Well, actually from Bergerac, the airport that is rather than the grapevine. Read on because you just ain't gonna believe this ...
Bergerac airport is closed today for all flights. No, not because of the general, one day strike of civil servants protesting about possible retirement and pension changes, that' this coming Wednesday. This time it is an air traffic control dispute.
Bergerac airport has one, yes just one, air traffic controller. He decided this morning that he is withdrawing his labour due to a recently introduced flight landing at 0730 a.m. and is objecting to being forced to get up early because of this new arrival. As yet it is unclear as to the possible duration of this independent action, potentially could last days ...
Aha, I hear you cry! He is surely in breach of contract and therefore should be dismissed from his position. Good thinking Batman - unfortunately this guy is a fonctionaire, a civil servant, and as such dismissal is as likely as Ed Balls becoming Prime Minister tomorrow. Should dismissal occur then the possible wave of sympathy strikes is too awful to even contemplate virtually ensuring the lone strikers job security.
Of course there are and will be knock-on effects. A flight due in from Southampton at 1300 this afternoon has been diverted to Bordeaux airport some 120km west of Bergerac. Unfortunately there is not a landing slot available there until midnight tonight so coaches will be provided to transfer hapless passengers to Bergerac airport arriving there around 0130.
What a way to ru(i)n a country ...
An occasional rambling of unrelated events, thoughts and trivia ... Please feel free to leave comments as you wish!
Monday, 11 October 2010
It's coming ...
... winter that is. Not yet but all the portents are here, trees and bushes turning from their summer greens into a wonderfully diverse palate of reds and browns that are truly magnificent. Makes a Dulux colour chart look almost monochrome by comparison.
Local farmers are harvesting the last of summer's crops particularly sunflowers and maize, much ploughing, harrowing and other activity is going on too with winter wheat and barley being sown. Some are preparing deep litter byres so that cattle will be sheltered from the worst of winter's elements, I shall miss seeing those wonderfully huge Aquitaine Blonde cows in their pastures.
Several species of birds have already migrated for warmer climes in particular the spectacular looking hoopoes with a red crest that looks something akin to a miniature Marigold glove. Others are returning to overwinter, already the robin that lives in our hedge is back as are some great, blue and coal tits. Must remember to stock up on fat balls for them, they enjoy pecking at them and we love watching them on the bird feeder.
Little furry things are also preparing for the cold season. There are fewer mole hills being thrown up around our house now, our neighbours cats are catching fewer mice, voles and shrews as they are getting winter quarters ready. It is also the time of year that edible dormice are seeking snug places to retreat into, they just love domestic roof spaces. Several have tried to lodge in our upper bedroom roof in the past week but we have managed to thwart them so far by leaving a radio playing loud French pop music all day in the room. They are nocturnal and hate being disturbed during the day and find any sort of noise particularly a nuisance. If the loud sound of the radio were to be insufficient in itself then French pop music will certainly have the desired effect - it is dire, seriously awful even by comparison to the Anglo-American fare.
The French government was recently very concerned at the state of their popular music industry because listeners and buyers express an overwhelming preference for non-domestic genres and issued a decree that every music radio station must play at least ten minutes music from the home industry every hour! Protectionism or desperation?
Time too to put away summer clothing for warmer things, put the carpet back down in the sitting room, winterize the rest of the house, start getting a supply of good books and jigsaw puzzles in which will all be in turn swapped amongst friends winter progresses.
The good thing is that winter does not really begin here until mid-late November and is usually done by the end of February. We live in a very rural and sparsely populated area where it is not only the wildlife that hibernates but the population as well except for the odd essential foray to the shops.
The final event that evidences the onset of winter is arriving hopefully tomorrow in the form of a farm wagon load of oak for our fuel store. There is nothing quite like a gorgeous, roaring and blazing log fire to make a person feel snug and contented along with a decent cuppa nd the odd medicinal brandy.
Happy winter everyone ...
Local farmers are harvesting the last of summer's crops particularly sunflowers and maize, much ploughing, harrowing and other activity is going on too with winter wheat and barley being sown. Some are preparing deep litter byres so that cattle will be sheltered from the worst of winter's elements, I shall miss seeing those wonderfully huge Aquitaine Blonde cows in their pastures.
Several species of birds have already migrated for warmer climes in particular the spectacular looking hoopoes with a red crest that looks something akin to a miniature Marigold glove. Others are returning to overwinter, already the robin that lives in our hedge is back as are some great, blue and coal tits. Must remember to stock up on fat balls for them, they enjoy pecking at them and we love watching them on the bird feeder.
