Living in Paradis

12th February 2012

2012-02-12T08:24:00.004+01:00

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!!

5th February 2012

2012-02-05T07:57:00.001+01:00

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?'

29th January 2012

2012-01-29T08:11:00.003+01:00

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.

22nd January 2012

2012-01-22T08:00:00.000+01:00

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.

15th January 2012

2012-01-15T07:40:00.004+01:00

Him indoors has reached a certain age. A photo of the two of us taken 45 years ago: yes, our faces look older now, but the rest of us? Despite the fact that he daily eats double portions, he can still fit into jackets from the 60's. (I know, should buy him a new one). But me? Enough said.
I read that French schools are following the Jamie Oliver approach and limiting salt, sauces and chips from school meals. Good idea. We all inherit our bodies and as children we learn what it can do. Changes in facial features we notice straight away and much money is spent on cosmetic changes, even though no health issues are involved. What's difficult is recognising when our individual, internal body metabolisms gradually, insidiously change over the years. No point getting annoyed about how other people look. It's the health aspect that's important. If BMI gets beyond a certain medical safety point, do something about it. With me, that point has now arrived. Question: what's my particular eating problem - fat or sugar? Answer: fat So, for one week so far I've cut out bread and butter. I realise that this isn't short-term, but for the rest of my life. But, the result's encouraging: I've lost 1 kg.
Of course, I'll still have to make a birthday cake for Him indoors, laced with sugar and alcohol. He says you know when you're getting older - the candles cost more than the cake!
P.S. Thanks to all who've left messages, but I've yet to learn how to reply to you all.

8th January 2012

2012-01-08T07:53:00.002+01:00

We'd bought one of those 'Pack Illimite' vouchers, which means our regular train rides to Toulouse cost just 9 euros return. Much cheaper than those exorbitant prices in the UK. But, what on earth are those yellow 'Compostage' machines at the station? Him indoors says that, at home, we put grass cuttings in ours. But, realisation dawned. Tickets are open-dated, so when you're about to catch a train, you need to show the inspector your ticket's been stamped with that particular day and time. Now, no more hiding under the seats at sight of a peaked cap.
Toulouse was its usual bustling self, despite the rain. First, I needed a get-well card for a friend back home, so looked in a large papeterie. No joy, so Him indoors was reduced to acting like a 'lame duck' for the amusement of the shopkeeper. At last, he cottoned on. 'Ah, retablissement'. Should've realised that! Next, a trip to C &As. But, being a lady of quite ample proportions, I was not pleased that the changing-rooms had ill-fitting curtains and they allowed men inside the area who could stare in! Oh well. Time to get back to Matabiau station for the short ride home. But, you've guessed it, couldn't make out which platform (voie) to take. No monitors at all at platform level. Oh, Mr. Porter, what shall I do.....Will we ever get used to living here? Only time will tell.

1st January 2012

2012-01-01T07:43:00.002+01:00

New year. 1..1..1..2. Sounds like a three-legged soldier struggling. A bit like me really. But it's a new beginning. I wonder how things will pan out. Will the UK finally leave the EU, causing chaos for us? We'd be real foreigners, needing residence permits, and to pay full cost health insurance. Will the euro collapse? Now that would be dangerous. The British Embassy would need to step in to get us out of the country, as analysts say that in that scenario, ATMs would be closed (no access to French or English money), as well as all French airports.
But, enough of all this. Here's some good news. The popular Livret A and LDD bank accounts plan to raise savings rates from the current 2.25% to 2.75% in February; the current euro woes mean we get a good exchange rate on our UK pensions, currently 1.19 euros:1 pound; a new 'no contact' bank card is imminent. We'll just need to wave these in the air, rather than insert them in a fiddly machine; and pharmacies will be reducing 'generique' medicine costs. Always ask for these rather than branded ones, as they're much cheaper.
Many years ago a young office colleague, half my age, taught me a lesson in life. No more could've, would've, should've: just get on with it. So, that's my NY resolution for 1112
A happy and healthy New Year to you all.

26th December 2011

2011-12-26T10:17:00.001+01:00

Re-read my Dickens-like blog: nothing's quite what it seems. Xmas may be a Christian festival, but all religions are merely a different door leading to the same house.
As HM The Queen said yesterday, whatever your personal ethos may be, family is all-important. But it's not the material things like gifts that matter, it's the communication. Stop and listen to the birds who live in our urban landscapes. The din from traffic, sirens and people has become so strong that many have stopped their traditional song. Tragically, some have started mimicking burglar alarms. A desperate plea for help, but is anyone listening?
Someone once said 'give 'em the flowers now', and it's very true. It's vital to show the people you love that you care. Not by buying them material 'flowers', but by telling them. Don't wait until after they've gone. Many are the glorious eulogies read at funeral wakes. Too late. Give 'em the 'flowers' now.
Communication. That's the key. Tell the right thing at the right time to the right person, and all will be well. You know who they are. Don't wait. Do it now.
Season's greetings to you all.

25th December 2011

2011-12-25T07:22:00.003+01:00

Xmas Day in the workhouse

The rain was snowing hard

A barefooted girl with shoes on

stood sitting in the yard

Xmas Day in France. Who'd have thought it. No glitz, no sparkle - and I love it. I know - bah humbug. What the Dickens is the matter with me? But who exactly is buying all those presents back home? Women of course, spending money they haven't got just because it's expected of them. And what's it all for? There's no spiritual message in it. If there were, people would be giving charity to the homeless, the poor and the deserving - not loading up pampered members of their own families with commercial glitz and rubbish they don't really need. I liked the pictures of Wills and Kate visiting that homeless charity in London, with Wills doing an urban dance with that Afro-Caribbean girl. His mother would have been so proud of him.
Here in France it's traditional at this time of year to give etrennes - tips to tradespeople who give good service throughout the year. Here, as in our last house, the local firemen came knocking on the door offering their seasonal calendar. I'm always happy to contribute to them, as they're quite literally life-saving and are generally volunteers.
Him indoors, Mr. Bah Humbug himself, has scotched all the above - he's too busy searching for the real Xmas spirit, the one labelled Johnnie Walker.

18th December 2011

2011-12-18T08:00:00.000+01:00

News and weather too depressing. Time to lighten up. I know, I'll apply for a new passport. It expires in March and you can't travel within 6m of the end date. And so the saga began. Why does everything need to be so difficult? First thing to notice is that the application system for French expats has changed. You now need to apply to the Embassy in Paris. But where's the address? Must have spent hours scrolling before finally finding it: Paris Regional Passport Processing Centre, 18 rue d'Anjou, 75008 Paris. All-important website: ukinfrance.fco.gov.uk. Next big problem is the price. For 2 people, total cost was c.350 euros! Have to start saving for the next one now. After locating 2 willing 'official' people who have known you for 2 years, they countersign the form and photos to say 'I certify that this is a true likeness of....'. I've never been photogenic, but mine looked so unbelievably ugly, their statement made us all laugh. Anyway, the price includes return of the passports by special courier. But why, when we had to pay twice for 2, did they both come returned in one envelope! Don't even think of contacting the Embassy. Only fight the battles you've got a chance of winning.
After inspecting the new e-passports, complete with embedded e-chips, Him indoors commented: oh good, now even our travelling will be virtual. Might as well stay embedded at home then.

11th December 2011

2011-12-11T07:08:00.001+01:00

Oh Mr. Cam'ron, what shall I do?

I wanted to leave old B'ham to go and join EU,

Take me back to London as quickly as you can

Oh Mr. Cam'ron, what a silly girl I am!

Last swan song for all us expats? 26 nations of Europe are not only forming a ‘fiscal union' , leaving Britain alone outside, but also will merrily sign away all sorts of treaties. No say for Britain, inevitable referendum. And we all know what the result will be. Out of the EU for good.

Will this be the Domesday scenario:

No longer able to move and live freely in any EU state, regardless of income?

No longer able to vote locally or receive local health care cover?

No longer able to receive any local welfare benefits, or local state pensions for those who've worked in the EU?

Difficulties in withdrawing/accessing money in the EU state?

Would life still be comfortable for we British expats just in the EEA instead? Doubt it. My paranoia's already setting in. Sure I'm getting strange looks from the Frenchman over the road. But there again, he thinks les anglais are all mad anyway. War time thoughts are looming yet again. Should David Cameron have been Neville Chamberlain waving his paper of appeasement? And is our Nicolas Monsieur Daladier all over again, ready to appease Angela 'Hitler' in her grand plan?

Pack your bags ready.

4th December 2011

2011-12-04T08:35:00.001+01:00

The clock's ticking. Eurogeddon looms. As we speak, British embassies are finalising contingency plans for expats. Back home English bloggers are barely disguising their schadenfreudish glee! See, we told you we shouldn't join the EU in the first place. I understand that when the USA was formed, Texas was the last 'man' standing. So, are all you Texans happy about being part of the large Union, or do you miss your original 'sovereignty'? Britain needs to know.
But, for now, what should we expats do? 1. Send some money back to the UK; 2. Keep some money in your home country to cover your daily expenses; 3. Hide some large-denomination notes under the mattress; 4. Hide some gold bars or jewellery (but not under the mattress - too lumpy). That way, whatever happens, you've got options.
Trouble with France, though, is nothing comes easy. Many French banks won't let you transfer euros to a UK bank via your PC. Annoyingly, you have to go to the bank and fill in legions of forms - often in the public welcome area. All privacy/secrecy eroded. I'm sure that le Bourse traders don't have to do that! Him indoors recalls his name for the bank manager: Mr. Cuprinol - treats everyone with de-stain.

27th November 2011

2011-11-27T08:32:00.002+01:00

....so Monday morning we set off in good time for the test drive. Don't have GPS, so mappy.fr gave me the directions. Looked easy enough. Came off the motorway o.k. But then, oh no - isn't this the slip road to the motorway again? Look, there's a big sign 'Land Rover', but unfortunately it was behind the barrier at the side of the A20! How far to the next exit? 30 km. Nothing for it. Need to get off there and return and try again. 30 mins later, unbelievably, it happened again! Eventually, with the aid of a very patient postlady, we found the garage - wasn't a road at all, just a dirt track leading to an industrial area, the garage hiding behind another building.
It's done. We've ordered Him indoors' dream car, but he'll have to wait until April for delivery from Solihull. I wanted the manual version, but they all carried that impossible 'Stop:Start' system. Imagine starting the engine on a cold morning, only to have it deliberately stop at the first set of lights. All in the name of global warming. Nonsense. Yes, the world's ice-caps are melting, but it's all probably just a natural planetary phenomenon. Meantime we're all suffering from the scientists' unproven nonsense. So, ordered the automatic Freelander model, without that stupid system. And, of course, with GPS - complete with a Brummie (B'ham) voice. Where am ya? Turn roight at the next loights..... Now we're sorted.

20th November 2011

2011-11-20T08:32:00.002+01:00

Have you had an unrealised dream your whole life? Step up Him indoors. In the very year we were born, a certain Maurice Wilks came up with an idea that's plagued us our whole lives. It didn't help that, growing up, the young Him indoors would wipe his sleeve against the misted-up bus windows and stare longingly at the factory on his doorstep. Dad, please can I have one? No; wait until you're older! The dream? A brand-new Land Rover.
At last, 60+ years later, the chance has arrived. So, my French being better, I looked up the nearest dealership and tried and tried to arrange a test drive. Sounds simple enough doesn't it? And, surely when they realise here's a customer interested in a brand new model, they'll be all over us? Well, no. I rang about 3 times in all, each time being fobbed off by the dealer's promise to ring me back. And, you know what? He never did! Can you believe it? Problem was that when I looked for a different dealership in this area, it had the same man's email address. Clearly someone too itinerant to be much use. Yet again, c'est la France. Can any Americans reading this please teach the French some customer-service?
Good news, at last. I found another dealer further away (and not the same man, hurrah), and we've now fixed un essaye de voiture for tomorrow! Tune in next week to see how we got on....

13th November 2011

2011-11-13T08:01:00.002+01:00

Memories, like the corners of my mind...
At the 11th minute of the 11th hour of the 11th month of the 11th year, we stood on our French balcony staring up through the autumn canopy of our majestic trees. How our lives have changed! Now we 'do as the Romans do', following the French way. National days here are always on the exact date, rather than the following Sunday or Monday as in the UK. Usually I can't remember them all, so am grateful to our local Intermarche supermarket, who always alert me by sticking a large poster on their door: 'We are open on the morning of......' On Friday a number of French were wearing the Bluet de France cornflower, which acts as support for France's armed forces. Funds raised are used to provide social and recreational aid for the wounded. I'm all in favour of teaching our children the meaning of the past. To those who say 'what's the point? forget the past', I say it's only by understanding the past that we can know who we are, our failings, and aim for a better future.
.....of the way we were.... postwar deprivations, hardships...but decades later, our generation's been lucky. Property, employment came easily. But now the difficult bit...growing old. Him indoors: '...it's not younger I want to get, but older.....'

