vendredi 29 octobre 2010

D is for Deliveries


Tout est bien qui finit bien — All’s well that ends well


However much you embrace your new lifestyle, there are things you miss from the UK. Thanks to the Internet, you can order pretty much anything. The downside? Delivery charges.

Hats off to Marks and Spencer and Boden, who charge only slightly more to deliver to France. I will now name and shame Links of London. I love their stuff, and shortly before we moved, bought a lovely watch from them. A few weeks ago, the strap broke, so I looked on their website, and yes, they deliver to France. The strap was expensive enough at £45, but then they wanted £25 for delivery. That’s £70 for a new strap. No thanks, I’ll get something over here.

Then there’s Amazon. Here’s the dilemma, buy from Amazon France, and post and packing is free, but the books are considerably more expensive. Buy from Amazon UK, and despite the fact the books are dispatched from within mainland Europe, the post and packing is pretty steep (although the books are cheaper). Amazon UK also regularly limits the number of copies of each book you can buy, not particularly helpful when you are ordering for members of your book club.

French deliveries are not without their dramas. We ordered a cabinet from a mail order company. Over the next few weeks, then months, we got regular communications advising us of delays to delivery. Luckily, our need was not urgent. We then realized we hadn’t heard from the company for a while, so phoned them up to find out where the elusive cabinet was. The voice at the other end was pretty surprised, and told us it had been delivered a couple of weeks ago and it had been duly signed for.

On the date in question, we were in the UK, so asked to see a copy of the signature. They emailed it to us — it was signed ‘Mrs Doreen’. Not a name I generally use. They promised to send another cabinet. When it arrived, the driver queried our need for it — he had delivered the first one himself. Yes, but where was it? He led us to the garage, where he had hidden it among stuff awaiting a suitable vide grenier, old removal boxes and several months’ worth of empty wine bottles. The signature? He had done it himself to be helpful. It would have been even more helpful to leave us a note indicating the whereabouts of the package.

mercredi 27 octobre 2010

N is for 'Non'

N is for ‘Non’

J’ai fait chou blanc — I drew a blank

Perhaps it’s the extra letter, but somehow ‘non’ always seems so much more final than ‘no’. “May we use these perfectly valid vouchers to get 10 centimes off six bottles of Badoit?” “Non.” “Can I have chips instead of boiled potatoes?” “Non.” “We’re a bit early. Can we have a cup of coffee while waiting for our friends?” “Non.” “It’s a lovely day, can we eat on the terrace?” “Non.” Occasionally, the ‘non’ will be accompanied by a “Je suis désolé” [I’m really sorry], but don’t count on it.

The other day we were in McDonalds. (I know, but sometimes you crave some junk food.) We ordered our ‘meal deals’. I asked for diet coke, and Gavin asked for coffee. “Non,” said the girl behind the counter. Thinking she hadn’t understood us, Gavin explained that he would like a coffee with his meal rather than a cold drink. Non. The offer came with a cold drink, coffee was a hot drink, therefore he couldn’t have it. He asked whether he could just buy a separate cup of coffee instead of having the proffered drink. Non.

Luckily at that moment the manager appeared. The girl asked him to explain the coffee conundrum to us in English to ensure we understood the gravity of the situation. The manager, a man of infinite good sense, but possibly not of French origin, just looked at us and told the girl to give Gavin his coffee. Oui

dimanche 24 octobre 2010

R is for Roadworks and Roundabouts

R is for Roadworks and Roundabouts

Je ne vais pas attendre cent sept ans — I’m not going to wait forever

For the past few months they have been resurfacing the road outside our house. Every so often, we receive a note saying that no vehicles should be parked on the road, as work is happening on a certain date. It never does. The date comes and goes, but no workmen appear. Then, one, two or three weeks later, some large, noisy, green vehicles arrive and work goes on for a day or two.

