificate without it), I asked the mayor of the village we currently live in to do the same. He very kindly obliged.


Armed with all my bits of paper, I wasted money and a full morning, travelling to Nimes and back, in order to get the address changed.


The Prefecture is situated in an old part of town and it's difficult to park but I found a space. The next hurdle was going to be waiting in line but I couldn't believe how quickly I got served. That's where my jubilation and good luck ended.


The sour faced woman behind the desk threw the mayor's letter to one side and said 'that's not acceptable.' No explanation or help, just total disdain. No amount of discussion from me made the slightest difference.


On the way out, spitting blood and ready to seriously injure someone, I managed to calm myself sufficiently to ask someone what documentation would be acceptable. I was told that I needed a letter from the person who owns the house, a copy of his passport, proof that he owns the house and some form of confirmation that ties me to the address.


Despite spending a lot of time searching, there was no mention of this on the Prefecture website. What a bunch of wankers! All I wanted to do is change the bloody address for the car.


It appears that the individual in this country is not trusted by 'officialdom.' 'Officialdom' sets up such tight rules and regulations based on the assumption that everyone is trying to screw them. They trust no one. It would have been so much easier to not do anything and keep shtum. It just doesn't pay to be honest here. It's no wonder that the French like to revolt.


Rant over.

And now for something different

Yesterday was spent catching up and this morning I was up with the lark (or rather the owl as I passed one sitting on a fence) to pick up Bryan for a rendez vous in Montpellier.
As we drove back through Sommieres I called into Weldom. They had told me yesterday that the fireplace that I had ordered might arrive next week, when I had expected it to be in by now. Yesterday, we had arrived at the shop five minutes before lunchtime and all the staff were in their starting blocks. I didn't feel that they really cared about my request. They also told me that Bruno, who had originally taken my order, wasn't in that day. I was determined to check out what they had said. This time I found Bruno who confirmed that the fireplace had actually arrived and he arranged delivery. Hmnnnn.

Guillon Whisky

Did you know that they make whisky in France? We were in Intermarché this afternoon and there it was, a French made single malt from the 'mountains of Reims'. This 'Grand Cru du Whisky' (note the Scottish spelling), Guillon Whiskey, from 51150 Louvois, is 43% vol. I'm no whisky expert but it seemed ok.

Love hearts

Where are the 'windscreen boys' when you need them? They can usually be found mob handed working the cars at the traffic lights on the N106, at the first roundabout at the bottom of the hill, as you bypass Nîmes. This is the route that I took to Marseille yesterday. Anyway, my windshield (consideration here for our lovely American readers) was fly spattered so instead of getting into a fight and telling them to go away, today I was going to make my peace with them and get the glass cleaned. Where were they? Where's that love heart when you need it? Where are the pretty girls?

Note: the guy with the hose in the picture above should consider getting some Viagra

Photo source

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The 'drop off car' park just outside the MP2 airport terminal at Marseille has two areas. The first is depose minute, which to a French person means 'no camping allowed' and the other area, for really quick drop offs, is beautifully named 'Kiss and Fly'. Isn't that nice?

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You can tell it's the silly season for news because of articles like this. One of my favourite reasons given for having sex was, "to change the topic of conversation." What the hell were they talking about?

A wedding feast fit for a king

Before we left for France, Jan and I drank nothing but new world wines. We particularly liked to try different Chardonnays, so it was with pleasure that we started again during our recent trip to Brighton. Like most wines, some we liked and some we didn't but some were as good as a good Meursault, for a fraction of the price. French wine growers have dug themselves into a bit of a hole and it's not easy to see how they will get themselves out. I'm not sure that trying to empty the wine lake will do anything more than putting more French viticulturists onto a subsidy regime that they can never break from. It's all very sad but it amply demonstrates that in a changing world if you sit back and do nothing then it can really hurt you.