6th November 2011

2011-11-06T07:26:00.002+01:00

So, in the end we sold our first French house at a loss. I know, I know: the idea is to make a profit. I read that French property values have dropped 20%, and I can confirm that's certainly true around here. But, at least we recouped the loss by buying our Gaillac house at 20% less. Swings and roundabouts. What's surprising is so many people who still have the 'old' mindset of what they think their house is worth: 'Yes, it's terrible; our house has been on the market now for 6 years but, of course, houses in our price range aren't selling at the moment....' No, no, no! There is no 'price range'. A house is only worth what someone's prepared to pay for it. If 'values' have dropped, then you must drop your price.
What's galling is all the unforeseen extras. I've just had to pay the local vidangeur 200 euros to empty the septic tank. As the buyers so aptly put it: chacun a son caca! And, whatever you do when conversing with the vidangeur, don't make my mistake of confusing the French word 'vide' (empty) for 'remplir' (fill up)!!! A certain, appropriate, expletive comes to mind: merde!
And Him indoors? He doesn't trust the euro or banks in general. As he says, should we put our (reduced) net profits under the mattress or in the apparently new lunar bank headed by that well-known safe-as-houses net-keeper Ban-K-sy-Moon!

30 October 2011

2011-10-30T08:04:00.003+01:00

At the third stroke it will be 07.35, precisely. Traditionally we all looked forward 1 hour to summer, and back with gloom to the winter. Ever since 1847 (and no, I'm not that old) when GMT was first adopted by the GB Railway Clearing House, we all fell into line. But in this digital and techno world, is it still the best way? GMT could be a thing of the past in more ways than one hour if new plans for coordinated universal time (UTC) by a Paris body are enforced. Proposals by the Int. Bureau of Weights and Measures in Paris could see GMT sidelined. Something to do with an apparent 'leap second' that is needed every 18 months.
Of course, Britain objected - as they do with all things EU! British Science Minister David Willetts grumbled about 'undercurrents of nationalism'. Only last week Cameron annoyed Sarko by having the chutzpah to tell him what to do with the euro, even though Britain isn't even in it. Hanging on for grim death to its isolated island status will, I fear, mean that Britain is nanoseconds away from its own Waterloo.
In the (not Greenwich) digital meantime, there's a generation of children who no longer understand the term 'clockwise'. But what's more important: history, national pride or technological progress? Only time will tell.

23 October 2011

2011-10-23T08:02:00.003+02:00

Canny those Chinese. In a week of Greek strikes and anti-capitalist rallies, there was little Jin Qin. The solution, said Jin, Chairman of China's sovereign wealth fund, is for Europeans to work harder and for longer, rather than being cushioned by the welfare system. "The root cause is the overburdened welfare system built up since WW2 in Europe: sloth-inducing, indolence-inducing labour laws," Jin told Channel 4 News. The average Chinese working week is nearly 48 hours. "We work like crazy," said Jin. Trust the Chinese to hit the nail on the head.
And what's happening back home? In the UK everyone's arguing for a referendum to get out of the EU. My father used to say if the UK joins Europe fully, then Hitler would have won. But the world's changed. No Empire; we can't go it alone any longer. I never thought I'd say it, but I rather like Angela Merkel. She eschews facelifts and US-style power-dressing, sticking to her own quiet style of pastel jackets and black trousers - perfect for concentrating on the essentials: the terrifying financial burdens facing us all.
And the message from English expats to the UK? Please don't vote to leave the EU. Bereft of our link to health care, we'd all have to come home again, swelling even further a UK population bursting at the seams. Him indoors says we should all follow China's lead, but not like Mr. Yu - when asked what to call him, he said anything but A!

16th October 2011

2011-10-16T08:53:00.000+02:00

Toulouse yesterday. Place Capitole vibrant. Everyone looked happy. What a difference to our Birmingham UK origins, where typically a customer would greet a retailer with the memorable lines: 'I don't s'pose you've got one of these' - almost not entering the shop, so sure was he that they wouldn't have one!
And there, right on the corner, was C & As - last heard of in Corporation Street, Birmingham decades ago. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until I walked through the doors. Picking up a dress, there were the old familiar 'Sixth Sense' and 'Canda' labels. And, oh joy, large-size tops. Now at last I could actually choose something, instead of grabbing anything, anywhere that was near to fitting me. Just like old times. Except, footwear. French women everywhere have small feet, and women's shoesizes stop at size 41 (UK size 7). What am I, with size 8 (French size 42) supposed to do? Clomp around in men's shoes? I asked the saleswoman why, and memorably she said 'Oh, I have the same problem too'. Well, order bigger sizes then!!
Him indoors was O.K. though. Everything fitted him well. But, he then insisted on buying a 7-pair pack of socks. All well and good until we got home and saw that each pair was emblazoned with a day of the week. I knew what would happen: Wednesday'll get mixed up in the wash with Sunday, and because of his increasing longsightedness, each foot, each day, will display different days. A veritable 'Feet (fait) accompli'!

9th October 2011

2011-10-09T08:12:00.002+02:00

Autumn. A chill in the air. In the summer, the sun's all I need to raise my spirits, but in the dark days to come? Time to stock up on my favourite winter pick-me-up - for me an essential antidote to my seasonal affection disorder. Music to the ears of the organisers of the 17th Salon de Chocolat taking place at the Porte de Versailles on the 24th. During the Spanish Inquisition, Jewish artisans, who had become experts at making palatable chocolate from Mexican beans, were expelled yet again from Spain and Portugal and settled in Bayonne where the European chocolate tradition was born.
I grew up a stone's throw away from the Cadbury factory in Bournville. Ah, those Dairy Milk bars, Fruit n Nut and Whole Nut. Bournville in the early 50s was an idealised social village, where workers were housed, fed and looked after by their employer. As a child I remember school tours around the factory, being handed wonderful samples as we watched all the different varieties being produced, and being given treasured gifts of assortments and Cadbury pencilboxes as we left. But, today in France, I have taught myself to only eat dark chocolate, the healthier variety as I struggle with my weight.
Researchers recently reported that eating dark chocolate does not raise cholesterol, has the same health benefits as exercise and definitely works against depression. So what can I do but succumb?

2nd October 2011

2011-10-02T08:21:00.000+02:00

Aux barricades! Yes, the French are going on strike yet again. Tuesday 11th, the five main unions are calling for coordinated action against the country's austerity plans.
It's all deja vu. I'm thinking back to the '70s when the unions brought the whole country to a standstill. Yes, it was a different country, yes it was a different union leader, but the motive and rationale were just the same: we don't like the country's leader - far too arrogant, the party's not to our taste and I'd like some of that power and glory for myself. And, while all this prancing about and celebrity-chasing was going on, the ordinary man in the street was suffering. No services, no transport, no vital utilities.
You can be forgiven for thinking all this is 'crying wolf'. France is hardly in Greece's position, yet. But what if things were really bad (like in 1930s Germany), would anyone listen to the unions then? This is a democracy: if you don't like the government's policies, simply vote them out. At a time when the economy is at such a critical stage and we're all worried about the euro, it's preposterous of the unions and the strikers themselves to cost the country even more money. Him indoors says any striking aircrews should stage a walkout at 30000 feet....

25th September 2011

2011-09-25T07:44:00.002+02:00

Ask an Englishman what's the most taboo topic for discussion and he'll say Sex. Ask a Frenchman, and he'll say Money! So what's a poor expat to do? In times of crisis we don't have State benefit protection any more so we all need access to transferable cash. But if no-one wants to talk money, where can you get advice? An IFA's no good if you don't want to be pushed into Grotley's Offshore investment bond. If you read the financial press, both the euro and the EU are about to go zplat any moment, but in England there's UK tax and exchange rates to worry about.
Time for lateral thinking. Always been good at that. The best French investment is known as assurance vie - but it's nothing to do with life assurance. No inheritance tax or French income tax, funds grow tax free, and if you're not talking to your children any more, you can leave the money to whomever you wish. Yes, it overrides the draconian French succession laws. Of course, a worrier like me was bound to ask: if the bank or EU goes bankrupt, is my money guaranteed by the State (and if so am I covered as a non-French national)? Interestingly, the bank said yes, you're covered for 100000 euros, but the same question put to LaPoste, and the answer was no.
Nothing comes easy. Him indoors says when he asked the bank manager 'how do I stand for a loan', the reply was 'you don't stand, you grovel'.

18th September 2011

2011-09-18T07:25:00.002+02:00

Selling a house in France? Sounds easy, doesn't it? Go to your nearest estate agency, sign up, then sit back and wait for the cheque. Well, no. It's a veritable minefield.
Last February we signed with one agency. We waited and waited and waited. Nothing. I asked for some feedback and was told 'we have too many houses to do that'. French agencies in our price range take a minimum of 9000 euros (compared to only 1.5% in the UK); one wanted 15000 euros. (Him indoors says he now knows why they call themselves immobilier: they're all immobile!). By May we signed with 3 more French agencies and waited. After lowering the price, I took matters into my own hands and placed an ad in LeBoncoin.fr. A bit like ebay. Immediately I received enquiries. Difficult though. If you have a fosse septique, a new law requires sellers to provide a certificate of conformity to the law (67 euros), and if you have a gas citerne and the new buyer doesn't want it, the seller has to pay the gas co. 300 euros to take it away, and everyone must provide an energy report costing 400 euros. And notaires deduct automatically any capital gains tax for the treasury. Still want to sell your house? Him indoors says: if you make a capital loss, do they pay you??

11th September 2011

2011-09-11T13:21:00.000+02:00

9/11 ten years on. For one French woman today has especial meaning. Dening Lohez had been married just 3 months when she heard the fatal news that her new husband Jerome had perished, one of the 4 Frenchmen working in the twin towers of Manhattan. Since then she's visited several Arab countries in an effort to try to understand why they committed such an atrocity, and has since started the Jerome Lohez foundation in her husband's memory, helping young people.
I was amazed to see how this French woman, who must have been devastated, still managed to stay focused enough to travel to the Middle East to see and talk to ordinary Arab citizens. It's clear that understanding is the key to resolving the enormous differences between West and East. Of course, in the pre-IT era, people only worried about problems near to home. Now, with the vast global network, we're daily confronted by scenes of people living completely different lives. How terrible for people suffering from perhaps malnutrition, drought, and the daily drudgery of making enough money to eat, to see people in the West living lives of apparent luxury.
If I'd been Mayor of NY, I don't think I'd have used those millions of dollars to build that Freedom Tower. A more fitting memorial would have been to use that finance to redress some of the balance between East and West - maybe then we could hope that such a terrible thing borne of conceived injustice could never happen again.

4th September 2011

2011-09-04T08:54:00.003+02:00

Today my daughter is 42. I'm sure she'll forgive my telling you, as age doesn't seem to matter so much today and my blog name is a pseudonym. As a mother, my mind inevitably flicks back to September 1969. Mindsets and attitudes were so different back then. In that Birmingham maternity ward, I listened to the nurses and never dared complain. Although a normal birth at 9.5 lb, my first, and I was desperate to breastfeed and establish that vital mother-child bond, the nurses took the baby away to the nursery for 12 hours. By the time they brought her back, the bond was broken. Did they realise what they had stupidly done?
Are things better today? A British man, David Bromley, lay dead in the tiny Normandy village of Saint-Sauveur-le-Vicomte for more than 7 months. His family hadn't enquired, and the other village residents didn't realise as the man was 70, didn't speak French nor had he tried to integrate since his arrival. How sad is that?
All of this reinforces the need to keep contacts with your family, friends and neighbours. Don't be isolated. Show your family you care; don't let them break contact with you, however far away they may be.
And to my beautiful daughter: Happy birthday!

28th August 2011

2011-08-28T08:02:00.001+02:00

It's been a mad week of dogs, chickens and building works. No, we're not moving again. You may remember that Bruno had scaled a high fence and attacked our neighbour's chicken. I've read that French hunters expect to lose many of their gundogs, simply because they're known for running off, following their noses (the dogs, that is). So, nothing for it - we'd have to build a pen (not for the chicken, which would've been a lot easier). Fortunately we've two amazing English friends who arrived, complete with their own logo 'FencersRus'. On the hottest day of the year, we set about measuring out a large area (Bruno's a chasseur, so needs to run), shopped for the required fence posts and tons of green wire. The men did the hammering and the girls did the fiddly bits. At last it's finished. And everyone's been giving me advice: give the dog treats in there, play with him, make him see it as a nice place to be. So we did.

Here's a picture. But, yesterday, I caught a sly glimpse of our French neighbour, no doubt wondering what these crazy English 'rosbifs' were up to now. Sacre bleu, he thinks, looking at his own dog-hovel - it's better than Central Park.