Little furry things are also preparing for the cold season. There are fewer mole hills being thrown up around our house now, our neighbours cats are catching fewer mice, voles and shrews as they are getting winter quarters ready. It is also the time of year that edible dormice are seeking snug places to retreat into, they just love domestic roof spaces. Several have tried to lodge in our upper bedroom roof in the past week but we have managed to thwart them so far by leaving a radio playing loud French pop music all day in the room. They are nocturnal and hate being disturbed during the day and find any sort of noise particularly a nuisance. If the loud sound of the radio were to be insufficient in itself then French pop music will certainly have the desired effect - it is dire, seriously awful even by comparison to the Anglo-American fare.
The French government was recently very concerned at the state of their popular music industry because listeners and buyers express an overwhelming preference for non-domestic genres and issued a decree that every music radio station must play at least ten minutes music from the home industry every hour! Protectionism or desperation?
Time too to put away summer clothing for warmer things, put the carpet back down in the sitting room, winterize the rest of the house, start getting a supply of good books and jigsaw puzzles in which will all be in turn swapped amongst friends winter progresses.
The good thing is that winter does not really begin here until mid-late November and is usually done by the end of February. We live in a very rural and sparsely populated area where it is not only the wildlife that hibernates but the population as well except for the odd essential foray to the shops.
The final event that evidences the onset of winter is arriving hopefully tomorrow in the form of a farm wagon load of oak for our fuel store. There is nothing quite like a gorgeous, roaring and blazing log fire to make a person feel snug and contented along with a decent cuppa nd the odd medicinal brandy.
Happy winter everyone ...
Friday, 8 October 2010
Retirement, pensions et al ...
When I was a child the majority of boys, when asked what they would like to be said "An engine driver". It seemed so exciting that perhaps you could drive a huge, shiny monster engine like the famous Mallard. Sadly today the most common response to the same question is the ambition to be a celebrity or in common parlance 'a sleb' with a spaceman trailing a distant second. Presumably the overwhelming reason for the former choice is to lead what is seen as a glamourous and wealthy lifestyle.
Pose the same question here in France today and an overwhelming seventy nine per cent of youngsters want to be a civil servant - a fonctionaire. Why on earth would moat youngsters desire a civil service job? Simple answer really, retire at fifty five years of age with a superb indexed pension. That luxury not only includes the pen pushers but military and emergency services, health staff and professionals and local government employees as well. The number employed in these sectors is immense, currently just over twenty per cent of the working population.
There are rumblings of discontent in the UK, mainly from the trades unions, about possible proposed changes to the retirement age and the future value of pensions. It is obvious that change must happen and soon, given the usual apathetic attitudes of the population at large the proposals will be enforced with just a few minimal changes.
Here, over the channel, similar changes are being mooted by Sarkozy and company with the inevitable clamour from the trades unions and those with vested interests in maintaining the status quo. There is a fundamental difference however between the two countries, already there has been three separate days of national strikes bringing the country to a standstill. Allied with these strikes are demonstrations throughout the country with up to three million workers out on the streets each time. There are more to come, the next within a few days.
Historically concerted civil action has resulted in changes to the proposed new regimes whether mildly diluted or abandoned totally, sometimes in almost indecent haste as happened several years ago with proposed changes to under 25s employment policy.
Why does popular opinion often seem to carry the day? Maybe French politicians are more aware that re-election is not guaranteed if the electorate are displeased. There is another reason often quoted that there was major civil unrest many years ago in 1789 when the French Revolution toppled the then existing hierarchy of nobility, church and state. This fait accompli by the bourgoisie is thought to lurk in the inner recesses of the collective political mind which has little appetite for such another upheaval and thus propsed poitical excesses may be tempered.
Popular opinion seems to indicate the belief that the severest excesses of the new proposals on pensions and retirement age will at worst be more than somewhat amended, at best swept under the carpet never to be seen or heard of again.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not openly advocating a people's revolution in Britain but perhaps a little less overall apathy and acceptance might not be such a bad thing ...
Pose the same question here in France today and an overwhelming seventy nine per cent of youngsters want to be a civil servant - a fonctionaire. Why on earth would moat youngsters desire a civil service job? Simple answer really, retire at fifty five years of age with a superb indexed pension. That luxury not only includes the pen pushers but military and emergency services, health staff and professionals and local government employees as well. The number employed in these sectors is immense, currently just over twenty per cent of the working population.