During the time that no work is being done, they may or may not remove the signs from each end of the road saying that it is closed. Not that it matters, as whenever it’s there, drivers just get out of their cars, move the sign, drive past and then put it back again. There may be a little skirmish further along the road as car and large green vehicle meet, but somehow everyone gets through.

On the first occasion they turned up unexpectedly to do the work, we couldn’t get out of our drive. This was slightly inconvenient as I had a dental appointment. Gavin explained this to the workmen. They kindly cleared everything up and escorted us out of the drive and we bumped along the road to the dentist.

The latest missive we received about the roadworks, informed us that they were being carried out to improve our quality of life. That’s very considerate of you. (Unfortunately a couple of potholes remain. But don’t worry, we’ll continue to drive round them.)

The French government must have appointed a roundabout czar. Everywhere we’ve been lately, new roundabouts seem to be springing up. I can only assume the money earmarked for roundabouts must have been underspent over the past few years. So now it must be used up quickly because there seems absolutely no need for new roundabouts where they are being placed.

samedi 23 octobre 2010

T is for Television

Ce n’est pas ma tasse de thé — It’s not my cup of tea

We were woken at 2am by a text message from Orange telling me I can follow Secret Story (the French version of Big Brother) via my mobile phone. Thanks for that.

French TV is not that great. There are a lot of dubbed American and UK programmes: Midsommer Murders turns up as Inspecteur Barnaby, Law and Order UK has become London District, and Lewis remains Lewis. Sorry, but there’s something about John Nettles speaking French that doesn’t quite gel. We did get enthusiastic about trailers for the French version of Masterchef, but then discovered each episode was three hours long.

On Saturdays at prime time on one channel they invariably show an episode of Columbo from 1973. A bit like Murder She Wrote in the UK, you seem always to be able to catch on episode of Columbo whenever you turn on the TV.

We enjoyed a French version of Treasure Hunt (anyone remember Anneka Rice and the helicopter?), which was quite good as you got to see lots of lovely scenery, but that seems to have disappeared and the presenter now appears in adverts selling ham.

I don’t think I have quite tuned into the French sense of humour, which involves a lot of slapstick, shouting and invariably men dressing up as women and singing. Or perhaps I’ve just been watching the wrong programmes.

The good thing is that you generally know where you are. The news is always on at 8pm, regardless of the World Cup, weekends or any other distractions. On Channel 1, from Monday to Friday, the news is always preceded by a game show along the lines of The Price is Right, Wheel of Fortune or Family Fortunes. These too involve an awful lot of shouting — on the part of the presenters, one of whom seems always to be accompanied by a dog.

You pay for your TV licence as part of the French equivalent of Council Tax, which seems to be a good idea and would probably save a lot of money if they adopted the same system in the UK. Mr Osborne please note. If you don’t have a TV, that’s just your bad luck. But you can always go and blockade a road or two in protest.

vendredi 22 octobre 2010

S is for Summer's Over

S is for Summer’s over

Il fait un temps de chien — The weather’s lousy

There are certain unmistakable signs here that winter’s on its way. The tourists have all gone and the Chinese restaurant has closed for the season. Some less hardy souls prepare to shut up their houses and return to the UK.

You start smelling whiffs of coal fires and the leaves begin to fall … and fall… and fall. Though before they do, the autumn colours are spectacular.

A succession of men in boiler suits arrive at the house. They are delivering oil for the boiler, servicing the boiler and sweeping the chimney. They invariably all arrive at the same time. The winter cover goes on the pool; the cats realize this, and start scampering all over it. Winter activities resume — Gavin goes back to his Occitan classes (I’m opting out this year as I wasn’t really that good), and we begin giving English lessons to the old folk of St Antonin once again.

But at the moment, in mid October, it’s still sometimes warm enough to sit outside in a T-shirt. So we make the most of it.

jeudi 21 octobre 2010

P is for Protests


P is for Protests

Il y aura un tollé général — There will be a great outcry

We have a friend staying with us, who likes to go to the really good Chinese buffet restaurant in Montauban. The sun was shining, we’d panic bought some diesel, so decided to set off for lunch. About 500 metres from the restaurant, everything came to a halt. The unions were blockading the road to protest about pensions and reforms to the age of retirement.