21st August 2011

2011-08-21T08:13:00.002+02:00

The canicule continues - 40 degrees today and rising. And CPAM, the French bureaucratic health body, includes those my age as those at risk! However, whenever I think I've got the health system licked, something happens to confuse me yet again. From E106, E121, S1 - the forms go on for ever, including the sub-bodies like Secu, CMU.
But now I hear even the locals have trouble with it. M. Rolland from Argenteuil was told by his pharmacist that CPAM wouldn't reimburse costs because the patient was 'dead'. Secu refused to believe the pharmacist, so M. Rolland and his wife marched into the CPAM offices themselves to sort them out. However, a few days later his pension fund wrote to 'the heirs of M. Rolland' asking for a death certificate. When he rang to protest, they told him to get a 'certificate of existence' from his mairie, who subsequently said such a thing didn't exist. The pension company then asked him to provide a copy of his birth certificate with a signed note to confirm he was still alive. All well and good until he made a chasing call and was told he'd died a few weeks ago!
Him indoors says I never See Pam anyway, and I don't get ill 'cos I'm on a seafood diet - when I see food I eat it...

14th August 2011

2011-08-14T08:03:00.003+02:00

Anarchy abounds. In Middle East dictatorships it was ever so, but in the democratic West? Of course, the French have always been quick to shout revolution. But in England?
Unlike societies of the past, modern media is awash with images of young people enjoying expensive lifestyles. I blame John Lennon. Ever since he stood on that stage at the London Palladium and showed no respect for older people in the audience, things started to change.
When I first started work 45 years ago, my wage of 8 pounds p.w. was standard, and it was expected that I run errands and make tea for more senior workers. But, over the years - and it was very hard - I climbed the ladder. There was no alternative - no welfare benefits - so I had to be patient. And, because at 16 I was forced to work, I had to wait until I was 50 to earn my English degree.
But today, the impatient young see what they want and they want it NOW. By every means possible: smash, grab, injure, shoot and steal. John Lennon, instead of singing Please Please Help Me, should have sung I Will Work and Work until I Can Improve My Life. It can be done - I proved it!

7th August 2011

2011-08-07T09:12:00.003+02:00

I've always hated guns, coming from a town like Birmingham famous for manufacturing them. I'm alarmed by the general unconcern of ordinary people to having a gun at home. In France it's perfectly acceptable for private citizens to own a handgun.
Yesterday Bruno, our pet spaniel (who happens to be a gun dog) managed to shimmy over our normally adequate fence and attacked one of our neighbour's free-range chickens. We immediately went next door, full of apologies and explanations, offering to pay for a new chicken, but to no avail. We were met not only with alarming hostility but with the threat of using a gun!
In France, a kill is not seen as a function of a gun that has somehow run amok, but a problem of the inadequate detection and treatment of madness. And with livestock, the law always sides with the farmer. But we live in a town. This wasn't a farmer, but an ordinary citizen. Officially, persons treated for established mental illness are ineligible for gun ownership, but what about testosterone-driven rages when the rational flies out the window?
So, Bruno must now be kept on a lead at all times. For goodness sake, get rid of all guns.

31 July 2011

2011-07-31T08:30:00.002+02:00

Would you believe it - our second speeding ticket! Are we boy racers then, preferring to travel at whatever speed we choose, oblivious to the danger to others? Or, is it the recent decision by Sarkozy to remove warning signs about radar traps? No, none of these of course. We just weren't sure of the prevailing speed limit.There's one particular point where the A62 gives way to the A620, and the speed limit drops without much signage. Doesn't the government just love the confusion this causes, rubbing their hands with glee: yet more revenue for their coffers. My solution, in all countries, would be for the central road line, currently painted white everywhere, to reflect the prevailing speed limit, e.g. painted say orange for 30 kmh, blue for 50 kmh, white for 110/130 kmh on motorways, etc. This way, at any point on the road, you just need to look down at the road. But, governments wouldn't like this of course. They prefer to class all aberrants as 'criminals' who deliberately choose to break the law. In the meantime, nothing for it but to pay the 55 euro fine (to delay or foolishly contest it, costs 180 euros), collect a few moe points on our French licence, and incur more hoots from following lorry drivers on how slow we're driving in future!

24 July 2011

2011-07-24T08:37:00.003+02:00

It was our wedding anniversary, so spent the day in Toulouse. Balma/Gramont metro only has one line and is the terminus, so what could go wrong? The car park barrier, surprisingly, was open. We love the metro: easy maps on the walls and a voice which announces in advance each stop. Must have known we were there.
The day started to go awry at lunchtime. Thought smoking had been banned in restaurants, but apparently not under canopies. What is it with smokers? They think it's perfectly acceptable to light up after their meal and, infuriatingly, rest an elbow on the table and bend their arm away from their face, so a continuous stream of smoke blows into yours! Ruined our whole meal. Next, the heel came off my shoe, and the local shops only stocked women's shoes up to size 41 (I take 42, size 7 in UK). Nothing for it then but to kick both shoes off and walk in bare feet. Luckily it wasn't raining. However, couldn't find the car park. Balma/Gramont has a multitude and it took an age to find it. Didn't help that Him indoors had drunk too much whisky during the day, so was completely out of it by then. And then....all exits from the car park said 'Exit with ticket only' and we didn't have one!
A good anniversary? Him indoors, recalling 44 years ago to the day, muttered 'seemed like a good idea at the time'.

17 July 2011

2011-07-17T08:44:00.001+02:00

The loudspeakers woke us. Bleary-eyed, I looked at the clock. 8.00 already? As usual, all night our imbecile dog Bruno has been prancing around, panting away, wide awake, whilst all day he sleeps peacefully under the steps outside! Great. But even I knew the noise wasn't Bruno this time. It seemed to be coming from the end of our chemin. That'll be the Tour de France, says Him indoors, for whom lack of sleep doesn't seem to have the same effect. So, we trawled up the road to find out what was going on. The Gendarmes were out in force, looking ridiculously young. Promotion cars were whizzing past - Skoda Superb, VW Passat, Sky Jaguars, together with menacing, low-flying helicopters. And even commercialisation, of sorts - normally unheard of in France: a caravan tried to sell us all things yellow, especially T-shirts emblazoned across the chest. Time was when I'd have liked one of those, but I no longer need anything to draw attention to my chest! At last, the riders whizzed past, with motorcycles and cars galore, inches from the spinning wheels, doing their utmost to crash into them.And Him indoors? He looked disappointed. None looked like his heroes of yesteryear: Tommy Godwin and Reg Harris. Oh well, time's moved on. Now I know why he's always saying I should get on my bike...

10 July 2011

2011-07-10T08:35:00.002+02:00

It's now been 5 months since we put our first French house for sale, and it's feeling a little sad - it wants a new owner. Unlike English estate agent jargon, here are the facts we all want to know. You know what I mean: cut to the chase.
Pluses:
Price: reduced to 179 000 euros (includes agent fees). High-speed broadband access.
3 bedrooms. Gas CH. High-range kitchen, including integrated Bosch dishwasher, Ariston oven and Scholtes fridge-freezer, Ariston 6-burner ss gas hob. Bathroom with power/massage shower. Land 2133m2 (half-acre), with clear views to the rear. Pool 9 x 4 m with salt filter. 2 terraces. Situation: on edge of village, walking distance to shops and nearby Aveyron river; 5mins to SNCF station. Mediterranean sunshine! Minuses: rural location, need a car to get to larger towns and stores.

So, what do you think? Worth the money? Would make an ideal holiday home. No reasonable offers refused - I'll even throw in a few extras......

3 July 2011

2011-07-03T07:53:00.001+02:00

And so the adventure continues.....
We need to make regular trips to the 'pink city' of Toulouse, so decided to buy one of the new Pack Liberte tickets which allows 12m unlimited returns with reduced prices for ancients like us. Yesterday we tried it out. Problem 1 (you didn't really think everything would go smoothly, did you?): no trains! Work on the line preparing for the new TGV service Bordeaux to Toulouse. By the time we turned up at le Gare Gaillac, no turning back, so we boarded Le Car - a surprisingly comfortable and efficient coach and joined the French holiday crowds on all roads south. Problem 2: I've realised I'm a machinaphobe. Couldn't fathom the high-tech ticket machines at the Matabiau Metro and needed the inevitable 'young person' to show me how! This, despite my super high-speed typing skills from another age and my university degree. N'importe quoi. The big surprise was the layout on the Metro platforms. Closed electronic doors, which suddenly swish open in synchrony and perfect alignment with the incoming train. Reminded us of monorails at Florida airports. So, even if he wanted to, Him indoors couldn't push me under the next train. He said it reminded him of bookmakers of old: what've you got TouLose...

26 June 2011

2011-06-26T07:23:00.001+02:00

I hate tourists! I know what you're going to say, but it's the English particularly. I remember one particular (OK Yah) woman in our old place showing some friends around: '...and here's our Mary....'. I looked around, expecting to see some cute little girl, only to see her pointing grandly at the castle ramparts where resided the French town hall (mairie).
So, it was with some trepidation that we showed our son around nearby Albi, capital of the Tarn. Success. Not only did we not encounter a single other tourist, but we found that rare place - a French vegetarian restaurant. (I remembered our old neighbour, on learning that one of us didn't eat meat: 'Mais...c'est un catastrophe!). The Albi central streets are charming, full of cobbled alleyways and delicious little shops and boutiques. We trudged up the slope past the Musee de Toulouse-Lautrec and found the surprising Jardin du Palais de Berbie, which winds down stoney steps to the cool waters and the Pont-Vieux over the Tarn beneath. All in all, a great day. Even Him Indoors enjoyed it. Normally he just rushes us around so he can get a beer back home. Some Englishmen never change.

19 June 2011

2011-06-19T08:03:00.003+02:00

Thought you might like to see our new home - taken last winter. Lots of refurb needed, but it has a certain faded charm - a bit like me really, some would say! This last week I've struggled to make various utility people understand we'd rather like some electricity and water. Same old irritation with centralised phone systems - trying with my best French to make someone based in the wilds of Martinique understand. That, combined with the dratted 'if you want this, press 1....'. Grrr!
Sunny day yesterday so we strolled down our long garden to the little abri (shed) at the bottom, only to discover a deluge of water pouring out of an open pipe within. Great lakes soaking into both our land and our new neighbour's! Him indoors says the plumber looked like Monsieur Poireau...... (French for leek). Oh well, It all makes work for the working man to do....

12 June 2011

2011-06-12T09:08:00.001+02:00

Bonjour to Gaillac and le Gaillacois! Where exactly is it? It's midway between Toulouse, Albi and Montauban. For wine lovers, it's the best place in the world, famous for its Pays des Bastides, with rows of vines regimented like soldiers up the rolling hillsides.
Well, that's the tourist ad. Now down to the nitty-gritty. It's very hard work, this moving lark. TG I changed my mind at the last minute and decided against the do-it-yourself move. At last we found a local removal firm who charged less than 1000 euros. I know..everything costs here. It would have killed us to do it ourselves. How on earth I'd managed to accumulate so much stuff, I don't know. But, we're acclimatising ourselves. Gaillac has 3 market days per week, all a cycle ride away. And, there's a group from the tourist office at the Abbey St. Michel who welcome new arrivals.
Now all I've got to do is locate the electricity and water meters - know they must be around somewhere? And, find the dogs and Him indoors - hiding in the long grass, or should I say meadow at the bottom of the garden.
...

5 June 2011

2011-06-05T07:49:00.002+02:00

The bells are tolling in Paradis. As I walked around the village yesterday, touching ancient crepi walls, I bid a silent farewell to our home of six years. Nothing much had changed. The swirling waters of the Aveyron were still gurgling over the weir at the Moulin; the charming old men still doffed their hats. So why?
Nothing in life's perfect. Village life's a bit like Trumpton of yesteryear: there the miller, there the firemen, there the grocer. But, can life be lived permanently like this? For those of us who've reached that benchmark of 60 years, it becomes increasingly obvious that more is needed. A car here is a necessity. But, what if eyesight fades so we can't drive any more? What if we can't reach the shops? Idealism is all well and good, but at some point reality kicks in.
So, merci beaucoup Paradis but we're now moving on. La vie francaise must continue but tweaked a little. Like the French Derby winner yesterday, Pour Moi is now tout important.

29 May 2011

2011-05-29T08:54:00.002+02:00

Money, money, money...it's a rich man's world. And yet, if you retire to another country like France, don't be confused. Yes, you may have capital from the sale of your English overpriced home, but that means naught if you haven't got a decent monthly income or pension.
Why do we pay social security payments all our working lives? Shouldn't it be to secure financial security for yourself in your old age? Seems not. It goes to pay for the young and feckless at the moment. Everyone says, when you yourself are old, those who are young then will pay for you. But, if you then move abroad? Current UK expats in France who paid state contributions all their working lives receive just the basic pension, no benefits and no top-ups. And France? They're stopping the only top-up benefit available to expats (ASPA) who become ill or hit hard times. What then is the EU for? Every country can't cop out of paying. Someone must pay the tab - the buck stops here.

