Sales Rep's Story

For a number of years I worked very happily as a sales rep in the retail motorcycle trade in and around the London area, it was great fun and ended when the recession of the early nineties blew in and blew out many jobs.

Whilst waiting for the stores manager in a dealers in NW London I was smoking the inevitable cigarette and drinking coffee. The sales assistant and I were chatting when a motorcycle courier breathlessly rushed in. "Got any bungee straps?" he asked the assistant.

"How long do you want it?" was the reply.

"Nah, wanna keep it mate!"

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Another dealers and yet more coffee and nicotine. Enter another courier minus jacket and helmet with very oily hands. "Got an adjustable spanner?"

"Yeh, metric or imperial?" came the response.

"Dunno, it's for a Honda."

"Right it's metric that you want then."

The assistant wandered off into the stores at the back of the shop, returning a minute or so later with the requested item and placed it on the counter. "There you are, that'll be £7.27, you want a bill I suppose?"

"Course I do" said the oily handed one.

Money and receipt changed hands, then the assistant said "By the way, it's your lucky day mate, that's the last metric one we had in stock!"

Exit one grateful courier leaving me in helpless giggles ...

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Sitting in my rep's car in the Marylebone Road one morning, the traffic was almost solid and barely moving. The lane to my offside was going slightly faster than the one I was in but I decided to stay in that lane.

IN my offside mirro I saw a rather battered Renault Fuego creeping past. One headlight was broken and the nearside headlight was broken. As it slid further past the nearside looked as though it had been made from corrugated iron sheeting, multi-coloured and rusty.

Once past me I saw that the rear bumper was missing and one rear light was broken. Then I noticed the sticker in the rear window, it read:

"IN GOD WE TRUST"

Right made my day that did!!!

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Finally, yet again in a traffic queue, this time in Great Portland Street I noticed a large luton van parked in the kerb. The back was very grimy underneath which was a closed roller shutter. Inscribed in the dirt on the shutter was the following: "Beware, Bulk Marmalade Delivery".

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Further Tales of an Old Bus Driver ...

One of my favourite routes as a driver was the 217 road out of Ponders End Garage that ran between Turnpike Lane Underground Station and Upshire, a 1960s housing development on the edge of Epping Forest and beyond Waltham Abbey. It was an enjoyable route because from a semi-rural setting it gradually became more urban the nearer Turnpike Lane became.

So there was my conductor and I sitting inside the bus at the outer end of the route waiting for our departure time, some ten minutes or so away. We were the only ones on board then my conductor had an idea which I agreed to. Jock, my crewmate and I swapped uniform jackets complete with appropriate PSV badges and I also donned his ticket machine, harness and cash bag then we sat down again and continued chatting inconsequentially.

Departure time - eight or nine individual passengers seated in the lower saloon where we were when I said "Jock, what's it like to drive one of these?"

"Easy" he said, "Why?"

"Don't suppose there's a chance that I could have a go? Nobody will know ..."

"We'll have to swap uniforms," Jock replied.

So that's what we did accompanied by odd looks from some of the passengers. A quick lesson from me how to use the ticket machine was followed by a reciprocal one about the controls in the driver's cab. I went round to the front of the bus and was helped into the cab and given a little more 'tuition'.

Ding, ding went the bell and of we went. At our destination we went into the staff canteen for a quick cuppa where Jock said that there was obvious concern by the passengers from some of remarks that he overheard. A few minutes later and we were away again on our happy way.

The following Friday morning at the garage and the garage manager wanted to us both, individually. My turn first, knocked on his office door and a gruff voice bellowed "Come." I entered, went to sit down and was promptly told "Driver, you do not sit down unless asked and even more so when you are in trouble."

My best air of injured innocence was adopted and said "Trouble guv? Me?"

Several sheets of paper were picked up from the manager's desk and quickly shuffled through, it appeared that there had been several public complaints about our little stunt, can't imagine why even now. My version of events was sought and given, after all it could not be denied. The guv's face was becoming redder, his breathing a little harder and his humour was certainly not improving when he leapt from his chair and shouted that he had never in all of his LT career heard of such a thing.

At this outburst I became just a tad worried wondering what the penalty might be for this prank. Ernie, for that was the governor's name, just as suddenly sat down again behind his desk. Clasping his hands he stared quite long and hard at me, then his expression relaxed a little. Drawing a deep breath he suddenly broke out into a great gale of laughter which took me by complete surprise as you may imagine.

"Driver," he said after regaining a little dignity, "Consider yourself well and truly bollocked. My report will say that you have received a verbal reprimand. Now get out of my office!"

Having muttered thanks I did as bid and retreated hastily, once outside I drew a great breath of relief.

Jock had a very similar interview with Ernie and the same outcome thankfully. We both retreated to the security of the staff canteen and our workmates for breakfast as well as a cuppa or two.

Just another eventful epîsode in the life of a London bus driver. Happy days ...

Franglais

Miles Kington I hear you say and his wonderful series of Franglais books published in the 1980s. Not so in this case! For just over a year now I have been organising a French/English conversation group in a local village and we began our new year a couple of weeks ago.

The basic idea is obviously gaining practice in speaking and understanding our mutual languages in a friendly atmosphere. Allied with the former skills the group also improves accent, pronunciation, written and grammar skills and above all gaining confidence in the use of another language. Given regular attendees a superb rapport has grown and now the evenings are as much a social event as a learning one.

The ideal evening is a more or less equal number of both French and English folk seated two by two at tables, that is generally the norm. That is the usual Plan 'A'. Last night some minutes after the due start time I was faced with somewhat of a problem in that there were twelve eager English people and just three French. It will be appreciated that this is somewhat of an imbalance in numbers to the optimum.

Plan 'B' was put into motion - wait a couple of minutes more to see if more Français arrive ...


Hmmm, after said couple of minutes the situation had not improved.

Time for Plan 'C' as matters had degenerated further with the arrival of two more UK expats. Thus a start was made in trying to arrange suitable groupings of four which meant there was a ratio at each table of 3:1 in favour of the expats.

