I don't like flying, but as Him indoors says, it's better than the alternative. So, it was with trepidation that we recently took Alitalia flights that required a change-over in Rome. Well, we certainly survived, but consistent they weren't. Although both connecting flights used the same airline, one airport accepted liquids in hand-luggage, the other didn't. Alitalia at one end allowed our hand-luggage on board, the other didn't. One airport waved me through security, the other connecting airport gave me a full, thorough body-search! Yes, I know: just like Diana Ross. I understand the need for security, but..
What of other airlines? EasyJet appeared in a Paris court yesterday accused of discrimination against a disabled passenger. A 39-year-old woman in a wheelchair was forced to leave a Paris-Nice plane because she was unaccompanied - despite having made the outward journey without a problem. Several passengers volunteered to 'accompany' the woman, but EasyJet said the accompanying person must be recorded before check-in. I can see that a wheelchair might be a problem in an unforeseen evacuation of the plane, but it's the inconsistency that appears to be the problem.
Him indoors says it was St. Patrick's Day yesterday. So? Well, we should have used O'Flaherty's Travel - O'Flaherty gets you nowhere.....
11th March 2012
We're back! I'm seeing our French home with different eyes. Come, follow me in. First, notice our new front door with its secure 5-point locking system. (The last owner must've been more paranoid than me - 4 separate locking bolts. Him indoors always tells everyone that my blood group must be B-negative!). Anyway, into the hall and a workman is still hammering away at our new kitchen. I can't wait. White stone, irregular floor tiles, and special antique-looking kitchen units. He greets me with a cheery wave. Always cheerful. Must learn from him somehow. Continue down the long hallway, and there's our new bathroom on the left. This had to be modern. Never did like those old Victorian hip baths plonked in the middle of the room. Hip they're not. Prefer plumbing that works! Anyway, hurray it's almost finished. Thank God the fashion for avocado baths went out the window. We've dressed up a simple new white bath witih large dark blue floor and wall tiles, coupled with a streamlined white vanity unit. And yes, we've also got a bidet. Well, c'est la France. Now cross over, through the lounge, and out onto the balcony. Out of shot of the picture, amazingly we've got palm trees. Still alive after the most bitter winter I can remember over here.
I touch the warm mellow stones of our home and feel a sudden rush of gladness in my heart. Oh how far I've come from the austerity, inbuilt guilt and shame of growing up in 1950's England.
I touch the warm mellow stones of our home and feel a sudden rush of gladness in my heart. Oh how far I've come from the austerity, inbuilt guilt and shame of growing up in 1950's England.
19th February 2012
So many opinions about British expats are stuck in the dark ages.
For some time a small group of British expats have been campaigning to get the Winter Fuel Allowance for British pensioners who don't qualify, like me. One of them, Brian Cave who lives in Gourden, reports how at long last the plea has reached parliament via a House of Lords debate from Lord Lexton. They need to know what conditions are like for some of us. Truth is, there's 54000 of us here in France, many having moved because of the cheaper house prices, many existing solely via their British old-age pensions.
What does citizenship mean? Shouldn't working and paying taxes all your working life guarantee payback at pension age (wherever you subsequently live?). If I take out insurance from a private insurer, country of abode at payout time is irrelevant. It's clear that the citizenship of British expats is recognised by paying the basic state pension, so it's therefore illogical to discriminate by withholding add-on benefits enjoyed by pensioners still resident in Britain. Other countries, like France, even give their citizens living abroad their own government representatives.
For some time a small group of British expats have been campaigning to get the Winter Fuel Allowance for British pensioners who don't qualify, like me. One of them, Brian Cave who lives in Gourden, reports how at long last the plea has reached parliament via a House of Lords debate from Lord Lexton. They need to know what conditions are like for some of us. Truth is, there's 54000 of us here in France, many having moved because of the cheaper house prices, many existing solely via their British old-age pensions.
What does citizenship mean? Shouldn't working and paying taxes all your working life guarantee payback at pension age (wherever you subsequently live?). If I take out insurance from a private insurer, country of abode at payout time is irrelevant. It's clear that the citizenship of British expats is recognised by paying the basic state pension, so it's therefore illogical to discriminate by withholding add-on benefits enjoyed by pensioners still resident in Britain. Other countries, like France, even give their citizens living abroad their own government representatives.