There are rumblings of discontent in the UK, mainly from the trades unions, about possible proposed changes to the retirement age and the future value of pensions. It is obvious that change must happen and soon, given the usual apathetic attitudes of the population at large the proposals will be enforced with just a few minimal changes.
Here, over the channel, similar changes are being mooted by Sarkozy and company with the inevitable clamour from the trades unions and those with vested interests in maintaining the status quo. There is a fundamental difference however between the two countries, already there has been three separate days of national strikes bringing the country to a standstill. Allied with these strikes are demonstrations throughout the country with up to three million workers out on the streets each time. There are more to come, the next within a few days.
Historically concerted civil action has resulted in changes to the proposed new regimes whether mildly diluted or abandoned totally, sometimes in almost indecent haste as happened several years ago with proposed changes to under 25s employment policy.
Why does popular opinion often seem to carry the day? Maybe French politicians are more aware that re-election is not guaranteed if the electorate are displeased. There is another reason often quoted that there was major civil unrest many years ago in 1789 when the French Revolution toppled the then existing hierarchy of nobility, church and state. This fait accompli by the bourgoisie is thought to lurk in the inner recesses of the collective political mind which has little appetite for such another upheaval and thus propsed poitical excesses may be tempered.
Popular opinion seems to indicate the belief that the severest excesses of the new proposals on pensions and retirement age will at worst be more than somewhat amended, at best swept under the carpet never to be seen or heard of again.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not openly advocating a people's revolution in Britain but perhaps a little less overall apathy and acceptance might not be such a bad thing ...
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
Ding, ding, hold very tight please!
One conductor that I worked with for a while was always looking for any way to avoid actually doing what he was employed and paid for - collecting the appropriate fare from passengers and ensuring that his end of the bus was conducted in an orderly fashion!
This particular day saw us at Hammond Street about six miles north of Waltham Cross. There was about ten minutes stand time before we were due off again so time for a quick cuppa from the ancient Transit mobile caff that was there during the day. I wandered and got the teas in while Dougie went to view the countryside about a hundred yards away from the other side of the hedge. A few minutes later he rejoined me and we sat slurping and chatting until our departure time.
As i walked round the front of the bus to get into the cab it seemed to have a slightly lop-sided appearance, closer investigation revealed that the offside front tyre was flat. Obviously a phone call to the engineers at Ponders End Garage was needed so ambled off to the nearest phone box at the Rising Sun pub a good quarter of a mile away.
The conversation with the engineering foreman was the usual terse affair with me being told that we would have to wait as the early engineering shift was about end and the late shift had yet to start work.
Having broken the good news to Dougie we adopted Plan B, have another cup of tea, a fag and wait patiently in the warm afternoon sun, Dougie seemed to have a slight incontinence problem that afternoon and ambled off to admire the countryside again. He reckoned that it was a stroke of good fortune that the tyre was flat at the very time that the early and late engineering shifts were changing over and that we would be further delayed because of this inconvenience. He then just dropped into the conversation that as we were due to finish our duty at Ponders End on the way back from our destination at Warren Street, near the GPO Tower, that with a bit of luck, there would be insufficient time for us to go anywhere apart from back to the garage.
Some fifty minutes elapsed before the repair crew arrived in a type of bus that was not used on this particular route so we could not swap vehicles and continue on our merry little way. A very large trolley jack and spare wheel was unloaded and the mechanics jacked up the front of the bus and then looked slightly perplexed.
"Where's the wheel brace," asked one.
"Dunno, you chucked it on" came the reply.
A search of the other bus revealed no trace of the missing tool.
"Better phone the shed then" said one, so they drove their bus down to the pub to make the necessary and probably slightly embarrassing call. It is probably discreet not to speculate on the actual dialogue during this interaction as it may well have contained what is politely known as 'industrial language'.
A polite enquiry upon their return elicited the fact that another bus was being despatched from the garage with a wheel brace, Again it would be impolite to my readers to quote the reply verbatim.
Around thirty minutes later yet another bus of unsuitable type arrived with a driver and his mate. Why two fitters you may ask? Simple, the bus was of a traditional London open platform type and the second employee was aboard to ensure that potential passengers did not leap aboard at traffic lights etc and also ensure that the wheel brace did not fall of the back of the bus.