Quick scratch of the head, think on feet, can't let the evening go further downhill. The assembled an eager throng were asked if anyone had any surplus French bods about their persons but sadly was met with a negative response.

Emergency Plan 'Z' was ultimately deployed. Several Anglais, whose French skills are reasonable, were signed up as honorary Français for the duration. Thus the session commenced.

There was a certain confusion at some stages of the evening due to minor unforeseen language difficulties from the honorary number, however the volume of chatter and giggling during the evening seemed to indicate that everyone had enjoyed themselves despite the initial problems. Let's hope that our absent friends find their way back next week to this local seat of learning ...

Having returned home and had a medicinal Armagnac or two I mentally picked through the wreckage of what seemed at the time like a minor train crash. Evidently most if not all had enjoyed the evening, had learnt various facets of each others language and departed happily.

Anyway have any spare French folk stashed away surplus to requirements?

At last ...

... another exciting episode! Lack of content was due to having relatives from UK stay for a few days and very agreeable it was too. Good company and conversation as well as several excellent meals out.

At last, also, it seems that use of a workshop at home is becoming a strong possibility, something that I have missed very badly since we moved here from the UK over five years ago. Back then many happy and some frustrating hours were spent building scale working models of boats, particularly Thames Sailing Barges in half inch to the foot scale - the end product being some forty to forty five inches in length.

There is a local equivalent of the Thames barge in our area known as a gabarre with a single square set sail which were used for taking wine from the region down the rivers Dordogne or Garonne to Bordeaux for shipping mainly to England but other countries as well. Today the surviving few gabarres are used to provide visitors with trips on the rivers with a guide pointing out items of interest as well as offering an excellent lunch during the trip.

A gabarre may well emerge from the workshop at some future date to be taken to our local lake for its maiden voyage. Fortunately there are a good number of plans to work from available on the Web as well as excellent photographs to add realistic detail. Should keep me out of mischief for a while ...

However I am in advance of myself, because firstly a workbench is more than necessary. Fortuitously Lidl have an offer tomorrow of two steel foldng trestles for less than twenty pounds which will make excelent supports for a kitchen worktop currently on special offer at a local DIY shed. No, at the offer price I don't give a damn what colour it is!

So back to making woodshavings and sawdust in the near future and losing all sense of time in a renewed hobby ...

"Oi! Yer dinner's ready"
"Yes dear"

Two and a bit hours later ...

Further Tales of an Old Bus Driver

Just picture, if you will, Camden High Road in North West London on a dreary, grey, damp autumn day at around mid-day. Heading towards Waltham Cross from Warren Street, near the Post Office Tower, the driver began slowing to stop at a temporary bus stop. Temporary that is because the normal stop was out of use due to deep sewer works alongside the pavement and was situated some thirty yards beyond the normal one, just outside Marks & Spencer.

So, the bus wasedtraveling at about 15mph and just passing the out of use stop the driver checks the nearside mirror only to see a figure leap from the rear platform. Nothing unusual in that because passengers like the older type buses with a conductor and open platform because they can hop on and off at will, albeit a somewhat dangerous practice. Presumably the escapee thought that the bus was not going to stop and took what he probably considered appropriate action. Unfortunately there was an intervening trench some two feet in width and about six feet deep between the bus and the pavement delineated by the usual assortment of bollards, cones and rails and the hapless chap disappeared from view in a downwards direction in the mirror.

A few seconds later the bus halted at the temporary stop with the driver just a little concerned if not annoyed because due to that idiot's actions it would mean filling in an accident form back at the garage. Said driver descended from the cab, walked to the rear of the bus finding the conductor in a state of helpless laughter with tears rolling down his face. Turning to the muddy trench with some six inches of water in the bottom he saw this bedraggled, muddy figure endeavouring to climb from the hole, he was almost unrecognisable as a well dressed, middle class gent, because that is what he turned out to be.

By this time a small crowd had gathered, amidst laughter there was the inevitable gratuitous advice, none of which seemed to be appreciated by the hapless ex-passenger. Suddenly, like the Red Sea parting a gap appeared in the crowd and an authoritarian voice enquired as to what the denizen of the trench was doing and was he alright. The reply from the depths was neither polite nor complimentary making some of the female onlookers just a little embarrassed. The voice said that he would return in a few seconds, true to his word the policeman came back bearing a short ladder which lowered to the side of the trench. The victim of his own misfortune climbed the ladder and gained the relative safety of the pavement, refusing to give any details to either the constable or conductor. He was last seen heading somewhat unsteadily and with a slight squelch towards Chalk Farm Road.

The final insult that poor chap suffered was, having been asked by the conductor to wait until the bus stopped and choosing to ignore well meant advice, was for the guardian of the platform to suggest that this may have been the last occasion on which he might tell a conductor to "fork off"!

Might there be a further tale soon?

Tales of a an old London Bus Driver

Way back, well in the late 60s anyway, I achieved one of my childhood dreams and became a real London bus driver. Oh what dizzy heights of attainment!

This is not going to be a diary of events and boring trivia but hopefully setting out some of my exploits, believe me there was quite a lot of fun to be had ...

Picture a warm, Sunday spring afternoon on the outskirts of London, well Stanmore really. Perched atop quite a long hill outside Stanmore lies the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in an almost countrylike setting served by just one bus route from a connection Edgware Underground station.

Perhaps a little insight into the way things worked, or not, at Ponders End Garage where I was working at the time may help. Inevitably from the garage fleet some buses were in better condition than others having benefited from fairly recent complete overhauls, whilst others were wheezing and rattling their way to being refurbished. Those that were almost due for overhaul were scheduled on 'short working', i.e. routes that ran past the garage every thirty minutes or so which meant that in the event of a breakdown the mechanics did not have too far to travel.