How to change the way the resident British public view the Briton Abroad? We all should follow the lead of 90-year old veteran Harry Shindler in Italy, who has a case before the European Court of Human Rights. He's visiting England in May to meet some MPs. Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
(Olga needs to take a break: see you all again in 3 weeks).
(Olga needs to take a break: see you all again in 3 weeks).
12th February 2012
So, Queen Elizabeth has been on the throne for 60 years. Back then, all us kids were given special coronation mugs and silver spoons to commemorate the event.
But, looking back, all I can think is how different everything is today. Not so much the material things, but general attitudes and the things we said. It's one of the reasons we moved to France in 2005. I so love the old-fashioned courtesies still prevalent in today's France. At the moment we've got local French workmen in the house renovating our kitchen and bathroom. There are two young apprentices learning the trade from the skilled older artisan. I wish this practice was still used in the UK. Young people have so much to learn from those who've learned the hard way. But what I've particularly noticed this last week is how very courteous and respectful they are to us. Just like England, I don't think! I know we must move with the times, but some things have proven value, so shouldn't be changed.
A good thing that has changed over the years is the Queen's plummy voice for one more suited to today. Him indoors notes how the Spanish all talk with a 'th' lisp, apeing a former King who had a speech impediment. He says it's a good job the King back then didn't walk with a limp!!
But, looking back, all I can think is how different everything is today. Not so much the material things, but general attitudes and the things we said. It's one of the reasons we moved to France in 2005. I so love the old-fashioned courtesies still prevalent in today's France. At the moment we've got local French workmen in the house renovating our kitchen and bathroom. There are two young apprentices learning the trade from the skilled older artisan. I wish this practice was still used in the UK. Young people have so much to learn from those who've learned the hard way. But what I've particularly noticed this last week is how very courteous and respectful they are to us. Just like England, I don't think! I know we must move with the times, but some things have proven value, so shouldn't be changed.
A good thing that has changed over the years is the Queen's plummy voice for one more suited to today. Him indoors notes how the Spanish all talk with a 'th' lisp, apeing a former King who had a speech impediment. He says it's a good job the King back then didn't walk with a limp!!
5th February 2012
Not a good week. Someone's been misbehaving again (no, not Him indoors this time). Plus, in sub-zero temperatures, when the new cast-iron fire gives a good blaze, the overhead wooden mantlepiece gets red-hot. So, we called back the poelle-man to fit some sort of metal fireguard. As Him indoors says: yet another paying opportunity.
For those who've not met our dog Bruno, he loves to run and climb fences with all four paws off the ground. All of which makes life difficult. We've discovered that the patch of ground to the left of us is rented out to the man whose property lies along the bottom. So, when yet again Bruno climbed the adjoining fence, it's not our immediate neighbour who's at war with us, but the one with the gun(!) in the next road. (And, of course, our neighbour can't take our side because he doesn't want to lose his rent money!) Fortunately for Bruno, we managed to catch him and lead him back, tail between his legs. Sigh of relief. But then, that evening, the ubiquitous white Berlingo arrived. Him indoors was out walking the dogs, so I opened the gates and let whom I thought was our poelle-man into the drive. But it wasn't him. It was the irate couple from the next street!
Nothing for it. Despite the icy, hardened ground, Him indoors went off to Brico yet again to arm himself with more materials to fix a sturdier door to the dog pen. Will it be completed this time? As he says everytime he puts his key in the door: 'what have I let myself in for?'
For those who've not met our dog Bruno, he loves to run and climb fences with all four paws off the ground. All of which makes life difficult. We've discovered that the patch of ground to the left of us is rented out to the man whose property lies along the bottom. So, when yet again Bruno climbed the adjoining fence, it's not our immediate neighbour who's at war with us, but the one with the gun(!) in the next road. (And, of course, our neighbour can't take our side because he doesn't want to lose his rent money!) Fortunately for Bruno, we managed to catch him and lead him back, tail between his legs. Sigh of relief. But then, that evening, the ubiquitous white Berlingo arrived. Him indoors was out walking the dogs, so I opened the gates and let whom I thought was our poelle-man into the drive. But it wasn't him. It was the irate couple from the next street!
Nothing for it. Despite the icy, hardened ground, Him indoors went off to Brico yet again to arm himself with more materials to fix a sturdier door to the dog pen. Will it be completed this time? As he says everytime he puts his key in the door: 'what have I let myself in for?'
29th January 2012
Ever wondered why you don't see a pawn shop in France? With unemployment at 9.8%, how are the poor coping?