We didn’t think we could discuss with them the fact that M. Sarkozy was raising the French retirement age to 62, whereas Mr Cameron was going to make our compatriots struggle on until 66, so we graciously accepted a leaflet, turned round and headed to the Chinese restaurant in a nearby town. It was closed on Thursdays. Still, we had a very nice Cassoulet in a Basque restaurant near home, where the waiter’s command of English was limited to “Bye, Bye!”.

Unfortunately, the blockade meant we couldn’t visit the Lerclerc supermarket where we wanted to buy some wine, were unable to get to the garden centre where we wanted to buy some fish for our new pond, and couldn’t detour via the goats’ cheese factory to replenish stocks.

I did try to read the leaflet later, but my command of militant French trade union vocabulary needs just a little bit more work.

dimanche 17 octobre 2010

C is for Coypu



On apprend a tout age — you live and learn

Shortly after we moved in, our British neighbour told us several times that there was a coypu living in the river at the bottom of our gardens. Not being too sure what a coypu looks like, we nodded wisely and kept a look out every time we sat by the river.  No sign of any coypu.

The other day, though, Gavin came back from a walk to say he’d seen an otter in the river. This was exciting news, as the only wild otter we’d ever seen was a few years ago in the Lake District in the UK. Back to river watch.

Then our new (French) neighbour came round. (The coypu fan had since sold the house to buy a boat on which to sail the British waterways, probably hunting for coypus.) Our neighbour was talking about the fact that the river level was low as work was being done to clean it further upstream. She was horrified because she’d seen couple of water rats on the opposite bank. Sitting by the river later that day, Gavin said he could see the otter. You’ve guessed it, it was a water rat. I’m now beginning to have my doubts about this mysterious coypu…

Incidentally, our neighbour has promised to lend us a book on French wildlife. I think it’s long overdue.

mardi 5 octobre 2010

Z is for Zebra Crossings


Je ne veux pas rester sur la touche — I don’t want to stay on the sidelines

I have just one thing to say about zebra crossings. Ignore them. All the drivers do. Whatever you do, don’t ever try to use one to cross the road. (But it's perfectly OK — in fact it's expected — to park across one.)


Well, that’s the end of the alphabet. I’ll be adding entries on an ad hoc basis from now. Hope you enjoyed what you have read — if you have, tell others about it! Thanks for reading.

dimanche 3 octobre 2010

Y is for You're Missed


Y is for You’re Missed

L’éloignement renforce les sentiments — Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Of course when you move to another country there are things that you miss. I’ve already mentioned a decent curry, fish and chips and ‘proper’ sausages. But a straw poll of some friends came up with some others:

·      Waitrose
·      Charity shops
·      Marks & Spencer (buying your undies by mail order is not the same)
·      Boots the Chemist
·      Shops being open all hours

There may not be charity shops on every street corner here, but they are very fond of their ‘vide grenier’, literally ‘emptying the barn’. These events would equate to garage sales in the US or car boot sales in the UK. The concept is the same — someone puts everything they don’t want on display, and others come along and buy it.

You never quite get used to most shops being closed between noon and two or even three in the afternoon. The concept of 24-hour shopping has become a distant memory.

The things we do love about France include:

·      Real markets
·      Lots of space and beautiful countryside, with no litter
·      Sense of community
·      Politeness and welcome of the people
·      Food and wine

Outside large towns, France is still a great place for children to have their freedom. There’s a primary school at the end of our road, and you regularly see kids under 10 trotting happily along to classes on their own. There is definitely a sense that people look out for each other.

So what are the signs that you are now at home in France?