With a 56 passengers and 5 standing picked up in Edgware we were heading towards the hospital atop Brockley Hill. Already there were doubts that this particular was in the best of health having struggled up the other side of the hill towards Edgware, it was only too evident that a 'short working' vehicle had been wrongly allocated that day. Brockley Hill is about a mile long, starting gently, steepening towards the top and about a third of the way up first gear was already being used creeping upwards at little more than walking pace. Just over halfway up and the poor old thing could go no further and just ground to a halt. The conductor agreed that he would ask those that were able to finish their journey to the hospital on foot. Whilst waiting for the start bell most foot passengers began passing the front of the bus carrying seat cushions! Ding, ding. The ailing bus moved off slowly not able to get out of first gear and struggled and wheezed its way to the bus lay-by outside the hospital gates, finally arriving in clouds of steam from the engine.

Meanwhile passengers were breathlessly arriving, having walked about half a mile, some carrying seats with them. While the conductor was replacing the seats onto the bus water was needed for the radiator. After prolonged searching a watering can and convenient tap was found to assuage the poor beasts thirst. Enquiries to the conductor revealed that he asked passengers to walk to the top of the hill and that would those capable of carrying seat cushions to please do so. The explanation offered for this tactic was to make the vehicle even lighter and thus ease the way to the summit!

Fast forward from Sunday to the next Friday at the garage. Friday was always a day busy at any London Transport bus garage because it was pay day. It was also the day that the garage union rep was available, the social club organising raffles etc and for defaulters to be interviewed by the garage manager. Following a pay packet instruction I ventured into the governor's office to be told that public complaints had been lodged by sundry passengers from the previous Sunday and several accounts narrated by him. Having agreed that was probably a true account of events it just remained for a signature to be made in the staff record that a verbal warning had been received.

Possibly more to follow ...

The News Media and Non-News

It seems to me that increasingly of late the majority of news media, be they radio, television or newspapers are not reporting news. Much of the 'news' content is now speculation concerning things that may happen rather than actually reporting events that have actually taken place.

Just consider the following: in recent days media providers have been commenting on the cuts that may be made by HM government in order to assuage the current national financial deficit. To date no details of cuts have been announced (bar one 'accidentally' leaked several days ago) and none will be made public until the statement by the Chancellor of the Exchequer in the next few weeks. From this, therefore, it is obvious that whatever is reported as to where cuts will be made is purely specualtion and that in itself is not news.

One UK Chief Constable is widely reported with his belief that there could cuts enforced upon the police service in the region of 25% overall. He speculates that there could be an increase in crime, there could be a breakdown of civil order, that Britain could turn into a dark, dangerous place.

An influential trade union leader has said that as a result of cuts there cold be civil disobedience, large scale strikes and a descent into chaos. Others are pursuing a similar theme, none of which is fact, just supposition, speculation, scare-mongering and just not actual news.

This manner of presenting so called news could have a somewhat negative effect on the general population at large in that compounds existing concerns and fears as to both the immediate and long term future for individuals, families, business, the economy and the country's international position. Possibly the only certainty is that a negative effect is created.

News reporting by itself is naturally to some degree is bad news encompassing travel disasters, economic gloom, unemployment, assorted ongoing conflicts and politics. Seldom is good news actually newsworthy except in a few instances. Even just reading, watching or listening to the news could be depressing and might lead to even deeper personal and national despair. Unfortunately this could lead to a downward reiterative cycle which might become an actual self-fulfilling prophecy.

Let's have an end to all this 'might be', 'could do', and 'possibly will' culture, it could be depressing and might be very damaging. Let's have real news returned to the media as a whole which could possibly engender some positive feelings for a change.

Franglais

Not the sort espoused by Miles Kington some years ago but something almost quintessentially French yet English!

About two years ago my wife and I were invited to join a local French/English conversation group to help improve our French language skills. This little gathering has inevitably known as 'La Groupe Franglais' in the village. The idea is that a roughly evenly mixed number of French and English like minded souls get together once a week for a sort of gently guided natter. Perhaps I should say British rather than English as there are now several folk from other parts of the UK sub-continent with us.

We went along somewhat apprehensively for the first time only knowing just a few of the group members. Unsurprisingly we were made to feel very welcome by everyone and slowly began to relax. The usual format is for pairs of either nation to sit at tables and discuss a given topic for about forty minutes or so, twenty minutes in one language then the next twenty minutes in the other. Generally the discussion is about non-serious and non-contentious things, for example what and where your next summer holiday will be or plans for the Christmas festivities.

Even such simple matters often reveal quite a difference in our two cultures and lifestyles which often ccan be quite surprising. One French lady, mid thirties, mum of two told that a favourite day out was to go shopping with a friend to either Villeneuve-sur-Lot or Bergerac; the nearest towns with any semblance of shopping facilities. They shop in the morning, have a leisurely lunch at a restaurant followed by a visit to a hypermarket and thence home. Nothing unusual in that you may think until she revealed that until a couple of years previously she, husband and offspring had holidayed in Turkey that was the farthest away from home that she had ever been! We have since discovered that is not uncommon amongst many local people.

There are many other differences to be found in so many aspects of everyday life. French people are very family oriented with often large, local extended families and love to share times together as well as obviously helping each other. The French lunchtime of at least two hours, or preferably three, is sacrosanct, nothing can, must or will disturb that daily ritual. The main meal of the day is invariably taken then rather than in the evening and all of the family will be there if at all possible. Shops and businesses close, our local village is deserted during that time. If ever France was to be invaded, heaven forfend, it could be achieved quickly, quietly and almost certainly bloodlessly during the daily lunch break!

Bedtime for most folk apart from the the energetic young is usually around 10 pm but getting up in the morning usually about 6 am. Essential shopping is done daily rather than a huge trip every other week to the out of town shopping centre. Bars serve alcohol whenever they are open and it is not rare to see someone enjoying a small pastis mid-morning. What is rare, however, is to see a drunken French person. Since we have lived here, now almost six years, we have never seen an inebriated French person. Drunks yes, but never French!