There's a 400 year old French bank called Credit Municipal de Paris, or the Mont-de-piete, the bank of the poor. Back in the 19th century people whose only possession was their mattress would carry it to this bank and pawn it. With that money, they could then buy potatoes, sell them for a profit during the day and then buy back their mattress at night. How's that for enterprise! And it wasn't only the common people. Celebrities of the day also secretly used the bank. Even royalty. The 3rd son of Louis-Philippe once pawned his watch to settle a gambling debt. Ashamed, when asked what had happened to it, he said 'I left it at my aunt's (ma tante)'. To this day, getting help from 'ma tante' is a discrete way of saying you've been to the 'poor people's bank'. It's like a hospital emergency room. Everyone comes to it at some point.
But, miraculously, as a gesture towards the poor, thousands of lucky French people have now had their financial obligations forgiven. Yes, the bank's wiped the slate clean. One woman, Genevieve, an elegant woman in her fifties who had pawned her wedding ring, said: 'When I needed money, the bank was there. I'm very happy. You don't often get something for nothing.'
Hurray. There's some goodness in the world.
There's a 400 year old French bank called Credit Municipal de Paris, or the Mont-de-piete, the bank of the poor. Back in the 19th century people whose only possession was their mattress would carry it to this bank and pawn it. With that money, they could then buy potatoes, sell them for a profit during the day and then buy back their mattress at night. How's that for enterprise! And it wasn't only the common people. Celebrities of the day also secretly used the bank. Even royalty. The 3rd son of Louis-Philippe once pawned his watch to settle a gambling debt. Ashamed, when asked what had happened to it, he said 'I left it at my aunt's (ma tante)'. To this day, getting help from 'ma tante' is a discrete way of saying you've been to the 'poor people's bank'. It's like a hospital emergency room. Everyone comes to it at some point.
But, miraculously, as a gesture towards the poor, thousands of lucky French people have now had their financial obligations forgiven. Yes, the bank's wiped the slate clean. One woman, Genevieve, an elegant woman in her fifties who had pawned her wedding ring, said: 'When I needed money, the bank was there. I'm very happy. You don't often get something for nothing.'
Hurray. There's some goodness in the world.
22nd January 2012
French workmen - a whole new ballgame.
In England looking in the yellow pages was always a risk. Cowboy hucksters everywhere. But here, everything's different. When we moved in, there was an unexplained space in our handsome stone fireplace. It was crying out for an antique cast-iron poelle or stove. You know the sort: one with a pipe that leads up through the chimney and through the roof. So, you find an artisan and say 'I've seen a stove at our local Brico that's really cheap....'. Response: a very loud Non. We've learnt that there's a highly-involved network with all artisans. The client (i.e. us) must go to the outlets they recommend where they have established contracts. And, of course, those outlets have the most expensive items imaginable. So, nothing for it but to find more funds and go along with the status quo. When in Rome...
Result? Good job we did. Our artisan discovered that the last owner had damaged the chimney and blocked it up. If we hadn't employed someone highly skilled, we'd have set the whole place on fire. French bureaucracy may be irritating, and difficult for small businesses to set up trade, but at least there's no room for cowboys.
Last night, toasting our toes in front of our new (expensive!) poelle, Him indoors mused it's like when he left his last job rather like he started it, fired with enthusiasm.
In England looking in the yellow pages was always a risk. Cowboy hucksters everywhere. But here, everything's different. When we moved in, there was an unexplained space in our handsome stone fireplace. It was crying out for an antique cast-iron poelle or stove. You know the sort: one with a pipe that leads up through the chimney and through the roof. So, you find an artisan and say 'I've seen a stove at our local Brico that's really cheap....'. Response: a very loud Non. We've learnt that there's a highly-involved network with all artisans. The client (i.e. us) must go to the outlets they recommend where they have established contracts. And, of course, those outlets have the most expensive items imaginable. So, nothing for it but to find more funds and go along with the status quo. When in Rome...
Result? Good job we did. Our artisan discovered that the last owner had damaged the chimney and blocked it up. If we hadn't employed someone highly skilled, we'd have set the whole place on fire. French bureaucracy may be irritating, and difficult for small businesses to set up trade, but at least there's no room for cowboys.
Last night, toasting our toes in front of our new (expensive!) poelle, Him indoors mused it's like when he left his last job rather like he started it, fired with enthusiasm.
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