22 May 2011

2011-05-22T08:20:00.003+02:00

Is it me, or has the world gone mad? First it was that mad US preacher who predicted an apocalypse at 6 p.m. last night. Don't know about you, but I still seem to be here. Then there was 'Houston, the Pontiff's calling' , as the Pope talks to astronauts. Right. A perfectly standard thing for the Catholic head to do. Doesn't he realise that religion and science don't mix? It's that old paradox: matter v the spirit. And now I read that the EU are going to pay French fishermen to fish for.....plastic!
At least this week's French news that extra traffic police are to be called in is more normal - if not typical. Signs throughout France warning of radar speed traps are to be removed. It's nothing to do with gaining more revenue for the state, though. 'Course not. So, in typical French fashion, there's to be a national road-block day on 2 June to protest. All well and good, except that it's being called not by the poor harrassed motorists, but by the radar sign manufacturers (who fear going out of business)!
It's all a sore trial to my sanity.

15 May 2011

2011-05-15T09:32:00.005+02:00

What is it with France and culture? Financial austerity everywhere, but don't touch our culture, say the French. At last night's Eurovision song contest, William Hill's had French entrant M. Vasilie at odds-on to win. At last, an entrant who could actually sing, competing against pop dross all around. Of course, he lost. And then there's the ongoing Cannes film festival, where Woody Allen proposed his own 'idealised' version of Paris. What chutzpah - making a film full of touristy cliches, employing the French first lady and telling the French in France how Paris should be. Of course, what all this proves is that it's not the individual merit of each entry that's important, it's political correctness that counts. If you belong to a national culture where supporting your neighbouring country is paramount, then forget quality - la politique essentielle is the thing. Secular France may not espouse public religion, but la cultur embodying national affiliations - now that's very different. Bring back De Gaulle, that's what I say.

8 May 2011

2011-05-08T08:24:00.004+02:00

It may be VE day here, but for me stress abounds. What is it they say? Don't move house, don't suffer bereavement, don't move abroad and don't get old. Enough said.
So, I was interested to read that French women are the longest-lived in Europe. It seems that if I drink more water, take more olive oil, eat broccoli and dark chocolate (anti-depressant), walk more and climb stairs it will help. Age simply creeps up on you. Once that social status of working and living in your 'home' country has disappeared and your own declining physical image shouts back from every mirror and camera, what's to be done? Here's what. Get involved with other people in your new surroundings, 'be nice' and they will reciprocate. And, realise that it's only now you have the opportunity to do all those things you couldn't do when you were younger.
It may be VE day in France, but as I can't bring back family members who've passed on and I can't stop the progress of time, as I approach moving house in France I can at least take note of all the above things which would be an amazing personal victory for me.

1 May 2011

2011-05-01T08:14:00.002+02:00

What a week! Two people made an important commitment, there was much signing of names, officialdom everywhere and a future for the happy couple in new accommodation. The royal wedding? No, just Him indoors and me buying our new home in France.
It all started early last Tuesday. What to wear? It was hot, but I didn't want to be too casual. (And French women are so chic). I decided against wearing Sarah Burton from Alexander McQueen, so instead plumped for a simple black T-shirt, black trousers and a green jacket from that so chic Evans branch of Birmingham UK.
The notaire's office was crowded. The 2 vendor brothers, 2 notaires (one bilingual), estate agent and us. We shook hands all round in true gallic fashion. 4 hours later, arms stiff from signing G-d knows what, we'd bought our new house. Hurray. The French estate agent even pointed us in the direction of that free vendor website leboncoin.fr, our current house being too far away for him to deal with. Now that's good service. We then zoomed away in the ubiquitous Citroen - deciding against the open-topped landau with liveried postillions.
Wills and Kate? We beat them to it 44 years ago, and at least our initials aren't WC!

24 April 2011

2011-04-24T08:54:00.000+02:00

It's now 6 years since we came to France. In 2005 the property market was in such full flow, anything seemed possible. But, slowly, slowly, the economic bubble started to burst. Just this week came news that Russian “Nickel King” Mikhail Prokhorov made an offer of €390 million for one of the largest villas on the Côte d’Azur. When the economic crisis hit, however, he pulled out and sought to get his 10% deposit back through the courts. The Tribunal de Grande Instance de Nice ruled against Mr Prokhorov and he lost all his 39 million euros! Admittedly, the 'lucky winner' will be a new Alzheimer's Centre in Nice, but that doesn't help Mr. Prokhorov.
But despite all this, we're still set on signing our own Acte de Vente (the final procedure) this week for our new home in Gaillac. In retrospect, when we bought our present lovely home 6 years ago, we were still thinking in 'holiday home' mentality. Now, we're much more French street-smart. In these harsh economic times, we're no longer holidaymakers; we need somewhere that is a cast-iron investment - and that means a city - where the workers and the buyers are. Also, as we age and our eyesight gets dimmer (making driving more difficult), we'll be nearer essential facilities. That's the key for us right now.
I'll let you know how we get on next week.

17th April 2011

2011-04-17T08:00:00.002+02:00

So, Wills and Kate are soon to be married. What a quandary everyone's in. Should the people celebrate uproariously as in the past? Or should they follow William's lead: keep everything low key, don't be seen to be affluent when so many are struggling. But isn't spectacle, wealth and glamour what the royal family's all about? Isn't it diminished to the point of absurdity without it?
And what do the French think about it all? Magazines such as Paris Match have tried hard to show that the French are fascinated by the British Royals. Indeed, 3 years ago polls showed that 24% thought that having a King as head of state was a good idea. And yet, around me here in rural France I see general indifference. Perhaps there's still a deep guilt complex centuries after the atrocities of the Revolution.
I wondered even whether any of the top brass in France had been issued with a must-have invite. But then, who? Should it be the (republican) President and his glamorous wife? Or should it be the 2 main pretenders to the French 'throne', Henri d'Orleans, descendant of Louis Philippe, or Louis de Bourbon, descended from Charles X? In practice, I doubt whether any of them have been invited. By doing so, the Queen would be seen to be making diplomatic considerations.
Him indoors just shakes his head, saying it's likely to be a very sad affair - even the cake's in tiers.

10th April 2011

2011-04-10T08:43:00.002+02:00

Some time ago, amidst the furore of the pre-General Elections in the UK, I bravely sent an email to David Cameron's office stating that if he were to change the then overly-complicated system of means-testing pensioners to allow for top-up pension credits and, instead, consolidate all the benefits into one larger pension for all, this could be cost-effective as it would cut out unnecessary admin costs. Of course, this would have benefited me and all other expat pensioners who currently cannot claim the extra top-ups. So, I was particularly pleased to read recently that there's a new Green Paper that says the UK State Pension is to rise to around 150 pounds sterling a week. Hooray! But, wait a minute, what's this: '...current pensioners will not benefit....' Typical! You work all your life, paying c.40 years of National Insurance (tax) payments, only to find the government moving the goal posts just when you get there. It's particularly galling to read that those who will, in the future, qualify for the new much higher UK pension, won't have paid nearly so much - even if they do have to wait a bit longer to get it.
As I've always said, would have been much better to have deposited all those 40 years of payments under the mattress, then I could have used them as I wanted.
Is that a government cuckoo I heard just now? Aren't they known to rob everyone else to feather their own nests?

3rd April 2011

2011-04-03T08:42:00.002+02:00

It's Mothers' day - at least in the UK. In France, it'll be 29 May, and in the US - not sure. Confusing. What's a mother to do when one child's in England, the other in America? Some would say good job there's no mother-in-law day - the greetings card industry would have a field day!
And then there's the political worry about another woman here in France: Marine Le Pen, President of the NF party. She's already won a lot of regional votes. She's known for being a Euro-sceptic and hates immigrants. What if she becomes French President next year? She could throw all we expats out. Trouble is, as with all young females, she's photogenic and comes across well on TV. She's mild-mannered and apparently entirely plausible. My worry is she will entice the French with her artificially-sweet, saccharine words and then? A natural progression is to think back to Germany in 1933. The youthful Hitler snared the poverty-stricken Germans with encouraging words about food and jobs - and indeed, in power, fulfilled all these promises - but then, all that glory and popularity pushed him to reveal his true, evil hard core.
Today may be a day for women but, especially in politics, beware the wolf in sheep's clothing. Sometimes, better to stick to the devil you know.

27th March 2011

2011-03-27T09:12:00.003+02:00

The pitfalls of selling your house - I suppose the same wherever you live, but in France the agony is much prolonged because there are no buyers! First, I made a herculean effort to spruce up the place for the 'glossy' estate agent photos.. (I pictured in my mind the continuous annoyance of seeing washing-up permanently in the sink)...not realising that I would need to keep up this impossible perfection for ever in case that elusive buyer walks up the drive. Every day I seem to notice something that makes me panic, ordering Him indoors to quickly fetch that brush to put a fresh coat of paint over everything bar the dogs; (he says he'll gloss over that, and anyway they already have distemper!). I've tried to think of everything, should that longed-for phone call announce an imminent arrival. Action-stations will include fresh coffee on the perk and dogs out of the way in the car. But, above all, I've got to realise that the French do things differently. Let the agent do the showing around. Make yourself scarce; hide in the garage if necessary. But first I need to find a buyer. Take a look if you're curious. It's on http://www.agencedisc.fr/ (ref. 0211 8208). For a holiday home with pool in the sunny S.W. of France, it's a snip - no reasonable offers refused!

20th March 2011

2011-03-20T07:56:00.002+01:00

Normally English TV is a good antidote for my depression. However, I've learned to restrict news bulletins to one a day.
Yesterday my football team lost, so I watched the Rugby, only to see England lose to Ireland. Then, flicking through the channels - typical Saturday night rubbish - left me watching Dad's Army. I dozed off, only to wake suddenly and think I was still in war-time. I blinked and struggled to wake up my senses as I scrabbled myopically for my glasses. In the foreground was undoubtedly the Elysee Palace in Paris, but there seemed to be a mix of historical figures standing on the steps between the gothic pillars. The tall fellow to the left looked like the stately Charles de Gaulle, back erect, weak chin and sharp nose. In the middle was, strangely, Napoleon! Very short, arrogant stance, tiny feet, dark-haired and well turned out. Standing behind was none other than Winston Churchill. Must have been him with that shiny bald head, short stature - and I'd know that voice anywhere. I strained to hear him say '..we'll fight 'em on the beaches...' but the sound was too low for me to hear. And, standing next to de Gaulle, was that Margaret Thatcher in the pink jacket and handbag, being wooed by that small 75-year old Italian Casanova?
Clearly I must cut back on all that Gaillac wine!

13th March 2011

2011-03-13T08:11:00.001+01:00

In the Guardian recently was an article about publishing on the latest gadgetry. I suddenly realised that the latest Kindle might be a good idea - particularly for older readers of my 'Paradis' book. However much you love books in their true form - which I do - you can't make the print any bigger!! And many are the times when people sit on their wretched reading glasses or need a magnifying glass to read. (Him indoors says: whatever you do, don't try to eat soup with it). For all these reasons, the Kindle seems like an excellent idea if it enables you to increase the font size, and is less likely to get lost down the back of the settee.
So, I went to the Amazon.co.uk site to try and publish my work on their Kindle. They use what they term a Digital Text Platform (or something), but they guide you through each step of the way. You can even upload your own cover, if you're a whizz with these things, but it will only appear in black and white. But, most importantly, it doesn't cost anything to upload your work. I did try to fix a cheap buying price (you know, pile 'em high 'n sell 'em cheap), but the cheapest it would let me put was $2.99. If you're one of my (many!) fans, you can take a look by logging on to amazon.co.uk and go to the kindle site and search for Paradis, Rose and the Ancient Temple of Petra or Tina and the Colosseum of Rome.
Anyway, while I wait to become a millionaire, I'll carry on regardless.

6th March 2011

2011-03-06T07:59:00.002+01:00

Dogs always embarrass you - usually at the worst possible moments.
We went down to Gaillac, as planned. As usual, we were 'forced' to take Bruno and Tina with us in the car. (Bruno wrecks the house if left alone or leaps over the garden gate; Tina just sets off a plaintive cry....I know, I should be more masterful). We pulled into our new driveway and shook hands with the owner family, who were on their best behaviour. We were still within that nerve-jangling 7-day cooling-off period and they didn't want us to pull out. We went into the house and were discussing the relative merits of various items of furniture when Madame said 'why don't you let your dogs out of the car? They can run around the garden.' Foolishly, a trifle nervously it must be said, we did so. Both dogs raced around, then nosed their way into the house via the ajar French windows. We all ignored them until an unmistakeable aroma pervaded the room. OMG - doggie droppings all over their best rug!! Ironically, the owners couldn't complain for fear of putting us off the sale!
On the way home, Him indoors said laconically: '....wasn't quite the deposit the owners had in mind'. Quite.

27th February 2011

2011-02-27T08:11:00.004+01:00

What's a passport for? No, not a silly question. It always used to mean that you were off travelling somewhere. However, for expats it's essentially an identity card. The French have their carte d'identite, which they use ubiquitously at shops to delay queuers. No way will they use plastic - it costs too much!
With this in mind, I was aware the clock was ticking as our 'essential IDs' will be out of date Mar 2012. Passports are supposed to last 10 years, but effectively it's 9 and a half as Customs won't let you on the plane during the last bit. But then I read the renewal system is changing. Typical! British expats will no longer be able to renew passports via the Paris consulate. From 1 April the consulate will still receive renewal requests but will do so on behalf of the UK Identity and Passport Service (IPS), which processes passports within the UK. What it means is that expats like us will receive passports directly from the UK. You know what that means - yet more expense. But it's already a massive rip-off. An expat's passport in France costs 178 euros, compared to 77.50 pounds (includes free postage) for UK residents. That's 356 euros for the two of us. I'll certainly be keeping an eye on the ukinfrance.fco.gov.uk website to check for further price hikes. Understandably, Him indoors says in future you'll recognise UK expats via the threadbare caps being passed round at communal events.....