One year ago I was asked if I would take over organising the group as the then guvnor was due for major surgery shortly and would be incapacitated for several months. One deciding factor was that the group was no longer a disparate collection of folk but had turned in that last year into a truly cohesive social one, everyone knew everyone else well and were friends apart from all else. Somewhat reluctantly I agreed and have not looked back since - I just love what I do and what I am able to get people to do for themselves. Naively at the first session last year I asked what expectations might be and almost unanimously said that homework would advantageous! Oh dear, thought I. The last part of my working life was as a lecturer, the one thing I hated most was marking work. But before the evening was over I was very happy to have found an obvious solution, why not get them to mark and correct each others work? What's more the system works very well!

Well, back to our little group in a few days time and I'm really looking forward to it.

More about dormice

Several weeks ago I posted a few lines about edible dormice (genus glis glis) and how although legally protected they are an absolute nuisance should one decide to take up residence with you. This is, briefly, translated from our local newspaper:


MAN KILLED BY DORMOUSE

Late yesterday afternoon a resident Dutchman, aged 53, was found dead by his wife at their home in Lot-et Garonne. They had been troubled by a dormouse that had decided to live in their roof space and decided that it must go as it was keeping them awake at night. The deceased had tried for several days and by various means to persuade the unwanted house guest to leave without success. Yesterday afternoon he began searching again for the creature, eventually trapping it an unused bedroom where he kept a shotgun. He presumably did not want to shoot the creature, after all they are not very large and also at close range a shotgun can cause much damage.

His choice of action was, not unreasonably, to bludgeon said dormouse with the butt of the shotgun. Unfortunately as he did so the shock of hitting the dormouse and the floor triggered the shotgun to off with the discharge wounding him in the stomach, from which he shortly died. The dormouse was also found to be deceased. The gendarmerie are treating this incident as a case of accidental death.

Crap on the Telly

No, no, no, that is not an instruction, command or request, thank you! Rather it is a comment as it seems to me that there are increasingly more and more so called 'reality' programmes on all channels in recent months, the autumn schedules have brought even more. I have not the slightest desire to watch dysfunctional idiots of whatever age, gender, sexual proclivity, creed, colour, physical or mental disability disporting themselves in my sitting room via the medium of television and so called entertainment. These attention seeking displays are vulgar, often coarse and not remotely for anyone to aspire to but many others do so. Why? I'm not going to give the moral and intellectual idiots of these shows any further publicity although unfortunately they are seen as role models by many and something which to aspire - 'I've bin on tele' or 'Yeah, I'm a sleb'.

Enough, enough. There is a bright side to this increasingly overflowing sewer of mainstream so called programming, it frees up evenings for other things instead that are far more enjoyable as well as rekindling the art of conversation and sociability with ones fellow men (and women!). Last night, for example, we went out for dinner with friends, nothing special, just a local restaurant that is inexpensive, the food good, the atmosphere comfortable and the staff friendly. By about 2230 hrs we said farewell to the owner and hus wife then we all returned to our place for coffee and a further natter, what could be better and more enjoyable?

The previous evening Jane and I turned the box off after the early evening news as there was nothing in the schedules that seemed remotely watchable, let alone entertaining or amusing and played Scrabble for the evening. "Oh my God" I hear some say, "how utterly boring". Well, horses for courses, whatever floats your boat, chaque un à son gout (as we're in France) and similar expressions come to mind of course but that was our choice for the evening. Not just 'ordinary' Scrabble either - no, not 'Strip Scrabble' nor the 'bonus points for rude words' variety either but Super Scrabble, two hundred tiles instead of one hundred in the standard game as well as other new features all making for one round that can last well over an hour. Naturally we must consider the local folk so we had a few glasses of an cheeky little Bergerac white to help the thought processes along nicely.

Tomorrow we are off to play Canasta with friends for the evening as well as supporting the local viniculture economy again!

So life goes on here, very pleasantly and leisurely without the need nor desire to have the intruder in the corner of our sitting room raising blood pressure and engendering acute 'Grumpy Old Men' attacks.

Try it for youselves sometime, you never know you might even get to enjoy it ...

Things ...

Normal service with the Blogroll has resumed, well what passes for normal anyway!

We returned our latest visitors, happy, safe and sound, to Bordeaux airport yesterday afternoon. It was great fun having them stay but then it always is with friends and family whether just for a few days or longer. At least, as it was a Sunday, the roads were virtually empty and it was a real treat to be able to drive in such conditions. An added bonus of Sunday travel is that HGVs are not permitted on the roads unless carrying perishable goods or livestock - great idea that.

A further bonus was that unlike our trip home from the airport a few days previously I did not miss the turn for the ring road thus obviating the dubious pleasure of driving west to east through Bordeaux. It is a beautiful old city and well worth a visit or two if well organised beforehand as there is a superb tram system there and parking near the tram stops is very cheap. Conversely an ad hoc excursion is not recommended especially on weekdays due to the incredible amount of traffic in the city which is not helped by the planning of the roads and streets there. Modern Bordeaux owes much of its present layout to Napoleon who decreed that the city, like Paris, should be designed on a grid system, i.e. roads running on north/south and east/west axes. He also decreed that there should where possible be wide, straight avenues not for the obvious aesthetic beauty but to enable forces of law and order to have swift and easy access should any further civil problems arise, especially bearing in mind that this period was only a few years after the French Revolution.

A major disadvantage of the grid system of planning in this instance is that at virtually every junction there are traffic lights. Unfortunately virtually every set was against me crossing Bordeaux and I did not so much drive as pedal my way across the city.

Moral of this tale? Remember to use the SatNav ere it is too late ...

Apologies ...

... to the thousands of you who have a look at the current sheets on my blogroll as there will probably be no additions until next week due to an influx of house guests for the next few days. Not complaining at all, always good fun to have visitors, apart from anything else it prevents me from adding further drivel!

Y'all have fun now, d'ya hear?

Visitors

One of the many good things about living here is having friends and family visit us, something we always look forward to very much. In previous years by this time we have had around five or six groups stay with us but this year so far none! Having said that we pick up two close friends from Bordeaux airport tomorrow, that will be great!