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Talking about sitting back and doing nothing, did you see the recent criticism of Sarkozy, in the French press, concerning the fact that he exercises in public (he jogs) and how undignified it was? According to the article that I read, he should behave with more decorum and more finesse. I suppose a little like Chirac who did nothing for the last ten years of his reign other than take the country down the tubes. That kind of finesse? Sounds to me, that if that is the only thing you can accuse the man of, then he must be doing a pretty good job.

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A few weeks back we were invited to a wedding in Cornwall and, as a joke, I suggested to the bride and groom that, to give the wedding that authentic Cornish touch, they should serve Ginsters pies because they are made in Cornwall. In the good old days, when I travelled a lot, I ate many such pies on petrol station forecourts all over the UK. This is how I developed a cast iron constitution and my gourmet tastes. Anyway, for a joke, Jan bought me a Ginsters Chicken Slice when we were in Brighton and served it for lunch today. A sort of gastronomic trip down memory lane. As I walked into lunch, I noticed that she was checking the sell by date and I had to point out to my beloved that the filling would get me well before any exposure to sell by date. She was not amused. But if you want a laugh, the lunch consisted of a very elegant vichyssoise soup, gently flavoured with lavender flowers from the garden. Dead posh and very tasty. This Epicurean delight was followed by my cold Ginsters Chicken Slice and salad. Who says we don't live well?

The good life

I know I keep banging on about how good the French health system is but here's a little bit of proof. First, let me tell you about Jan's recent experience. Her consultant was considering putting her on a powerful auto-immune suppressant. Given that this could potentially cause problems, if Jan had a serious undisclosed illness, he sent her for a whole series of tests to establish that she was well enough to take the drug. Common sense you might say but later, when Jan was discussing this on the phone with her GP daughter in England, she was told that this sensible, careful and cautious (and expensive) approach would not have happened in the UK.

In addition, I have just started to read about a lady's new life in France when I stumbled across this piece. Take a look at this. The same thorough and cautious approach to diagnosis and potential problems. Live in France, THE place to be ill!

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The pool hit 30C yesterday which feels kinda early for such a high temperature. Anyway, it still felt bloody cold to me!

French elections

If you would like to understand how the French election system works, let me tell you what I understand. First you vote for a president (Sarkozy won) who, when in power, is supposed to broadly reflect the political will of the people. That's why he chose from a range of different political parties for his ministers. Separately you vote for the députés (the members of parliament). This is the député stage. The first vote is this Sunday and the next round the following Sunday. If one of the candidates gets more than 50% of the vote then that's it, they're in, but in practice no one ever gets 50%, so the top two go into the second round. We live in the Fifth Circonscription du Gard. Our department of Gard is broken down into 5 areas, with each area voting for one député. If we were able to vote (we can only vote in our local elections, ie. for our mayor) we would have 16 candidates to chose from. Yes - 16. Talk about shades of politics. Amongst them you have the Nazi party, two shades of green, and and least three shades of far left. The motsky trotskies, the trotksy motskies and the ultra socialist, ultra trotsky, trotsky left wing trotsky party. No wonder it's difficult to chose! Anyway, they're predicting a landslide for Sarkozy, and all this might signal a big change in French politics for the foreseeable future. My best guess is that Sarko is going to be around for ten years (two terms). He'd have to screw up big time to lose the next election and at first glance he looks too clever for that.

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And there you were thinking that it couldn't get any worse than 'Fatal Attraction'. Take a look at this.

French medical charges

This not likely to be of any interest to someone outside France. But you never know?

Penny wrote:

"Hi Alex,

I know I normally only pop up when there's a beauty contest but we saw this article:

http://www.charentelibre.com/extranet_en/index.php?action=current&id_edition=97&pos=2

How does this compare with what's happening in the Languedoc?
Is it getting more difficult to find a doctor , dentist or optician who is operating (?) under Sector 1?"