20th February 2011

2011-02-20T09:12:00.004+01:00

Spring's in the air and new beginnings are budding. Sometime this year we're moving to Gaillac, land of sunshine and vines. We've just signed the Compromis at the notaire's office. New laws mean that they give you a detailed report listing all that's wrong with the property (termites/asbestos/ghosts...), then give you 7 days to change your mind! Not good for my nerves. Don't they realise I'm the ultimate 'On the other hand' person?
In the meantime, the family of 7 adult children who've inherited their parents' property, have invited us to Gaillac today to see if we want to buy any furniture in the house. Furniture (meubles) is generally very expensive in France, the cheapest outlets being stores like Conforama, But, Fly or the depot-vente places. However, I know from past experience with Him indoors never to buy self-assembly. In France it's doubly complicated, with indecipherable French instructions translated from Korean and never enough screws. (Told him not to make a Korea out of it!). Of course, there's always the Vide Grenier or Brocante shops, but the prices are often a joke.
So, I've spent the last few hours brushing up my haggling skills, but pleading poverty just won't wash somehow. They already know that I have to keep Him indoors in the style to which he's always been accustomed....

13th February 2011

2011-02-13T07:57:00.005+01:00

Yesterday we enjoyed a good night out with our friends at the local cinema Le Querlys in St. Antonin. Really enjoyed The King's Speech but, where were the chocs on sale in the foyer, where the usherette of yesteryear offering Kia-ora and Mivvys? Don't be silly. C'est la France. Commercialisation hasn't yet arrived.
However, what was striking about the film was the underlying message. It's no good sticking with old, rigid prejudices. Doesn't matter whether you're King or mere mortal like the rest of us. N'importe quoi you live in Cairo, steeped in the old repressive mores of your country. Sometimes problems require you to get rid of all that inner baggage, forget what other people think, ignore the standard rundown ways of your countrymen. The Royal family have had to learn over the years since George VI that you can't continue with old rules, however traditional, in today's world. Anne was allowed to marry her Commander, Charles married Camilla. How different would Margaret's life have been if they'd let her marry Captain Townsend, the love of her life? There are lessons to be learnt. As King George VI and Winston Churchill discovered: you can succeed if you do the unthinkable and travel that extra mile.
But for Him indoors, the 'important' lesson he learnt was via the French subtitles: he now knows how to swear profusely in colloquial French!

6th February 2011

2011-02-06T08:07:00.003+01:00

New digital driving licences are arriving in France. At first glance, I didn't worry too much. As you know I'm of the 'constructive negativism' ilk. Always have a back-up plan should the worst happen. So, I kept my old English licence, whilst Him indoors obtained a French paper licence (admittedly at the suggestion of the gendarmerie, but that's another story). A good plan because, whilst UK ones need replacing at 70, there wasn't any age limit on the French ones. And clearly (although not so clear these days!), with the onset of age comes fading eyesight so neither of us wanted to be faced with future medical tests. Even less, the horrible thought of having to take another driving test in French. Can you imagine?
But now, what have they done? Just when I thought it was safe to go out, Sarkozy has introduced a brand-new plan. As from 2013 new digital licences will be introduced, to combat fraud they say. They will include a digital photo of the driver, to be updated every 15 years, and drivers will be able to check the number of points more easily (don't tell Him indoors in either case!). But, there's also some insidious small print: you need to take a medical test.
Aargh!

31st January 2011

2011-01-30T07:17:00.005+01:00

At last! Light at the end of the tunnel: hope it's not an approaching train.
Recommendations for English house-hunters in France:
1. When negotiating an offer, do not list its weak points in order to justify a lower offer. The seller takes it personally.
2. Don't suggest a discount because the bath is in avocado. The owner will counter that it's perfect, get upset and refuse to sell to you. Instead, say 'I think the house may be too dear, especially in today's market'.
3. If you're retired, look at property outside the main employment areas. Young French workers rarely want to live more than 30 km from work; (they hate commuting.)
4. Watch the French news. Sarkozy is proposing CGT of 33.1% on the sale of main residences! Decision due this month. Unlikely to be brought in, but.... Meantime, this is certainly the case when you sell a second home, so if you're in this position tread warily on which home you designate as your principal residence.
And Him indoors? Good idea to sell to that buyer called Mr. Balan Singh - he can do your accounts for you......

23 January 2011

2011-01-23T07:38:00.004+01:00

I'm seething. Stress and blood pressure levels are dangerously high. Ever since a near relative died 4 months ago, unnecessary obstacles have been mounting. First, because this was an intestacy estate and I live in a non-English-speaking country, I had to drive 120 miles to find a Notaire who understood written English to swear the Oath certificate. Then the UK Probate office decided the original wording on the certificate was insufficient, so another certificate was produced requiring a second 120 mile journey, cap in hand, to explain to the puzzled French Notaire why she must sign another paper. Eventually my poor relative's family home was sold, the new buyers moved in, but the solicitors still held on to the proceeds apparently looking for all and sundry to dip their hands into the pot. But I thought this was 'my' money! Now, the UK Dept. for Work and Pensions (DWP) has stepped into this apparent goldmine sitting in the solicitor's office and declared it too is making a claim on the estate! But, wait a minute. Was this a millionaire, with yachts and mansions to the fore? No, simply my poor bachelor brother. He lived and worked in the UK all his life. All he had in the world was his pension and his home. So, the DWP in its wisdom has decided that the estate cannot be distributed until it first investigates to see if the original pension claim by my 67 years old brother 2 yrs previously, was correct - and this could take months. At the most upsetting time imaginable, bureaucracy steps in in all its gleeful schadenfreude to cause unnecessary mayhem. Words fail me.

16th January 2011

2011-01-16T07:19:00.003+01:00

Estate agents and solicitors. An inscrutable bunch. You never know where you stand with them. And their charges! But, whatever you do, don't tell the English lot what the French charge, or there'll be a riot.
Typical English charges: solicitor's fee for selling your house - 700 pounds plus VAT (now 20% - can you believe it?); estate agent's fee - 1.5% of asking price.
Typical French charges: notaire (solicitor's) fee to the buyer only: 18,000 euros. Yes, you heard it. 18,000! Apparently, most of this goes to M. Sarkozy, not to the notaire. Estate agent's fee to the seller only - 6% of asking price. So, for a house selling for 200,000 euros, the agent picks up 12,000 euros.
So, all in all, the French win hands down. Mind you, the French agents in particular work hard for their money. Not only do they accompany all viewings, they arrange notaire appointments, attend all signing appointments at the notaire's office, acting as translator where necessary, and meet all parties back at the new house after the signing.
Him Indoors says he remembers that old solicitor's firm in the UK called Sue, Grabbit and Run. Enough said!

9th January 2011

2011-01-09T07:59:00.004+01:00

New year, fresh start. We're house hunting. Nothing wrong with our present house - it's just in the wrong place. So, we're looking to move nearer to Toulouse. It's interesting what this exercise reveals. French ads have much better practical info., e.g. square metres of each room and land area, type of heating, amount of annual taxes etc., a refreshing change from the typical English ads: '....a deceptively spacious.....'. Most French houses for sale, though, don't have a recognisable For Sale board outside (some have a board on the wall, but most have nothing). This means you can't go round and look from the street but must make an appointment first. If you're like me, you know just by looking at it whether it's for you or not. A good plan when relocating within France is to try and stick to the same Departement (they're pretty big). This way you don't need to re-register the car, nor with the local CPAM (health) and prefecture, and can easily arrange a transfer of your bank account to a nearer branch. I've discovered that most French don't use expensive removal firms, they hire a 'U-Haul' or similar - but you have to be fit to do that or have amazingly good friends! Him indoors says he remembers a removal firm in the UK where a settee fell off the back of the van - the police had to 'recover' it!!
Some things never change!

2nd January 2011

2011-01-02T08:23:00.007+01:00

Any point in new resolutions? Well, yes. Ever since Janus - he of the 2 heads - started looking both back and forwards in the year 153 BCE, it's been a good time to reflect on your life. Here are a few of my own, made from personal experience here in France:
1. Take a tip from the French and never sing Auld Lang Syne on new year's eve. No-one knows all the words anyway, even the Scots.
2. Improve your language skills. Here's Happy New Year in various languages: French: Bonne Annee; Hebrew: Leshonah Tovah Tikatevu; German: Prosit neujahr; Hindi: niya saa mubaraak; Chinese: Shu ten shan; Arabic: Kulaam u antum salimoun. But, I quite like the Brazilian: Boas Festas e Feliz anno Novo - enjoy many good parties. I'm all in favour of that.
3. Get more exercise. At a recent occitan dance I was amazed at how even 80 year olds had so much stamina - they were still dancing when I left exhausted at 2 a.m.
4. Learn from listening rather than looking things up in the dictionary. You can easily come a cropper without realising it - and you don't have to be English to do that. Below is how a perfectly knowledgeable French gite owner fell into the trap:

'Warning! Do not put hot bottoms on the worktops.'

No answer to that. A very happy and healthy new year to you all!

26th December 2010

2010-12-26T08:30:00.004+01:00

So, it's Boxing Day. Some say it dates back to medieval times when the poor used earthenware boxes to save up all through the year. At Xmas they would break open the heavy boxes and share the money around to fund Xmas festivities. I'm all in favour of DIY saving, much preferring the old box under the mattress to being ripped off by today's financial institutions. At least then you know that the amount of notes and coins hasn't alarmingly reduced or the wicked taxman hasn't suddenly grabbed it all away after all your careful planning and patience.
It seems that the custom wasn't just English either. Back in the 17C, the French called those boxes tirelire, having a cleft on the lid or the side through which you put spare cash. Apparently in France it was used by begging friars. I don't like the sound of that, but I suppose it does give a link to the tradition of giving 'Xmas boxes' to tradespeople who had served you well all year.
But today, glancing at all the papers, Boxing Day has come to symbolise sport. Whether it's English football or French rugby, that's all that dominates today's news.
Him indoors, who's not interested in sport, says what happened to the ancient custom of rewarding long-suffering husbands......

19th December 2010

2010-12-19T07:51:00.005+01:00

My mother would have been 100 today. Certainly in her lifetime she would have enjoyed futuristic comics and those early TV black and whites showing flying cars and aliens in our midst. Somehow nothing was as frightening as those early Quatermass stories and aliens who could only be identified by a bent little finger.
But, no-one could have predicted the deadly advance of the PC, something that has altered all our lives. Now, with one click of that same little finger, we have the whole world at our fingertips. I remember my mother's confusion in '71 with the advent of the UK's decimal currency. How would she have coped with or even comprehended today's confusing techno world?
However, the older I get and the more different people I encounter, some things never change. It matters not a jot what you wear on your head, nor what faith you espouse, nor how technology has changed your life. It's what's in your heart that matters. The essential things remain the same, wherever you live: treat others as you would yourself and always do the 'right thing'. What was it Mill, the philosopher said? Do whatever it takes to make yourself happy, as long as it doesn't hurt others.
That's what my mother would have said back in 1910. Plus ca change, plus la meme chose. Bon anniversaire, Mom.

12th December 2010

2010-12-12T08:57:00.003+01:00

What has the recent ridiculous vehicle conflab between Prince Charles and the public got to do with the French? Not much you would think. And, it's not often the French copy anything English. In fact, ever since Chirac, English as a language is almost banned. It's common to buy goods here in France and search in vain for instructions in English - one of the most widely-spoken languages in the world. Regularly included on product ads are words in Portuguese and Dutch - hardly international tongues.
So it came as a surprise to find that Paris is soon to buy a product that is a byword in London: the humble black cab. Paris taxi drivers have been eying up the TX4, the latest version, with a 2.5L diesel engine that emits 212g of CO2/km. What the French like is the classic 5-seat passenger configuration. A lady called Elisabeth Young, from importers EMG, said that the French were particularly interested in the ramps for wheelchairs and the security partition between cab and passenger area. Well yes.
So, Prince Charles, if you're listening, perhaps now is the time to order one (a snip at 334,000 euros) via www.london-taxis.fr.