We don't think that we could have upset that many people so that they are avoiding us, we use deodorants, shower, are fairly civilised and housetrained! Has to be the recession, credit crunch, temporary economic blip, call it what you will. Several friends are on enforced short time working, others less fortunate have lost their jobs, many are fearful of the near future in economic terms and job security so cloth is being cut according to means which is both sensible and understandable.

Despite the official forecasts (propaganda?) that all is well and on the gentle slope to recovery there seems to be an underswell of distrust or disbelief as to the distant pot of gold at the end of the economic rainbow. Given my cycnicism of such things and the prophets of such things I believe them, well sorry, no I do not. There is no such thing as a simple solution to the current shambles which was aided and abetted by 'Prudence' as well as many others. There is a prolonged and painful road ahead and the journey may be unfortunately more unpleasant for some than others.

Out here the economic slump did not seem as bad as in the UK, thankfully. Many UK expats have been hit hard by the Euro/Sterling exchange rate over the past two years especially those with income/pensions in sterling. The rate is slowly improving at last but has quite a way to go until it returns to the level of five years ago.

Enough of the doom and gloom bit, we are still happier and more content than back there and have more friends too as well as a much healthier and gentler way of life. That is something that our visitors seem to appreciate too, even if their stay may only be for just a few days. We enjoy their company too of course because what is nicer than to be surrounded by family and friends? Tomorrow is hopefully the start of their coming back again, that would be superb!

Entartainment in the village

Wandered up to Villeréal this morning for some bread as you do in France. Wondered why there seemed to be few parking places even for this time of year, lots of people heading towards La Place du Libération where the church is. Aha, I thought, wedding, special service, funeral? No, none of these quite a crowd had gathered in the square and all looking towards the bell tower of the church. All that could be seen was a taught wire from the balcony of a house some hundred metres away.

There was quite a buzz and air of expectation and some excitement too amongst the children present. Suddenly there was a loud and long drumroll, the throng hushed and looked towards the balcony as an amplified voice addressed the crowd announcing Casse Cou Charles (Breakneck Charles) and asking for silence. Charles then began to walk along and upwards on the wire towards the church bell tower, slowly, cautiously and without the help a balancing pole. The wire started at about five metres above the pavement and the other end was some thirty metres above the ground.

Charles was proceeding gently and unsurprisingly the crowd gasped when he appeared to loose his footing but he soon recovered and was soon happily on his way again. Some tense mintes later he was approaching the bell tower when his scantily clad assistant appeared there and urged him on, the crowd were still watching with bated breath. Suddenly he ran the last couple of metres and gained the safety of the ledge on the tower much to the delight, relief and approbation of the crowd. Having taken the applause he then climbed onto a rope suspended out from the church by a gantry and proceeded to slide earthwards pausing on route cling by one hand or invert himself in a star shape and other acrobatic feats. Finally he gained the ground and was applauded long and loudly with shouts of 'Bravo, bravo!'

We thought that this was the finish of his show but not so. He disappeared into a house and reappeared on the balcony brandishing a bicycle. Well I say a bicycle but somewhat incomplete, it was not fit for road use as there were no tyres on the rims! After a number of extravagent flourishes to get the crowd going again he set the bicycle onto the wire, grabbed a balance pole, mounted the machine and laboriously began pedaling his way up the rising wire towards the tower. There were several obligatory wobbles en route as well pauses to demonstrate his agility and balancing skills. His piece de resistance halfway was to stop and slowly, very slowly stood on the pedals and proceeded to perform a 360° turn whilst still on the bicycle - result? More applause of course!

Finally he was welcomed at the top onto the arms of his delightful assistant accompanied by further applause. We were wondering just how he might absail down the side of the church complete with bicycle, no easy task perhaps. Not at all, he replaced the bicycle onto the wire, mounted with his pole and began to ride downhill; Now I've seen bike wire acts before and without exception the return trip has been made backwards but this was the exception. Having had some mandatory wobbles and stops to show some more balancing feats he eventually regained the safety of the balcony amid an absolute thunder of applause.

That was it, entertainment over. The next obvious thing to do was retreat to our favourite café in the other village square under cool stone colonnades and enjoy an fresh strong espresso. A nice way to end a short trip to the village ...

Not writing much today. Our dear little cat Socks had to be put down this morning, she had a non-operable tumour behind her left eye, life has not been good for her recently and she was gradually deteriorating. She has been part of our lives for fourteen years and came with us from England when we moved.

We brought our other cat Smudge with us as well, she suddenly and sadly disappeared last October.

Socks, go find Smudge, she'll look after you.

RIP

Next week

Next week is the end of the French holiday season, for the French and largely the Dutch that is. There will still be a number of UK holidaymakers visiting this bit of France but they generally will be the more mature folk with no accompanying kids. It will be nice to return to a more peaceful and less busy environment overall. Car parks will not be so exciting as during peak periods they resemble oversized dodgem rides at the fair, it will be easier to get a table at a favourite restaurant without having to book a week ahead. The supermarket checkout queues will have shrunk too.

I've been quietly observing the behaviour of several nationalities over the summer, mainly French, Dutch and English. Other people visit here in summer, Belgian and German, but in very small numbers.

Take lunchtimes for example. The French are renowned for lunch breaks of two to three hours daily, even at weekends. Usually they will return home for lunch with the family and in many homes that is the principal meal of the day. Those en vacances will retreat to a restaurant for the duration. The Dutch usually are self-sufficient with ample supplies of victuals for either a picnic or a meal at their holiday place, often a tent. Oddly lunch is taken by them around 3.30pm and can mast a prodigiously long time due to the vast quantity of food consumed. The English seem to ignore set times for lunch, some wander around eating and drinking on the hoof, others will arrive at an eatery some time well after one o'clock and wonder why there are either no tables empty or are surprised that lunch service has virtually finished.