I replied:

"I usually attend doctors with Jan because my French is a little better than hers, so I get to visit quite a few surgeries/consulting rooms. I wasn't fully aware of pricing differences between doctors but I was aware that they would often post details of their charges in their waiting rooms and that they often referred to 'standard' pricing. My knee jerk reaction to your question is that I suspect the doctors that we see price under Secteur 1. This is a relatively poor area and our specialist doctors seem to charge in the region of 30 - 40 euros depending on what they do during the visit. A 'hello goodbye' visit costs say 30 euros but the same doctor charged 45 euros when he had taken a skin sample for examination and stitched the wound. Fairly reasonable I would say. Having said all that I'll pay a bit more attention in future and let you know."

Penny replied:

"What brought it to our attention first was when we contacted our optician ('opthalmologiste') for an appointment and we were informed that she no longer adhered to the Convention Medicale de la Securite Sociale and that therefore we would have to pay 40 Euros for a consultation, whereas our 8 year old son who was not an existing patient would have to pay 50 Euros for an eye test (none of which was covered under the normal system, not even under the insurance complementaire). Basically she's gone private which apparently seems to be increasingly the trend."

57 Ways to hurt your lover

'A', 'T' and the children left this morning for the drive back to London, laden with local goodies. If you ever needed a knowledgeable recommendation about the price and quality of our local wines, then bearing in mind that this man's business supplies ingredients to most top London restaurants, he travelled back to England with a boot full of the stuff. They are a lovely family, great fun and love our dogs. We were very sorry to see them go.

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So, there you have it, it's now official. If you are going to throw baked beans at anyone make sure that they are in a take away tub and not in a tin. A tin would constitute a dangerous weapon and you would undoubtedly be prosecuted. Heinz, please note.

Baptism French style

On 3rd May, when we were back in England, we spent some time establishing details of my father's past life which I wrote about here. Having then discovered that I had a step-mother and that she was still alive, I wrote to her, and introduced myself. It was quite a difficult letter to write because I wasn't aware of how much of my father's history she knew and I didn't want to cause her any distress. Well, it must have been a good letter because, bless her, she rang today. She said that she was aware of my existence and that she had even seen a letter that I wrote to my father (even aged 5 I could read and write, and they say that the education system is getting better) and that she would dig it out for me. I'm not too sure why, but afterwards I found it all quite emotional. My long search was coming to an end.

Alison mentioned over dinner the other night that, of late, my ramblings have become a bit bitter and twisted. Look, sweetie, I can't help what I see, and, more to the point, how else am I going to change the world? So there you go, a bit of sentimental old rubbish above to keep you happy.

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William mentioned an interesting thing the other day. Did you know that you can have a secular, 'state baptism' here in France? It's not a baptism in the pouring water on the child's head and absolving it from original sin sense, but an affirmation by the parents that the child will basically uphold the laws of the state and be a good citizen. That's all well and good, but how do they know that?

A quick search found this interesting piece.

When 'libre' doesn't mean 'free'

I happened to mention last week that we'd probably seen the last of the rain for the year. Wrong, it poured with rain this morning. Not just your pathetic drizzle but the mother and father of all storms. The dogs, who are not normally too bothered about thunder, jumped out of their skins (along with me and Jan) at a thunder clap that literally shook the house. Powerful stuff. By mid afternoon the sun was out and things got back to normal-ish.
Our visitors, Mary and Bob, friends of Jan's from way back, headed out for a little sightseeing. Rather them than me!

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Our local paper is the Midi Libre. Anyway, Mary brought one back with her tonight. She had picked it up in Intermarché, er literally, because she she had seen them in a pile near a counter and noticed the word Libre. She thought that it was a 'free' paper. We expect the police to descend anytime!