5th December 2010

2010-12-05T06:56:00.005+01:00

It's icy. Even our visiting Canadian friends say it's warmer back home. Only one thing to do. Eat! So, the four of us went to a famous truffle market in the nearby pretty village of Limogne in Quercy. Despite the cold, there were trestle tables laid out under the oak trees in the square, and the farmers set down their wicker baskets before carefully removing the checked cloths. But, the contents are worth a fortune. Last year, some went for as much as 4,000 euros per kilo! They're found under oak trees at this time of year, especially in SW France. Farmers used to use pigs to root them out, but now generally use trained dogs with good noses. The truffles are a kind of fungi about 7 cm in diameter and have their highest perfume in Dec and Jan. Some say it's the perfume rather than the taste that makes them so delicious.
Him indoors? He says he prefers that other delicacy in this region, especially this weather: Armagnac. Here's a recipe just for him: Soak some raisins in the alcohol, then drain. Mix in some ricotta, 2 whole eggs and pepper. Whip 2 egg whites and stir into the ricotta mix, adding some cubes of some local Roquefort cheese. Bake in buttered ramekins at 200C for 20 mins. Ah, le bien manger!

28th November 2010

2010-11-28T07:59:00.003+01:00

'Tis the season. It's curious comparing French attitudes. In the UK, for months there's been the usual false glitz on all the ads. But, it's always the women of the world who spend all their money on others. You only have to look at the Boots' ads. Where's the lesson on charity for others for the kids? All it is for them is 'me, me, me'.
Rural France is so different. No outward signs of the season at all until at least the week before, and then usually only some sparkling decorations strung across the village main road. Oh, and a few Santas climbing up crepi walls. What the French do well, though, is the numerous Xmas fairs all over the country. It's like the summer 'vide-greniers' (car boot sales), but better.
Some enterprising English expats in the Lot region have even taken it a stage further. They've used the idea to set up un marche de Noel to thank all the locals for welcoming them to their region. The Maire has agreed to waive the rent on the Salle des Fetes village hall and all proceeds will go to their own village to fund equipment for the school and retirement home not provided by government.
What's so great about this is that, not only are these expats actively integrating into local life, but they've used local customs to actually pay back the village for welcoming them. Now that's what I call the way to live in another country!

21st November 2011

2010-11-21T07:54:00.003+01:00

There's a new law in France. Cyclists and pedestrians now have absolute priority on French roads, from immediate effect. Whereas before they had priority only at certain spots like pedestrian crossings, now they can cross wherever they please. Pedestrians only need to show an ostensible gesture to cross, e.g. a hand gesture (!), and all approaching trucks must come to a crashing halt. Drivers who ignore the new rules face a fine of 135 euros or lose 4 points from their licence. Cyclists too are now allowed to skip red lights to turn red. But, they've always done that anyway! Cyclists have always loved the apparent flexibility of the road: to choose whether to obey the road laws or the pedestrians' - so now the law agrees.
Chaos looms. And what should French parents teach their children? Now they can cross wherever they like?? But at least I don't see in France what always happened in the UK: mothers pushing baby buggies down the kerb, using it as a battering ram, and placing their vulnerable child on the road until a vehicle stops. Ordinary people don't generally have the knowledge of precise stopping distances for large vehicles like trucks and buses. They often wander into the road, chatting to friends.
Quel catastrophe!

14th November 2010

2010-11-14T07:08:00.008+01:00

'Sacre bleu!' The government has resigned, en bloc. Panic. 1789 all over again. I peered out the window in some trepidation, expecting to see anarchic riots on the village streets. What was that creaking noise? Could it be the sound of the approaching tumbrils as they arrive to cart away those pesky expats? Mais non. All is calm. The creaking noise was only the usual sound of our wooden volets banging against the crepi walls as we unlatch the nighttime pins. That distant cackling sound was not the rising tide of gallic dissent, merely the white turkey-like creatures pecking in our neighbouring field.
So, what's going on? Surely Sarkozy can't rule all by himself, can he? Well, no. French government moves in mysterious ways. It's apparently standard practice, ahead of a cabinet reshuffle, for the PM and government to 'resign' before some being re-elected again. It's like applying for your own job only to be shocked later to find out that somone younger and more beautiful has got your 'cast iron, totally secure job'. Let's hope that new, young Robespierre doesn't get the job!
When will I understand all things French? Never, probably. In the meantime, man the barricades and cancel that trip to the Bastille in Paris. C'est la revolution!

7th November 2011

2010-11-07T07:51:00.005+01:00

Hypochondria rules o.k. Time to brave the rigors of the French health system. You turn up at the surgery any morning and hope the waiting room is empty. It wasn't. But, you can telephone and make an afternoon appointment. (I still don't understand. What symptoms require an afternoon appointment?) The doctor greeted me. 'Ca va?' Well no, that's why I'm here. I showed him a rough sketch of my family history. I'd circled everyone in my immediate family who had passed away with the big C. Unfortunately there were 6, 2 of whom both siblings. He said I must take tests. But, but, I feel O.K. And anyway, not all of the Cs affected the same part of the body. N'importe quoi.
Trouble is, medical science has only devised tests for certain parts of the body. So, what about the other parts? You must hope you don't get it. Great! But I did read recently that researchers have discovered a rogue protein that masks C cells, fooling the body that the C cell is injured and must be protected. Now, all they need to do is zap this protein so that the proliferating C cells will be destroyed by natural immunity. Where's Dr.Bones of Star Trek when you need him? I need him to run an electronic gadget all along my body to pick up annually anything untoward BEFORE any symptoms present themselves. And it needs to be in my lifetime..... In the meantime, here's what I take every day: 75mg aspirin, 1 glass red wine, raw carrot, tomato, orange, sunshine, home-made veg soup.

31st October 2010

2010-10-31T07:26:00.003+01:00

Now I've heard everything. Doctors in France are to offer medical services via webcam or instant messenger! A government decree authorising the online consultations has been published in the Journal Officiel. Health Minister Rosalyne Bachelot believes online surgeries will offer much needed support for rural areas where there is a shortage of doctors. Patients would log in to a secure website where a doctor will ask them a series of questions.
But it seems some doctors have their doubts. One doctor in Brittany told Le Telegramme that, although medical advice has long been given to known patients over the phone, that is not a consultation. No indeed. He explained that a consultation isn't just an exchange of information, it requires a physical exam. Well yes. You need to listen to a patient's breathing, for instance, without which an incorrect diagnosis is likely. I'd have thought there were other dangers too. I have found that French doctors don't recognise my English first name as feminine, so what's next? My being diagnosed with prostate problems?
And Him indoors? Don't ask. He says he's just waiting for the time when all medical consultations are over the phone: If you've got a bad leg, press 1; if you've got something unmentionable, press 2......
Enough said.

24th October 2010

2010-10-24T09:14:00.007+02:00

Chaos theory reigns supreme. Take England. Please! We had arranged an early-morning hotel wake-up call for the Tuesday morning so that we could pick up our daughter at Heathrow. So, we were now 3 in the hotel room, she on crutches following breaking her foot. After a tiring day dealing with funeral agents, we were in a deep sleep when, you guessed it, the phone jangled at 04.30! 'Your early morning call, madame'. No! That was yesterday. 'It's on our system, madam'. After sorting that out, the following night loud bells again woke us. I blinked at the clock: 02.00h. Unbelievably, a fire alarm. Struggled out into the cold. The fact I had forgotten to pack my nightdress in the rush to leave home did not help! No fire wardens, no-one at all to help, nor to tell us when it was safe to go back in. Finally got back to sleep, when loud bells again woke us at 06.00h. On enquiry at reception, the under-manager had arrived for duty, heard about the fire alarm and was testing the system! I could almost hear Sybil shouting 'Basil, Basil...!' and Manuel 'Mr. Fawlty, eet iz only a drill'. Later, after the funeral, our sorry group returned to the hotel, feeling despondent, only to be met by a riotous wedding party and loud, jarring drumbeats all night.
After all that, the French strikes are almost a relief....

17th October 2010

2010-10-17T08:10:00.002+02:00

Why do others make life so difficult for ordinary people? First, the anti-terrorist brigade - otherwise known as English customs -confiscate simple things in our luggage like the memorial candles for my late brother. I told them I'd just returned from the funeral, but 'he was only doing his job'. Yes, I know, it's the terrorists of this world I should be complaining about, but it's still hard. Some things in your luggage are simply too private and personal to be bandied about for the whole world to see.
Then, what happens when we're finally back in la belle France? Rioters on the streets, waving placards, throwing tear gas. Oil refineries shut down, so there's a real threat of running out of petrol - a worry for those of us living in rural areas where the car is an absolute necessity. Forgive me for thinking we're back in 1789. And what grave concern are all these Frenchmen protesting about? The perfectly reasonable and mild suggestion from Sarkozy of moving the retirement age from 60 to 62.
What's up with everyone? Life is difficult enough and ordinary people like us just want to be left alone to get on with our lives. Is that too much to ask?

10th October 2010

2010-10-10T08:53:00.005+02:00

We are in England, returning to France tomorrow. Life is so strange: one minute you're going about your normal routine, then one phone call can turn everything upside down. My last remaining brother died suddenly and I was the only one to arrange the funeral, so over the last 7 days I've run the full gamut of funeral directors, coroner's courts and solicitors. But throughout it all, individuals have been so kind and thoughtful.
My head's in a whirl, so I'm glad I haven't been doing the driving. My head loses all its spatial awareness when approaching a traffic island on the 'wrong' side of the road. But all traffic rules these days are crazy anyway. A woman driver in Perigueux had to pull her car inches past a red traffic light to allow an ambulance with flashing lights to get past. It was just the sort of situation where a policeman would have assessed and understood the situation, but a mechanical GATSO camera? Yes: it flashed and she was issued with a ticket. Pay or else.
This past week has convinced me.
Please can we have more people and fewer machines!

3rd October 2010

2010-10-03T08:55:00.003+02:00

Ever wondered what the French earn? The subject is a definite no no in France. It's more outrageous here to ask what someone earns than asking about their sex life! Currently 7.8 million French live below the poverty level of 949 euros p.m., with half of those living on less than 773 euros p.m. Actual poverty levels are worked out by calculating 60% of the average French wage. In 2008, this median figure was 19,000 euros p.a.
Him indoors said How Much?? But he's always pleading poverty, and says government statisticians have never asked him what he earns here. I remember only too well when we were in the UK. The bank manager said "we have a policy here Mr.......: you're supposed to put some money IN occasionally!" And even here in France, when he visited the chiropracter and the doctor said "this is going to hurt", Him indoors replied "why, are you about to give me the bill?"I know - you've heard some of his jokes before. But what can I do? I tried to emigrate away from them, but they're still with me!
The bottom line: apart from houses, wine and sunshine, France is expensive. Expats won't get benefit credits here, so don't make the move unless your monthly income is at least the above poverty levels.....Him indoors now knows.

26th September 2010

2010-09-26T08:34:00.004+02:00

Our son is here for 2 weeks!
Blagnac airport at Toulouse has changed beyond all recognition since our last visit. Must have been that nasty letter I sent them last year. The arrivals hall no longer has that baggage claim area where the man off the street could saunter in and take bags directly off the revolving carousel before arriving passengers get through passport control! Whilst waiting for the plane to land, I also noticed the brand new litter bins, complete with different 'green' sections for separating your waste coffee cups from newspapers from other dechets...trouble is, the inside was just one large plastic bag, to be disposed of all together!
Yesterday we went on a treasure hunt in the nearby village of Laguepie (literally means 'the wasp' - the locals must have known something). Anyway, it was v. entertaining. It's a global treasure hunt, which you co-ordinate to any area in the world from your cell phone. As we followed instructions, a clue came up: 'detruit par les ducs de joyeuse' (destroyed by dukes of pleasure). We looked up and saw a ruined castle. Sure enough, as we climbed up the hill, the cell phone beeped - 20m to go. And, there was the 'treasure' tucked in a hole in the crumbling wall. Inside a small box was a notebook and pencil to record our message and date and treasure we could exchange for our own. I left a pen.
If you want to play, go to: geocaching.com
Bien amusant.

19th September 2010

2010-09-19T09:38:00.003+02:00

I have written before about problems caused by differing laws across the EU. Napoleon's old statutes still rule: blood ties only are allowed to inherit automatically. So, where a woman's husband dies and she marries again with a 'clause tontine' written into the marriage contract, only children from the current marriage stand to inherit when the surviving spouse dies. Blood is all in France.
Some years ago now, in the UK, I suffered from the aberrations of a relative's last wishes, irrespective of family ties. I, therefore, have some sympathy with the French. Imagine a 90-year old rich widower, his children growing up expecting to inherit his estate, only to see their expectations floored by a dying man's new need for a young companion! Think also of the many wealthy elderly ladies who leave their entire estate to the local cats' home.
On the other hand (and I'm very good at 'on the other hand'..), I also think that when you move to another country, you must accept their laws. I remember only too well how many in the UK would shout to new immigrants: 'if you don't like it here, go back to where you came from!'
The big question facing Sarkozy is: should he stick to Napoleon's original dictat and only allow blood relatives to inherit? Or, should he acknowledge the new, increasingly, complex family structures and allow people to leave their money to whomsoever they wish?
On verra.