Children. Most French kids are well behaved when in public whether in a café/bar or restaurant; the beach, shops, wherever. In fact they can go almost unnoticed but are not ignored by family joining politely in conversation. The Dutch seldom eat out and when they do it is a sight to behold as the fork forms an almost continuous coneyor belt like motion from plate to mouth shifting what we consider large amounts of food n a short time. Their children are generally noisy, many local people find their behaviour intrusive an disrespectful. English offsprung generally lack table manners and constantly endeavour to interrupt conversation with demands for all manner of things.

Queues in shops - the French like to take their time and chat with the checkout operator and any friends that happen to be nearby. The dutch shop en famille with the almost obligatory three children, at least one wearing an orange garment. Mum stands at the checkout with two or three items in a trolley so you join what seems to be a quick queue. Not so, the rest of the family will raiding different shelves in the shop and shouting from one end to the other about prospective purchases. The English, especially those who are unfamiliar with French products, meander around, leave trollies unattended in the middle of aisles, and gather around in a group ti discuss the item or shelf in question.

Having said all of this it is but a sweeping generalisation and probably not representative of the true situation. It is a bit like people and noisy cars or motorbikes, only the loud ones are noticed, probably one in ten, the remaining 'normal' vehicles passing unnoticed!

Yes holiday time here may occasionally be a little frustrating but that is only for less than two months a year. The remaining ten months are ours to enjoy in what is truly a wonderful place that we are more than fortunate to have found and to live there!

The 'Stella' Awards

No, not as in 'Artois' but Stella Liebeck. Never heard of her? Read on ...



The 'Stella' Awards


The Stellas are named after 81 year-old Stella Liebeck who spilled coffee on herself and successfully sued McDonald's. That case inspired the Stella awards for the most frivolous, ridiculous, successful lawsuits in the United States.

Here are the 2009 winners:

5th Place (tie): Kathleen Robertson of Austin, Texas, was awarded $780,000 by a jury of her peers after breaking her ankle tripping over a toddler who was running inside a furniture store. The owners of the store were understandably surprised at the verdict, considering the misbehaving little toddler was Ms. Robertson's son.

5th Place (tie): 19-year-old Carl Truman of Los Angeles won $74,000 and medical expenses when his neighbour ran over his hand with a Honda Accord. Mr. Truman apparently didn't notice there was someone at the wheel of the car when he was trying to steal his neighbour's hubcaps.

5th Place (tie): Terrence Dickson of Bristol, Pennsylvania, was leaving a house he had just finished robbing by way of the garage. He was not able to get the garage door to go up since the automatic door opener was malfunctioning. He couldn't re-enter the house because the door connecting the house and garage locked when he pulled it shut. The family was on vacation, and Mr. Dickson found himself locked in the garage for eight days. He subsisted on a case of Pepsi he found, and a large bag of dry dog food. He sued the homeowner's insurance claiming the situation caused him undue mental anguish. The jury agreed to the tune of $500,000.

4th Place: Jerry Williams of Little Rock, Arkansas, was awarded $14,500 and medical expenses after being bitten on the buttocks by his next door neighbour's beagle. The beagle was on a chain in its owner's fenced yard. The award was less than sought because the jury felt the dog might have been just a little provoked at the time by Mr. Williams who had climbed over the fence into the yard and was shooting it repeatedly with a pellet gun.

3rd Place: A Philadelphia restaurant was ordered to pay Amber Carson of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, $113,500 after she slipped on a soft drink and broke her coccyx (tailbone). The beverage was on the floor because Ms. Carson had thrown it at her boyfriend 30 seconds earlier during an argument.

2nd Place: Kara Walton of Claymont, Delaware, successfully sued the owner of a night club in a neighbouring city when she fell from the bathroom window to the floor and knocked out her two front teeth. This occurred while Ms.Walton was trying to sneak through the window in the ladies room to avoid paying the $3.50 cover charge. She was awarded $12,000 and dental expenses.

1st Place: This year's run away winner was Mrs. Merv Grazinski of Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Mrs Grazinski purchased a brand new 32-foot Winnebago motor home. On her first trip home, (from an OU football game), having driven onto the freeway, she set the cruise control at 70 mph and calmly left the drivers seat to go into the back and make herself a sandwich. Not surprisingly, the RV left the freeway, crashed and overturned. Mrs.Grazinski sued Winnebago for not advising her in the owner's manual that she couldn't actually do this. The jury awarded her $1,750,000 plus a new motor home. The company actually changed their manuals on the basis of this suit, just in case there were any other complete morons around.

Spirt and Things Spooky cont ...

Some years ago a friend suggested that I visit a medium who was a good friend of hers.  Initially I was sceptical but after due thought I agreed.   This medium, a lady in her late thirties whom I had never met previously, seemed just like anyone else when we met at her home one evening, we chatted inconsequentially for a while then she suggested that we go to her reading room.   To cut a long story shortand she told me that she saw people standing behind me and proceeded very accurately to describe my father, mother, grandfather, what they were wearing which was just so accurate amongst many other things.

She also described my mother's favourite purse of which I have never seen another like it and that she kept an eternity ring with one stone missing in it.  Very true because I was fascinated with this purse and particularly the ring within.  As to the future she foretold that within five years or so I would be living abroad!  The reason that I escaped serious injury during my racing years she said is because that initially I had two guardian angels, my mother and a drunk Egyptian man who was in fact English and called Fred.  This latter piece of information someone else had told me thirty years previously. My third angel is my father after he died in the early 1980s.  The taps on my shoulder some years before she said was my mother trying to reassure me that all would be well, eventually as. I was then going through a very difficult period in my personal life and that she was watching over me. 

There was much else that she revealed and she could not have known any of my early life because together they were things that only close family and I could possibly know.  I came away more than amazed at what I had been told and particularly how accurate things past were.