·      You eavesdrop the French family at the next table and
understand everything they are saying
·      You have loyalty cards for at least five French supermarkets
·      You actually fill in the Orange customer satisfaction questionnaire
·      On a walk round town you find more people to say ‘bonjour’ (or even ‘re-bonjour’ to than ‘hello’
·      You no longer need a dictionary when visiting the doctor, dentist or hairdresser (on second thoughts, the latter might be a bit rash…)


samedi 2 octobre 2010

X is for Xtras



Il  fait un froid de canard — It’s brass monkey weather

These didn’t really fit anywhere else…


We’re shut

It could appear to the casual observer that whole towns and villages have been shut up and deserted. Not so. The French close their shutters in summer to keep the heat out and close them in winter to keep the heat in. There are two spells of about a week in spring and 10 days in autumn when the shutters are flung open and lukewarm air is allowed into the house.

If, during the height of summer or the depths of winter you see houses with their shutters wide open, you can bet that the owners are British.


A lot of rubbish

Like lots of people all over France we have to take our rubbish to bins at the end of the street. There, we carefully sort it into household waste and stuff for recycling.

I think it’s a great system. You don’t end up with streets and streets full of unsightly black plastic sacks that have been nibbled by wildlife so their contents spill over the pavements. The bin areas also act a bit like skips do in the UK. If you’ve got anything you don’t want that’s in reasonable condition, you can leave it there — as long as it’s not too big — and someone will more than likely claim it for themselves. A friend got some lovely chairs from her local bin area.

If you have anything that’s too big or needs specialist disposal, you take it to the ‘dechetterie’. There is only one way to gain entry to the dechetterie — you have to show the man in charge your electricity bill.


What’s in a name?

It’s difficult to remember people’s names at the best of times. But in France there are some very long names because the French love hyphens. So don’t be surprised to see in the local paper, the announcement of the forthcoming marriage of Veronique-Dominique Ferrero-Rocher to Sebastian-Christophe Renault-Megane. Strangely, too, you find men with women’s names and women with men’s names — hyphenated, of course, with conventional and appropriate names. We’ve come across Anne-Francois (a man) and Marie-George (a woman).

The latest survey lists the most popular children’s names (before hyphenation) as:

Girls: 1. Emma; 2. Lea; 3. Manon; 4. Clara; 5. Chloé; 6. Ines; 7. Camille; 8. Sarah; 9. Oceane; 10. Jade

Boys: 1. Enzo; 2. Mathis; 3. Lucas; 4. Hugo; 5. Mathéo; 6. Nathan;
7. Théo; 8. Noah; 9. Mattéo; 10. Thomas.




vendredi 1 octobre 2010

W is for Weeds



Tu me mets l’eau a la bouche — You are making my mouth water


I’d been thinking for a long time of starting a society for the appreciation of dandelions (SAD), as we have so many in the garden. Then Georgette gave us some delicious dandelion jam. Problem solved. In French dandelions are known as pissenlits, literally ‘wet the bed’, as folklore claims that is what they make you do. Below, for anyone who wants to love and appreciate dandelions, and is willing to take a risk with their bed linen, is a recipe for dandelion jam.

Incidentally, we have found a foolproof way of dealing with weeds. If someone French points to something in the garden and tells us it’s a weed, we explain that in the UK it’s considered to be a sought-after plant. And if a visitor from the UK remarks on the profusion of weeds in our flowerbeds, we simply explain that, in France, they are considered welcome and attractive additions to all the best gardens. (With apologies to the QWIG Gardening Group.)

Dandelion flower jam

Ingredients:
250 g dandelion flowers
1 1/2 litres water
750 g sugar for each 1 litre juice
1 lemon juice
2 oranges

Method:

Wash the oranges and cut into pieces without peeling them. Wash
the dandelion flowers and dry them in a soft cloth. Cook them in
the water with the oranges for an hour then strain. Measure the
juice, and then add the lemon juice and the appropriate weight of
sugar. Cook a further hour. Cool before putting into jars. It should set OK, 
but if it still looks runny at the end of the cooking time, add some vegetarian gelatin.