12th September 2010

2010-09-12T09:09:00.004+02:00

So, French workers are 'revolting' again! On 7 Sep as many as 200,000 took to the streets in Paris, 110,000 in Toulouse. And what's it all about this time? Sarkozy has suggested moving the retirement age from 60 to 62 in 2018. This doesn't even include workers from the French utility companies like my neighbour, who was able to retire at 50 with a handsome pension.
Remember England in the 1970s? Whenever there's unrest, there's a union representative. This time it's not Arthur Scargill but a Frenchman called Francois Chereque. He's so overjoyed he's called another day of action on 23 Sep. In response, the Employment Minister Eric Woerth has introduced some concessions for those whose jobs have left them unable to raise their arms above elbow level. Cue thousands of doctors' notes to that effect.
I'm very glad of my English state pension, earned after working all my adult life, but it's nothing like the amount the French receive and I didn't get it at 50 either. What's up with the French? Don't they realise we are all living longer than when pensions were first introduced?
Oh well, cue 23 Sep: barricade the doors. The French are indeed revolting again.

5th September 2010

2010-09-05T09:09:00.005+02:00

The 4-year saga of our swimming pool continues. The glossy brochures never tell you how difficult they are to maintain. It all started when we realised that pools in France are a necessity, not a luxury. In hindsight (and all is so clear in hindsight, literally) we chose the wrong company, who charged us the earth but used the cheapest materials possible! As Him indoors says: it's a hole in the ground into which we pour money. Then, the leak followed in quick succession by the collapse of the pool because it was only the water that was holding it up.......and the fact that they said this kind of fault wasn't covered by their guarantee. Words failed me. But, even after the installation of a new liner, thick green algae started to grow and multiply. Nothing would kill it. Until now! At last, due to a chance remark from a friend, we found the man to fix it. However, even he couldn't clear 4-years' worth of algae regeneration. So, despite the danger of pool collapse, we emptied the pool, cleaned the liner with a special algicide then, importantly, added lots of sodium hypochlorite - liquid chlorine - as the water filled up. And, guess what? Our pool, at last, is crystal clear!
Him indoors says: before he could see a flaw in it, but now it's clear he can definitely see a floor in it.

29th August 2010

2010-08-29T08:01:00.003+02:00

I've always been a 'what if....?' person. Something in the local news brought this home to me this week.
Josianne Vermeersch received the news we all dread. Her brother had died. Despite her sadness, she arranged that the interment would be at the cemetery in Hellemmes, N. France. All the family were contacted, including her ex-husband Elie Langlet, but she couldn't reach her 42 year old son Oliver, who lived alone nearby. When he still failed to answer, she left a message on his mobile phone that he should attend his uncle's funeral. However he failed to turn up. After the funeral, the family sadly made their way back along a cemetery path, when she suddenly let out a cry. In front of her was a newly-dug plot 'Oliver Langlet, 1968 - 2010'. The local mairie confirmed Oliver's death and said that they had sent a letter to the family, but the address they used was out of date. In French law, as in many eastern religions, interments are required to be carried out quickly. So, in cases where the family cannot be found, the burial goes ahead without them!
In today's society where increasing numbers are living alone, it's vital that individuals leave up-to-date next-of-kin contact information with their local doctor and/or their mairie in France. The doctor's a good choice as it's usually he who writes the death certificate. Once done, constructive negativists like me can get on with their lives.

22nd August 2010

2010-08-22T08:31:00.004+02:00

70 years ago Churchill made a famous speech '....never in the field of conflict was so much owed by so many to so few'. I was reminded of all that his speech entailed - particularly with the ensuing Holocaust - this week in the French news. Despite the fact that France is hailed around the world as a symbol of secular democracy, the country saw fit to expel a named group - the gypsies - from its shores. In an apparent, but mistaken, attempt to cool the growing furore over the matter, France's Interior Minister, Brice Hortefeux, is planning to meet his Romanian counterpart next week to discuss re-integrating the expelled gypsies back into Rumanian society.
As an expat myself, I understand that newcomers must abide by the laws of their new country. This includes each individual doing his or her best to speak the language, to integrate and to contribute financially via taxes (according to individual circumstances) to available facilities. It is certainly not right for individuals to expect to use land and facilities without paying any contribution towards the cost and upkeep. However, these laws must be assigned individually - not to whole groups. To expel a whole group smacks of xenophobia and racism. Above all, it means that the world has learned absolutely nothing from the horrific mistakes of the past.
Sarkozy: I thought better of you!

15th August 2010

2010-08-15T08:49:00.006+02:00

Have you seen that bloke on TV called Paul Yarrow? People started to notice that on important UK outside broadcasts, there was always this scruffy little man in the background. At first I thought he was one of those 'hello Mom' nerds, but curiously he never smiled or waved at the camera - just talked on his cell phone or read the paper. When finally discovered and tracked down, he said he was on a mission for the plain, fat, ordinary people of this world - to make a stand against the media's obsessive interest in the young and beautiful. This struck a chord with me.
When I watch France Vingt-Quatre (24) on French TV, this 'obsession' with youth and beauty is even more pronounced. I often wonder where all the past TV presenters, models and air hostesses are, once they've outlived their 5-mins of youth and beauty. It's the same with the literary world. I don't want agents to look at me: just the quality of my written work. Did they check out what Shakespeare or Jane Austen looked like before they published their work?
So, more power to your elbow Paul Yarrow. Continue your original approach and make people listen to the fat, ordinary and plain people of this world. It's about time.

8th August 2010

2010-08-08T08:12:00.004+02:00

When me and Him indoors first arrived in France some 5 years ago, it was a triple whammy to our senses. New country, new language and being together 24/7 for the first time in over 40 years. If you're not to come to blows, you have to recognise what each is good at and learn to complement one another as best you can when difficulties arise. I have absolutely no practical skills whatsoever, so Him indoors is detailed to change those fiddly electric sockets, light switches etc. plus changing the water filter (to combat calcium deposits) and dragging home half-trees in the dead of night to keep us stocked up for the winter, whilst I do all the worrying(!), housework, bill paying and swearing at the PC.
This is a wonderful system until something goes wrong, like last week. Storms wrought havoc causing power cuts, which led to losing our English TV channels and internet - again! Couldn't check bank balance or anything. Eventually I was able to use the phone and call in France Telecom, who suggested a new 'para foudre' wire in the garage. Then came the casual mention that we'd have to get a new livebox - a short 50 mile drive to Montauban and all that entails. Him indoors asked the engineer: how many times is this going to happen? 'Je ne suis pas le bon Dieu!' came the gallic response.
Life is never boring here.

1st August 2010

2010-08-01T08:25:00.005+02:00

A Surrey woman was recently shocked to receive a letter in French - headed obligation alimentaire - asking for details of her income as her father was in a Normandy care home. French law obliges children to have maintenance duties towards parents in need, but according to French avocats such as Gerard Barron in Boulogne, this is the first time that a French body has tried to enforce such a maintenance obligation against a non-resident, non-French 'maintenance debtor'. The French are obviously serious in trying to deal with increasing numbers of the old and frail by also introducing new 'care insurance' for all over-50s. They recommend a compulsory private insurance package called assurance dependance, to cover the cost of home help or staying in a care home. Likely cost? c.30 euros/month. But, will the insurers pay up?? Discussions in parliament are currently ongoing.
I have a feeling that the problem experienced by the Surrey woman will not be the first in the widely-differing laws across the EU country states.
But, in some ways I agree with the French maintenance law. We could all learn lessons from eastern cultures by repaying what our parents did for us. Vive respect for our elders!

25th July 2010

2010-07-24T18:52:00.004+02:00

For some time, the French government has promised easy ASDL connection for all. But, take this with a pinch of salt. For those who do manage to get onto the internet, when they look on French websites like Costorama, what do they see? Lots of colour, glory, techno language and opening hours, but hardly any hard facts to aid the consumer like what their goods actually cost.
Many are the expats who bought large properties in rural areas several years ago who now find that because their village hasn't got Wifi and is unlikely to get it anytime soon, there is real depreciation of their property value. Apparently they should buy expensive satellite connections, and..er no..there are no grants available towards the cost. Many of the special offers from companies like Orange for bulk packages including TV and phone are useless to those without fast connections, and they can't get the free TV either.
Ironically enough, there is one French company that has a wonderful website, full of facts and ease of access to consumers. Its name? You guessed it, the French tax office! But for the rest of the WiFi-free rural zone inhabitants, the internet is as elusive as before. Nothing moves fast in France - ask the poor old snail, and you know what happens to him: he gets taken with a pinch of salt and covered in sauce. C'est la France.

18th July 2010

2010-07-18T08:25:00.003+02:00

Everything's fine living here as long as all's going well. But when things go wrong? Double the trouble. It's not just having to use a foreign language; attitudes in France are very different from those back home in Birmingham. There, the general air of pessimism was renowned. In shops everywhere could be heard the refrain: 'I don't suppose you've got one of these', the customer wondering why he'd even bothered to ask, so unlikely was the trader's answer gonna be. So France was bound to be the same, wasn't it?
Living in the middle of nowhere, one of the worst things for me is when the internet goes down. I have one of these 'blinking' liveboxes, but it's not supposed to blink. Disaster. Ringing France Telecom is a nightmare: the usual musical tones, then the Queen asking you to press 1 for this, 2 for that etc. And then, when you finally get a real person - impossible to explain the technical jargon for what's gone wrong, even more the answer. But, my fairy godmother was at hand! I found an English-speaking service that actually had technicians at hand to help. Not only did they come chez-nous, they fixed the problem (a chewed wire underground + changed our old rusty phone socket) for free! Now that's something you don't see everyday. The tel. no. is charged at local rates: 09.69.36.39.00.
See. I told you everything'd be all right!

11th July 2010

2010-07-11T09:38:00.005+02:00

It's hot. Too hot to eat hot food, but you can get tired of salad every day. French legend has it there was once a beautiful girl called Ferline, whose poorest suitor brought back some strange seeds from a trip to S. America. He planted them in a sunny spot and, after offering Ferline his harvest, they fell in love. The fruit was called pomme d'amour until the 18C. And the fruit? Yes, the humble tomato. The town where Ferline grew up was Marmande in the Aquitaine, which holds a Tomato Fiesta every year: this year it's in the Place du Marche July 23 - 25th.
Try this wonderful cold soup recipe. It's absolutely delicious and, above all, easy - especially if like us you've managed to grow some tomatoes yourself this year.
Provencale tomato soup
Bake 4lb large ripe tomatoes in the oven, after seasoning with salt, pepper, pinch of sugar, and drizzling a little olive oil over them. After 1hr, the tomatoes should have burst and have black tops. Remove from oven and leave to cool. Pull off skins and put tomatoes and all their juices into a food processor. Puree and add some creme fraiche. Eat lukewarm or iced. Garnish with a little chopped cucumber or red pepper plus a sprig of parsley. Enjoy!

4th July 2010

2010-07-04T07:49:00.005+02:00

4th July - an important day for the Americans. In 10 days it will be an important day for the French. And for the English? Exactly. Why are we all so different? Although the French are noted for their lack of irony, an unknown called Darren Tulett is the television presenter fast becoming France's most famous Briton. Following the world cup debacle, he introduced a Monty-Python-type programme called "Match of Ze Day". Whilst Sarkozy called a crisis meeting and held talks at the Elysée with striker Thierry Henry, Mr Tulett was teaching self-deprecation. Although the highbrow Le Monde says the dysfunctional French team is a 'mirror' of French society – selfish, money-grabbing and 'split into clans', Tulett brings a TV montage showing "Zidane is rubbish" - the country's most recent superstar.
Tulett's show is now a hit on Canal Plus, France's premium pay-TV channel with around eight million subscribers. With all our disillusion with the English team, at least we wanted them to win, unlike the French, who actually wanted their team to lose! Something had to be done. So meet Britain's most unlikely unofficial ambassador. Tulett says "At least a dozen French strangers have stopped me in the street to say: 'I never much liked the English, but you have reconciled me with England."
Who'd have thought it.

27th June 2010

2010-06-27T08:38:00.003+02:00

A bad week for the French. First, no warning from France Meteo about the terrible floods in the Var region. One poor woman opened her front door and found herself swimming to her neighbour's house. Then, the debacle with the French football team, where everyone blamed the manager.
And now, the UK'S former Europe Minister, Chris Bryant, calls French a 'useless' language and questioned whether it should still be taught in British schools. A fine cultural ambassador he is! Meanwhile, a study here in France found some top firms were unable to deal with phone calls in English. Try talking to British or American firms in French! It is our job to learn their language, not the other way round. French, Spanish and Latin should be mandatory lessons in school - we need more linguistic scholars, who could then turn to Mandarin and Arabic/Hebrew. It's common for Chinese business people to communicate in several languages. The official language of the UK for about 400 years was Norman French, so it's at the heart of our language with only 184 pure Anglo-Saxon words remaining in the English dictionary.
So, in summary: Don't worry when things go wrong. It's just a dip in life's ever-changing graph. Teach discipline and respect for those in authority, and bring back language teaching. Only when we understand each other can we live in peace.