For several years before my visit I had begun waking two r three times a week at 4.44am. I thought it was probably a local milkman doing his round, but I never heard any delivery type sounds.  Then occasionally the same thing was happening at 3.33am again with no obvious reason.   Finally another wake up call was also now at 3.03am, seldom all three or even twice on the same morning.  Naturally I was intrigued so had a wade around the web to see if it might shed any light. several hits reckoned that this phenomena was not as uncommon as one might think and all reckoned that it is an attempt at communication from the spirit world.  My seer, Linda, confirmed that idea and that the 4.44 awakening was my father, 3.33 my mother and the 3.03 was my grandfather, the connection there being that he was a soldier in the Great War and the standard weapon issue was the Lee Enfield .303 rifle.  I still sometimes awake at these times invariably with a comfortable feeling of inner warmth no matter how chilly our bedroom becomes in winter.

In recent years I have often felt that I am not alone, no, I'm not becoming paranoid, that someone is nearby, nothing tangible at all but nonetheless an awareness. Before we moved I felt this frequently in my office at home which was detached from our bungalow, most often with a late, close and great mate who lost his life in a motorcycle racing accident. Others also were sometimes around me, nothing perturbing or frightening, just a pleasant, almost comforting feeling.

I feel most strongly a sense of having company at a particular motorcycle racing circuit where I have spent many happy hours and days in the company of good friends who are no longer with us.  It matters not whether the circuit is totally quiet and empty as on weekdays or at a weekend with all the noise and excitement of a meeting, they are always there with me.  People close to me know that I wish my ashes to go there when it is my time, often I refer to this place as my spiritual home.

Having moved abroad a few years ago now my 'friends' have followed me.  I still know that sometimes someone is there, sometimes in odd ways such as in our downstairs bedroom and up on our middle floor there is occasionally the odour of Golden Virginia tobacco smoke, a very distinct smell that my father always smoked.  There are other occasional smells too that are personal to me in the house.

Well, what else can I add? Am I slowly losing 'it'? If so then that has been gradually happening for many years.  Have I become more sensitive and attuned to things ethereal or are those from elsewhere trying ever harder to communicate?  I don't really know but I do know that there is more to being than just the present.

Cats

Just that - cats! I love cats and really enjoy having them around, good company, sometimes amusing and entertaining as well as just a tad unpredictable.

When we moved here six years ago we also brought our cats Smudge and Socks with us.  Smudge was a white nad silver tabby of about five years and Socks a brown tabby with four white paws, about four years older than Smudge. I always felt very protective to Socks because she is such a small cat and very, very pretty.   Each with their very own  different personalities and habits as well as almost psychic eeriness!

Smudge suffered quite badly in recent years with hairballs, several vet's consultations found the right treatment for her at home when another incident occurred. We came home late one qfternoon last October and Smudge was looking sorry for herself on our downstairs bed - we had been treating her for another hairball for a few days so was a little under the weather.  She went out a little while after our return, nothing unusual there. Come bedtime she had not returned, now thet was unusual - we called her but no-show.  Waited up a while with no joy so we went to bed fully expecting her to cry to be let in.  The next morning still no Smudge so we had a cursory look around outside to see if she was there - no Smudge.  That evening and the following day despite our efforts to find her - no Smudge.

Jane asked me to print some photos and create a 'Lost' poster to be posted locally.  Several days later - no Smudge.  We believe that she had wandered off deliberately as some cats do when they are vey unwell and wish to pass away in seclusion, this had happened with our Timothy a year or so after we moved from London.  Time passed - no Smudge and we resigned ourselves to the fact that she had indeed gone.  We were both quite upset at losing her because she was one of our family but at least we still had Socks.

Some several weeks ago Socks  was looking a little thin and was not eating very well so a trip to the vet was in the offing.  Now Socks is psychic, knowing when we are out to catch her whether for anti-flea treatment or a vet visit and will deliberately avoid coming to close, normally she is a lap cat.  After ten days or so Jane managed to catch her, off she went to see Monsieur Marquis, a very gentle, kind, expert vet and one whom the ladies generally seem to find somewhat dishy!

M. Marquis gave her the usual feline MoT, she grumbled ferociously when he took her temperature, then, despite weighing no more than a bag of sugar, she flatly refused to let him look in her mouth. His next ploy was to use a small gag type device to look in her mouth - she was having no truck with that idea, promptly bit him and retreated to her traveling basket.  His diagnosis was probably a tooth abscess as her third eyelid was closing slightly caused by pressure behind that eye, the other possibility was a tumour behind her eye.  Two injections and a course of antibiotics were prescribed and she returned home to keep her by now standard two metre safety zone from those horrible humans.

A further trip one week later as she was still no better - the vet did his usual checks including trying to look in her mouth again. Result? Socks 1 - Vet 0!  He also warned that she may not survive much longer and to bring her back when we felt it was necessary so neither of us were filled with joy at this news.

Fast forward to last Friday. Socks went out about 0900 having spent the previous day on the bed and having eaten nothing.  Quite often in the summer she will go out to find a cool shady spot where she will noy be disturbed and spen all day out there.  Bedtime - no Socks despite calling and looking for her in her favourite spots outside.   I told Jane that I would wait up for her with the door open, about 0200 Jane came down from bed and asked if I was coming to bed - reluctantly I agreed.

Saturday morning - no Socks.  Saturday bedtime - no Socks.  Sunday morning - no Socks, we both agreed that she had most probably done a Smudge. We both were more than a little upset that she had gone.

Thos morning - Monday - we had just got up and were having pre-breakfast coffee, suddenly Socks trotted in on her way to the kitchen with not a hint that she had been AWOL for seventy two hours, demanded to be fed, had a long drink and retreated to her upstairs boudoir, our bedroom.  A few minutes after Jane called me to show a tiny double tooth that she had found next to Socks' food dish.  We reckon that she had a tooth abscess that burst reliving the pressure on the tooth and it just came out while she was eating. Her eye is now open properly and everything seems to be normal again, thankfully.

Odds & ends ...

To end the episode of the edible dormouse in our neighbours house, it was caught yesterday afternoon in a trap in indoors. It was only a baby and their daughter wanted to keep it a as a pet, after all they are cute and appealing. Parental wisdom prevailed with the prisoner released in a nearby field. The question is will it return?