Vote for me

Today France voted for its president. France gives its president real power, unlike many other states, where the prime minister is the key figure. Far from being a figurehead, the French leader chooses the prime minister, can dissolve parliament and can pardon convicted criminals. The president is also commander-in-chief of the armed forces, including a formidable nuclear arsenal. The sort of kick ass job that I would really like. Anyway, I popped down to the foyer to see how the system works. Every person, eligible to vote, has a personal voting card issued by the state, which they keep, and which they must show to the voting officials, in our case the village council members. This card is reconciled with an official state list and which entitles each voter to a small blue envelope. You vote by selecting a slip from one of the twelve piles of presidential hopefuls, put this name in the envelope and place your envelope in a perspex box. Your voting card is stamped, and you keep it as your personal voting record and then you sign the 'official list.' That's it. At 18.00 the slips were counted and the results were collected regionally and nationally. Because there are over 36,000 mayors in France (the counting process being broken into manageable pieces) the final result was known after 20.00. It appears to be a very efficient system. Because no candidate achieved 50% of the vote, the leading two have a 'vote off' in early May. What was particularly interesting was that 85% of voters turned out to vote.

This is not service as we know it Jim

I like Lidl. I have to admit to being a shopping snob. I visited Lidl once a few years ago and couldn't wait to get out. It was an absolute mess and didn't stock anything that I remotely recognised. Anyway, they remodeled our local one in Sommieres and we decided to give it another go. Well, I'm hooked. This is one cheap store and, based upon what we buy, the quality appears good. What's more they have this centre section where they sell a whole bunch of things that you never knew you needed. My best purchase today was a kite. The beach down at L'Espiguette (photo) is huge and cries out for kite fliers. We'll be down there soon!

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Now Jan is a gentle soul (not like you, you grumpy old sod - Ed.) but even she gets fed up with rude shoppers, cashiers or shop assistants. We're in Weldoms and some idiot, who has been queuing like the rest of us gets to the cash desk and then hails a passing 'expert' and the makes the queue wait until he has sorted out his problems. When Jan gets to the till, she is half way through paying when the cashier takes a phone call (without any acknowledgement) and then spends ages trying to connect two people. Service levels in this part of the world are terrible and it happens more and more. I'm going to start getting more vociferous. Watch the sparks fly (or you get thumped - Ed.).

You gotta kicka da ass

Bryan wrote yesterday asking who I'd be supporting today (England play Italy at rugby). He got the smart answer, I replied that I couldn't lose. The truth is, my heart wants Italy to win at least one game but my head said that it wouldn't be today. Still, like watching the English football team, you live in a forlorn hope!

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Max was in a right tizz this morning. I'm not sure why this morning, because Min has been on heat for several days, but he was yelping, very, very agitated and he repeatedly kept trying to mount her (takes me back to my youth). I suspect that at least 50% of the population have a good understanding of how he was feeling, don't you boys? Anyway, Minnie got a little distressed, kept rejecting him and kept plonking her rear end on the floor suggesting that she was not in the mood. I suspect that other 50% of the population understand what I'm talking about too, don't you girls?

It distressed me to see Max so agitated so it was off to the kennels with him. Boy, was he up for it. Fortunately his run had a wire netting roof on it because Max was leaping up the two metre fence with ease. It was quite spectacular. Even the kennel lady stood there open mouthed.

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After dropping Max we headed to Sommieres for a wee drink with Bryan and Gill but more importantly to get a present for this evening. Normally when we go out for dinner we would take a bottle or two of wine and maybe some chocolates. Not so here. It's not unusual for a guest to turn up with a huge floral arrangement or somesuch. On one occasion someone turned up with a lemon tree.

Please Max just give it a rest

In the normal course of events we had another two weeks before Minnie should revisit the vet for her second anti chaleur injection. Not so because she started again today so we had to whisk her off to the vet to start the process again. Now we are on full alert to make sure that Max doesn't get his leg over. Bum.