A further twenty minutes elapsed before we were able to continue our interrupted journey. Eventually we reached our home depot to be told by the inspector on duty that it was pointless resuming our duty as there was insufficient time left to achieve anything useful. So we knocked off twenty minutes early and celebrated with another cuppa in the canteen. Whilst enjoying the delights of London Transport tea Dougie took out his diary along with which a tyre dust cap complete with valve key on the end fell to the floor. I retrieved it and just smiled as I handed it back to him ...
This particular day saw us at Hammond Street about six miles north of Waltham Cross. There was about ten minutes stand time before we were due off again so time for a quick cuppa from the ancient Transit mobile caff that was there during the day. I wandered and got the teas in while Dougie went to view the countryside about a hundred yards away from the other side of the hedge. A few minutes later he rejoined me and we sat slurping and chatting until our departure time.
As i walked round the front of the bus to get into the cab it seemed to have a slightly lop-sided appearance, closer investigation revealed that the offside front tyre was flat. Obviously a phone call to the engineers at Ponders End Garage was needed so ambled off to the nearest phone box at the Rising Sun pub a good quarter of a mile away.
The conversation with the engineering foreman was the usual terse affair with me being told that we would have to wait as the early engineering shift was about end and the late shift had yet to start work.
Having broken the good news to Dougie we adopted Plan B, have another cup of tea, a fag and wait patiently in the warm afternoon sun, Dougie seemed to have a slight incontinence problem that afternoon and ambled off to admire the countryside again. He reckoned that it was a stroke of good fortune that the tyre was flat at the very time that the early and late engineering shifts were changing over and that we would be further delayed because of this inconvenience. He then just dropped into the conversation that as we were due to finish our duty at Ponders End on the way back from our destination at Warren Street, near the GPO Tower, that with a bit of luck, there would be insufficient time for us to go anywhere apart from back to the garage.
Some fifty minutes elapsed before the repair crew arrived in a type of bus that was not used on this particular route so we could not swap vehicles and continue on our merry little way. A very large trolley jack and spare wheel was unloaded and the mechanics jacked up the front of the bus and then looked slightly perplexed.
"Where's the wheel brace," asked one.
"Dunno, you chucked it on" came the reply.
A search of the other bus revealed no trace of the missing tool.
"Better phone the shed then" said one, so they drove their bus down to the pub to make the necessary and probably slightly embarrassing call. It is probably discreet not to speculate on the actual dialogue during this interaction as it may well have contained what is politely known as 'industrial language'.
A polite enquiry upon their return elicited the fact that another bus was being despatched from the garage with a wheel brace, Again it would be impolite to my readers to quote the reply verbatim.
Around thirty minutes later yet another bus of unsuitable type arrived with a driver and his mate. Why two fitters you may ask? Simple, the bus was of a traditional London open platform type and the second employee was aboard to ensure that potential passengers did not leap aboard at traffic lights etc and also ensure that the wheel brace did not fall of the back of the bus.
A further twenty minutes elapsed before we were able to continue our interrupted journey. Eventually we reached our home depot to be told by the inspector on duty that it was pointless resuming our duty as there was insufficient time left to achieve anything useful. So we knocked off twenty minutes early and celebrated with another cuppa in the canteen. Whilst enjoying the delights of London Transport tea Dougie took out his diary along with which a tyre dust cap complete with valve key on the end fell to the floor. I retrieved it and just smiled as I handed it back to him ...
Monday, 4 October 2010
Missing Things
No, I haven't lost anything specific despite what some may say or think ...
This is more about things that I thought that I might miss once we had made the move to France and things that I actually miss now that we have lived here for almost six years. The difference between thought and reality can sometimes vary quite a lot.
Things that I thought that I would miss:
Roast potatoes - I just love roast potatoes along with a Sunday roast and leftover roasties cold from the fridge for breakfast the next day;
Fish & chips - Oh god I adore battered cod & chips;
Public Library - obviously provides a good source of English reading material;
English television - particularly motorcycle racing and F1 GP, apart from anything else it helps keep in touch with the UK;
Motorcycle racing - been involved one way or another for very many years;
Decent pint of real ale - what else is there to say;
Easy shopping - shops open virtually 24/7;
Friends and family - obviously;
What do I actually miss?
Friends and family, not as much as I thought I might because many make the trip to stay with us occasionally which is great!
Roasts etc - silly me. Why on earth did I think that there would be no more roast dinners? Just because roast dinners are virtually unknown to the French does not mean that we go without!