Local report - set to reach 37° later this afternoon with similar temperatures for the rest of the week.  The occasional evening thunderstorm is forecast too, usually at this time of year  with very little rain.  These are just totally spectacular electric storms in the traditional French style of son et lumiére that can last six or seven hours at a time.  One minor difficulty is that these generally upset Sky TV reception to the point that the service is completely disrupted.  Doesn't really matter as there is little worth watching in the evenings!

Speaking of son et lumiére we went with friends last weekend to watch one of the Battle of Castillon, the ultimate battle of the Hundred Years War resulting in the English being kicked out of France.  This takes place in a huge natural amphitheatre  late in the evening with a chateau on the hilltop overlooking the arena.  As a spectacle it is the biggest and best thing that I have ever seen, so much so that last weekend was the third time that I have seen it!  Unfortunately it only runs mid-July to mid-August each year but I would urghe that anyone coming to our part of France really should see it. The only downside is that I have yet to be back home from it earlier than about three in the morning.

Last Sunday we went to a lunch in our local village hall to celebrate the Day of the Assumption of the Virgin. Given that France is a secular country they manage to have quite a number of public holidays during the year for religious festivals.  The menu was seven courses, an excellent meal, naturally with aperitifs to start and a digestif to finish over a period of about five hours or so.   Everyone is kept entertained between courses with various local folk telling jokes, singing, playing the accordion and a raffle. Each year we go to seven or eight of these in our local commune as they are very enjoyable as well as social occasions, again these are something that we try to encourage friends or family who visit us to be here for one of these.

Speaking of food there is another tradition in our region during July and August, effectively the French holiday season, of villages and towns having a weekly night market. Our nearest is the picturesque, ancient village of Villeréal, held under cover of the old market hall. Local growers, producers and wine growers display cook and sell their wares, lamb, escargot, moules mariniéres, wine of course, bread, cakes and pastries, pizzas, dry cured ham; foie gras, duck, chips, cheese and much else.  Having bought your selection there are tables and chairs set out under the hall, many people eat en famille or with groups of friends in a delightful, convivial atmosphere. Later in the evening there is always entertainment, again locally grown such as a group, an accordionist, folklore dancers etc. These evenings are always most appreciated by everyone, not least visitors because there is nowt quite like it in England.

In the woods near our home there are resident buzzards, beautiful birds that we see soaring, riding the thermals most days over the valley;  This time of year their chicks have fledged, normally two, and the parents are teaching them to fly properly.  We often hear the parents calling to the young ones before we see them in a very palintive single note call.  Then we'll go out onto our deck to watch wonder and marvel at just how graceful, elegant and effortlessly they soar in the sky fo ages before returning to their roost in the woods.  We also had a red squirrel scamper across the deck yesterday morning, there are a good number locally without any of their grey cousins for company.

In one way summer is almost over here because the national holiday season ends at the end of August and visitor numbers drop considerably with mainly English holidaymakers remaining.  This means that local restaurant prices revert to non-summer prices, tables are easier to reserve, shops are less crowded and parking is easier. What it does not mean that weatherewise summer is over, far from it, September is frequently hot and dry, October is still shirtsleeves and shorts time, only in mid-late November does autumn start to show itself.  Meantime leave the suncream handy, plenty of water to drink plus the odd bottle of local wine and just enjoy our good fortune living where we do.

Glis glis

That's right, glis glis? No, I haven't gone gaga yet, it is the Latin name for the edible dormouse or le loir in France, introduced into the UK by the Romans.  For them it was a delicacy for the table but for most people today it is a pest.  Common throughout mainland Europe and the UK today it is a protected species despite wreaking havoc and causing sleepless nights for those with whom it chooses to live.

Dormice are an attractive, cute looking mammal with large dark eyes and that is where any cuddly factor ends. Just after we moved into our home a loir decided to move into the roof space above our bedroom, being nocturnal in habit it did not want to sleep when we did.  Apart from disturbed nights the other main factor is the awful smell from excreted waste matter it was soon obvious that an eviction was paramount. 

There are a number of ways to be rid of them, the obvious path being to set a trap.  Not a practical idea as the roof space is only some six inches deep and virtually inaccessible without major structural alterations!  They like to sleep during the day and hate being disturbed whilst sleeping so the obvious tactic was to make noise in the day, as loud and as frequently as possible.  When we went out we left a radio playing loudly in the bedroom, thankfully we have no immediate neighbours who may have complained. We could not stand the racket of French pop music so a different approach was needed.  Our bedroom roof is supported by a pyramid of large timbers which is a superb piece of carpentry, by knocking loudly on these beams with a broom at random times during the day the desired effect was achieved - said loir packed its bags and left within a couple of days.

Our neighbours now have had a resident loir for several days, not in the preferred lair of roof space but in their ten year old daughter's bedroom who awoke startled in the middle of the night because of scratchings in her bedside cabinet. Naturally she ran to wake her parents, she spent the rest of the night with them.  That morning it was decided to search her room to find the iunwanted intruder but given the more than chaotic state of her room a major turnout was necessary. Naturally this led to tears as it seemed a good opportunity to sort out no longer used or now unloved toys and dolls, the positive side was that a number of long lost little treasures were rediscovered which somewhat made up for others being got rid of!  After half a day of searching had passed - no loir.

Plan B was put into action, several mouse traps baited with chocolate and apple were set. The following morning found all of the traps to have been looted of their tasy morsels but still no loir.  Plan C was next, use a small trap such as that used by local hunters for rabbits etc. The trap was set with part of a banana as bait. Next morning the bait had gone, the trap was sprung and voila, one loir.  The next step was to remove the trapped mammal from its cage, that's where it all went wrong - the loir escaped!

Our neighbours have two cats, one of whom is a veracious hunter so last night Plan D was set in motion - shut said hunter in the bedroom overnight.  So far today no sign of the loir nor of Mille having caught it.

The saga continues ...