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We hadn't been to the market in Quissac for a long time so off we popped to check it out and get a coffee in the square. It was sunny and warm, the market was bustling and a coffee en plein air was just what us 'Frenchies' needed. There were hardly any tables occupied outside but the bar was full of smokers inside. Unusually, the door into the bar was closed because I presume the bar would have been guilty of allowing smoking in a public space had it been left open. Now this probably seems strange to you, but two females came and sat next to us and, listening to them, they were obviously English. I felt immediately pissed off. Here I was, being French, in my little backwater of France and my space suddenly gets invaded by the bloody English.

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Driving around here is not for the faint hearted because it is not unusual to see examples of downright stupid and dangerous driving. But now I've seen everything. We were driving towards Nimes on the main road and, whilst driving round a roundabout covered in foliage and trees, I had to slam my brakes on to avoid a lorry that was reversing around it. Presumably this idiot had decided to take a different exit.

Home very sweet home

After a good night's sleep, we left Tim, Sue and the children and headed for Luton. Security gave Jan a good going over (I've always said she looks dodgy) at the airport but apart from that the trip back was smooth and comfortable.

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The most notable thing about arriving in France was how quiet it was. Given that we had spent the last few days driving in the south east of England and in particular around the M25, the roads from the airport at Nimes to home were almost deserted. It felt good but very strange. After a few thousand miles, three different beds and a lot of restaurant food, it was good to be home with Max and Min.

Royaume-Uni de Grande-Bretagne et de la France

This news would have had Chirac choking on his cornflakes.

Yet another Christmas greeting

The Lloyds arrived this morning to get away from the gloomy weather in Lancashire and spend Christmas here in sunny Languedoc. Look, I'm not trying to make you feel bad because it's very, very cold here at night but at least we have sunny, cloudless skies during the day, and it should stay that way for most of winter. Oh OK, eat your heart out!

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This would be funny if it wasn't so true. And, whilst we're talking about the French, I thought that this was funny as well.

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Because I'm a very nice person here's a Christmas greeting for you http://www.jacquielawson.com/viewcard.asp?code=1105453359545
As usual make sure your speakers are turned on.

A Lidl bit better

When he had finished yesterday, I gave Michel a few bottles of wine as a Christmas thank you for all the work he has done for us this year. I stared at him a little blankly when he asked if we ate gibier. I nodded and smiled in my usual pathetic way when I don't fully understand something, so, not to be outdone, he rushed home and came back with a rabbit and a hare that he had recently shot. At least I now know what he meant by gibier, game. I'd mixed the word up with gesier, gizzard, and had visions of Jan trying to look pleased as he handed over some animal innards. Phew. Having said that I'm not sure if Jan has ever cooked rabbit and I know for sure she has never cooked hare. Could be interesting.
If you'd like a funny image, imagine Jan trying to stuff two long, frozen hard animals into an otherwise very full freezer. She did it, but she came back a little red in the face!

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As it's the last Saturday before Christmas, you'd expect the roads and shops to be very busy. Far from it. We went as far as Montpellier and found everywhere very quiet. I even popped into Lidl to get Jan a Christmas present and that was quiet as well. Lidl is amazing, it's an Aladdin's cave of things that you never knew you needed. The one near Sommieres has recently been remodeled and has several aisles of goodies. I bought Jan a screwdriver set for 7 euros, a flannelette nightie for 5 euros (I don't mind paying a little extra for good quality) and an extendable paintbrush for those awkward little places. They even have clothes for sale and from now on I'm going to be dressed by 'Man at Lidl.'

Whirlpool take note

I'm not sure about the rest of France, but around here, in some villages, you come across communal, open air wash houses. Basically it's a huge stone built 'bath' with running water and covered with a roof. The one above which I saw recently in Parignargues (30) was unusual in that it was full of water and ready for use.

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Michel turned up as agreed and started to cover the chenile. He thinks it very funny that I go to so much bother for the dogs. Most of the time the dogs are either in the house or in the garden but for the odd occasion that we have to keep them in the kennel I want to know that they are comfortable and safe. More to the point, when Jan gets pissed off with me, I'd like to think that I've got somewhere warm and dry to sleep.