Public Library and books etc - This turned out to be the silver lining within a grey cloud because I rapidly improved French reading ability due to an interest in the French WWII Resistance and the occupation of France. There are just so many books etc available about the subject which I devoured quite rapaciously, now reading in the local language is almost as easy as reading English. We have a daily local newspaper and occasional magazines too;
Fish & Chips - Deliciously sorted! We have become friends with an English couple who run a bistro, gites, B&B and camping site nearby. Back in the UK they were senior managers for a well known pub chain and have fish and chip evenings which are better than many fish shops back there. Additional bonus is that there are also regular Indian and Chinese nights too;
English television - not a problem as we have a Sky Box with FTA reception. Added bonus is that we also have French tele as well:
Shopping - Shops here close 12 - 3 for lunch, all closed by early evening, very few open on Sundays and a number remain closed on Mondays as well. Took some getting used to and needed almost military planning for the first year or so. Now not a problem, in fact we prefer it because we are not rushing about for every little item that we may have forgotten as back there;
Motorcycle racing - yes, I do miss that as we can only get to one or two meetings each year due to distances involved here. But I have a treat at the end of each season and travel to UK for a superb end of season meeting and catch up with friends there. Sometimes less can be more!
Real beer - again not a problem because I have discovered the joys and delights of Chimay Blue Label beer from Belgium, truly nectar of the gods. Speaking of which I am about to open one now - cheers!
This is more about things that I thought that I might miss once we had made the move to France and things that I actually miss now that we have lived here for almost six years. The difference between thought and reality can sometimes vary quite a lot.
Things that I thought that I would miss:
Roast potatoes - I just love roast potatoes along with a Sunday roast and leftover roasties cold from the fridge for breakfast the next day;
Fish & chips - Oh god I adore battered cod & chips;
Public Library - obviously provides a good source of English reading material;
English television - particularly motorcycle racing and F1 GP, apart from anything else it helps keep in touch with the UK;
Motorcycle racing - been involved one way or another for very many years;
Decent pint of real ale - what else is there to say;
Easy shopping - shops open virtually 24/7;
Friends and family - obviously;
What do I actually miss?
Friends and family, not as much as I thought I might because many make the trip to stay with us occasionally which is great!
Roasts etc - silly me. Why on earth did I think that there would be no more roast dinners? Just because roast dinners are virtually unknown to the French does not mean that we go without!
Public Library and books etc - This turned out to be the silver lining within a grey cloud because I rapidly improved French reading ability due to an interest in the French WWII Resistance and the occupation of France. There are just so many books etc available about the subject which I devoured quite rapaciously, now reading in the local language is almost as easy as reading English. We have a daily local newspaper and occasional magazines too;
Fish & Chips - Deliciously sorted! We have become friends with an English couple who run a bistro, gites, B&B and camping site nearby. Back in the UK they were senior managers for a well known pub chain and have fish and chip evenings which are better than many fish shops back there. Additional bonus is that there are also regular Indian and Chinese nights too;
English television - not a problem as we have a Sky Box with FTA reception. Added bonus is that we also have French tele as well:
Shopping - Shops here close 12 - 3 for lunch, all closed by early evening, very few open on Sundays and a number remain closed on Mondays as well. Took some getting used to and needed almost military planning for the first year or so. Now not a problem, in fact we prefer it because we are not rushing about for every little item that we may have forgotten as back there;
Motorcycle racing - yes, I do miss that as we can only get to one or two meetings each year due to distances involved here. But I have a treat at the end of each season and travel to UK for a superb end of season meeting and catch up with friends there. Sometimes less can be more!
Real beer - again not a problem because I have discovered the joys and delights of Chimay Blue Label beer from Belgium, truly nectar of the gods. Speaking of which I am about to open one now - cheers!
Sunday, 3 October 2010
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!"
_____________________________________________
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 ...
____________________________________________________________
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!!!
_____________________________
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".
_____________________________
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!"
_____________________________________________
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 ...
____________________________________________________________
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!!!
_____________________________
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".
_____________________________
Saturday, 2 October 2010
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 ...
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 ...
Friday, 1 October 2010
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?
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?
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
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 ...
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 ...
Saturday, 18 September 2010
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?
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?
Friday, 17 September 2010
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 ...
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 ...
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
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.
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.
Monday, 13 September 2010
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.
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.
Friday, 10 September 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
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 ...
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 ...
Monday, 6 September 2010
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 ...
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 ...
Thursday, 2 September 2010
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?
Y'all have fun now, d'ya hear?
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
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!
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!
Sunday, 29 August 2010
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 ...
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 ...
Saturday, 28 August 2010
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
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
Thursday, 26 August 2010
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!
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!
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