20th June 2010

2010-06-20T08:55:00.005+02:00

According to a recent report in the Guardian, apparently more and more English expats in France are ordering food online from cheap UK supermarkets like Asda: even stuff like wine and croissants! Can you believe that? I don't believe it for one minute, and I certainly haven't seen any giant Asda lorries in our village - not that they'd be able to fit into our tiny lanes anyway. Maybe in the Costa del Sol, where cafes advertising 'Tea like mother used to make' and 'Pie, beer and chips' are always full of red-necked English. But in France? No, no, a thousand times no. One of the first things you learn here is that the food we eat must have a greater priority in our budget: it's what governs our health and the length of time we live. Far more important to spend more on the superior quality and freshness of French food and less on so-called 'must have' consumer goods.
There was another report that English people moving to France were 'quite mad' - especially when moving from a busy working life in a city to the quiet French rural countryside. I can understand this report a little more. It's certainly a big culture shock - not only is it so very very quiet, but me and 'him indoors' are together 24/7 for the first time in our lives.
Enough said.

13th June 2010

2010-06-13T08:30:00.004+02:00

World Cup fever. Painted faces, tribalism, everyone obsessed in trying to beat the other team in the name of 'nationality'. In 1969 Karl Deutsch said that a nation is '..a group of persons united by a comon error about their ancestry and a common dislike of their neighbors..' Very true.
But for expats everywhere, there's a feeling of identity crisis in all this. Indeed, the other night even the weather joined in. A local thunderstorm wiped out our Sky transmissions and we were 'forced' to watch the terrestrial match between France and Uruguay! Quite enjoyed it actually. There's something about the 'ugliness' of Ribery that seems to match that of Rooney, dare I say it, but they're both very good players.
But then came last night's England v USA match. I don't mind if we don't win due to honest endeavour, but that fumbled, inept, shambolic goalie error.....Words fail me.
So, from my own actions last night in nearly kicking in the TV screen, it's clear that I still feel English in thought and deed. And, what happens when England play France? It's clear I should be committed to integrating fully in our new country. So, who will I support? What do you think? Courtesy of Rupert Brook..There is some corner of a foreign field that is forever England....Come on England!

6th June 2010

2010-06-06T08:54:00.004+02:00

How to enjoy English books when they're so elusive in French shops?Amazon? Not really. Amazon.com in the US and amazon.co.uk mean hefty delivery charges, and the English section of amazon.fr gives free delivery but too-high retail price. I recommend the BookDepository.co.uk, which gives reduced prices plus free delivery anywhere in the world.
As a writer, I'm always looking for good books to read. And that means not those published due to the celebrity-status of the author, but due to the quality of the written word. Well, I've now found a real gem. Although first published in 1937 in Germany, this beautifully-written novel is only now available in English. It's pure poetry in motion, it's 1,000 pages long, and I find myself lingering on every word. For lovers of good books, I can only recommend it here, but make sure you get the original, unabridged edition - (not a shorter version with different title from Penguin).
Here are the details: 'Wolf among Wolves' by Hans Fallada, published by Melville House, isbn 978-1-933633-92-3. It's a novel set in 1923 Germany and gives a vivid account of the collapse of the German economy and the mindset of the people at the time. Its characters are dark, desperate and full of invention on how to circumvent their lives. Its original German edition was published despite fears of Nazi retribution. Read it!
Let me know what you think.

30th May 2010

2010-05-30T09:55:00.005+02:00

What have Jamie Oliver and a walk in the French backwoods got in common? It all started last Tuesday. Our visiting Canadian friends wanted to go for a gentle walk somewhere flat. We located the perfect spot in a tiny village called Bach (pronounced Bash in France). The walk was excellent and even had marked trees as signposts for those of limited walking experience. But of course we cut it short. 1k one way and 1k back was all we could manage - but it was good. And, we were able to let Bruno and Tina off the lead because there were no cattle, railway lines anywhere. Excellent.
Then we looked for a place to eat in Bach...well it is the land of bien manger. By some lucky chance we hit upon the wonderful Auberge Lou Bourdie run by la charmante Monique Valette. The food was advertised as 'cuisine traditionnelle'. It was superb. Great bowls of cresson soup served in giant 'gesunders' (goes under the bed!) and giant earthenware pots of 'tian courgette' - a sort of veggie kugel, platters of rare beef and duck for the meat-eaters, plus home-made roast potatoes. Servez-vous. With wonderful desserts, good wine and coffee, the total cost for 4 was 77 euros. Excellent value. And Jamie Oliver? We missed him by 2 days. He had been cooking there just 2 days previously, complete with camera crew. Mme Valette showed us the pictures to prove it!
Ah, this is the life.

23rd May 2010

2010-05-23T08:41:00.005+02:00

Should America follow the NHS system or the carte vitale, as in France? Following the passing of the new US health bill, Former CNN news anchor Veronica de la Cruz visited France to find out. She found that the French don't really understand the American system, so she told them: 'give me your carte vitale, now work out how you are going to pay for your health care - that's what it's like in the US'. Veronica's own brother Eric died in the US whilst waiting years for a heart transplant. He couldn't get insurance due to a pre-existing condition.
The NHS was originally a brilliant post-war idea, with its universal free health care for all, but it fails if there are too-many people, especially a top-heavy old v young working population, calling on its services. Many English now follow my brother Robert's example and avoid hospitals at all costs by following his simple rules: don't sit down for more than 2h at a time, walk around a bit and go to bed early.
France was ranked no. 1 by the World Health Organisation, so Veronica wanted to find out why. And then she found out the hard way: her taxi hit a scooter, injuring her head. Despite being a foreigner, the Paris hospital saw her right away and did tests. And the cost? 22 euros! And they said they would send the bill to her address in NY. In the US you can't even walk in the door without an insurance card, and even with one, it would have cost her $10,000.
Well done France!

16th May 2010

2010-05-16T08:17:00.006+02:00

What a week. The UK has the youngest PM for over 100 years and the first coalition government since 1945. The good news, already, is that UK state pensions are to have a bigger guaranteed increase each April whichever of incomes or 2.5% are the greater.
And what's this I read in the news? Sarkozy threatens to leave the euro, and German savers hoard gold. Nothing new there then! The Greeks are rioting and can't understand why they can't continue to retire at 45 with full pensions, even though their government has debts of billions. And what does the EU do? It responds in the same way world leaders responded to their bankrupt banks – lends them more money. The road to ruin, I say. All the while, across Europe, voters are asking why they should be asked to pay for the rescue package, worrying they might be next. And don't forget the on-going bankrupt state of the US housing market.
It's all getting worse. If the euro breaks up and others try to devalue their currencies, we'll be back to the economics, or even the governments, of the '30s! Beware another Hitler knocking on the door!
What was it my mother used to say? If you haven't got it, don't spend it.

9th May 2010

2010-05-09T08:46:00.008+02:00

What a shambles! The loser receives all the media coverage, thousands of voters locked out of polling stations, and a party of third-world observers from tinpot African countries report that the UK's electoral system needs modernizing!
How can the Tories, who received the largest number of votes by far, agree to implement policies from the Lib. Dems. which the voters largely rejected? What a farce. In this high-tech digital age, should we really be seeing images of runners with cardboard boxes, rushing to get to the counting houses on time? Should we really be seeing queues of people, right round the block - bringing memories of the Odeon picture-house matinees of my youth? And what about individual voter id fraud?
Of course, from a French-resident point of view, there may well be some Lib. Dem. pro-Euro ideas in the package that could be advantageous to us. Steve Webb, their spokesman for work and pensions said that if you accrue years of entitlements in a country but later go to live elsewhere, you should still be entitled to the benefits you paid for. Hear hear!
And Him indoors? He says the new Cabinet should use Liberal ideas, Conservative taste and Labour-saving devices.

2nd May 2010

2010-05-02T09:02:00.005+02:00

The letter said 'be at the prefecture, Montauban, at 14.00 hours', so as the guilty parties we had to obey. But, what to do with the dogs? Too long to leave them at home. Besides, she cries in the house and he wrecks the place (rather like me and Him indoors really). So we all piled in the car, with me (as the innocent party) driving. I knew the whole place would be shut between 12 and 2 p.m., so there was only one thing to do. I wasn't complaining as we found a special 'offre du midi' at 7.50 euros each for 3 courses.
Montauban was hot, so we were lucky to find an underground car park to keep the dogs cool. It was light, cool, very clean and even had piped music to keep them happy. So, we trudged up to the Prefecture with dread in our hearts. But, I was sure I had all the necessary paperwork - essential in France. I even took copies of his birth certificate, passport and our EDF bill just in case.
Result? Success. Him indoors now has a French licence. They differ from English ones (which start with no points) in that they begin with 12, which you lose when you make a contravention. Points lost are reinstated after 3 years of good behaviour, but beware. If you lose even one point just before the 3 years are up, you have to serve another 3 years of good behaviour! The good thing is that French driving licences are for life (not until 70, as in the UK), so we won't require a medical or re-test in French (!) unless we apply to drive an artic. - unlikely I'd have thought - or lose our licence completely..... Drive carefully!

25th April 2010

2010-04-25T08:10:00.007+02:00

Everybody's watching it. No, not American Idol. The British election race! I can't remember one being this close, ever. From the innovative TV debates to the opinion polls, it's riveting. However don't look at the superficial things: which one looks the best, which wife is the most stylish etc. No, no, no! It's too important for that. If I had my way, every voter should take a test on the policies and leaders of the country before being let loose at the polling booth.
A leader should have the essential gravitas to be able to act on the world stage. A wishy-washy style just won't do. The job requires strength and above all a superior education and intelligence to deal with the difficult tasks ahead. Let's not return to the old class-wars in Britain. In the US, if you see someone with a high style of living, you try to emulate them. That's how it should be, not trying to knock everyone down to the same low level as everyone else.
Why am I interested? I live in France but British policies like pensions still affect me. I do hope that on May 6, the 'best' party wins: the most intelligent leader, with the best back-up team. A 'hung parliament' is no good to anyone. When such a committee meets to discuss a horse, you end up with a camel (an attempt to please everyone, but which in fact pleases no-one).
Whatever you think of Sarkozy, he shot to power saying "The mark of a statesman is to change the course of events, not just to describe them". Blair: please note.
Let the race begin.

18th April 2010

2010-04-18T07:44:00.003+02:00

There's a property programme called Location, Location, Location. The title is correct. Where your house is, is far more important than its physical characteristics. You clearly wouldn't want to buy your home near a volcano (Iceland or otherwise), but I think the flood risk is far greater. Homes that were severely damaged by floods during the recent storm Xynthia in France and are no longer habitable are being bought by the government and destroyed. Sarkozy says "we will not let people move back into homes situated in areas where there is a life-threatening risk". The risk has been heavy for farmers too. 45,000 hectares of arable land were flooded and crops burned by salt in the Vendee and Charente-Maritime areas alone. Coupled with all this is the state of crumbling sea defences around the world.
So, why do people still dream of that home 'by the sea'? Why are house prices still so expensive in coastal areas and on tiny islands? To my mind, these should be the cheapest. House prices are supposed to be market-driven, but are too slow to change. Also important is the ease/speed of broadband connection in this internet world. We were able to buy our modest home with super-fast broadband connection and well away from the sea at a ridiculously cheap price. That's why we're here.

11 April 2010

2010-04-11T08:55:00.003+02:00

I suppose it had to happen some time. An envelope with Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite embossed in the corner arrived with the usual trash mail. Thought it was the annual tax declaration form. But it was worse than that. We've been clocked for speeding in France! It's the most bizarre thing. You'd think being English, we'd know all about rain but in France it's crucial because there's a different speed limit when it's raining than when it's not.
The big question is: what speed to drive when it's just spitting with rain??
The Avis de Contravention says 'votre vehicule a ete controle a 121 km/h, pour une vitesse limite autorisee de 110 km/h'. French motorways have a limit of 130 km/h when it's dry and 110 km/h when it's wet. But, how can we argue on that specific day on that particular bit of road that it wasn't really raining at all?
Of course, with all things French, there's the usual mountain of paperwork to process. Because our licence is an international one, in order to add these new point(s), we need to obtain a French licence. And, to do that, we must take photos and every id we possess to the prefecture in Montauban.
I don't know what it is about so-called driving offences. Why treat 'ignorance' of the system by law-abiding people as a full-on criminality offence? Oh well, c'est la vie.......

4th April 2010

2010-04-04T07:44:00.005+02:00

Everywhere I look these days, health issues are in the news. The current French system is that the government pays 70% of a patient's costs, the remaining 30% paid by the individual. French working people contribute via their pay towards this 30%, but some hardy, optimistic expats hope they'll never get ill. The remaining worriers (like me) take up top-up insurance. There are a few problems with this. Some new early-retiree expats with a residual medical history are discovering that private insurance companies are refusing them cover to bridge the gap until they reach full retirement age.
But I've now discovered that we British expats shouldn't be paying this 30% at all (however it's funded)! I think there's a big con going on. It seems that the UK pays France c.100% for each of its pensioners who've paid N.I. contributions all their lives, but then individuals pay the French government this 30% anyway. So France wins hands-down!!
As it's a large part of our monthly outgoings here, I've written to my British MP, Lynne Jones - who may listen in this run-up to the election. In any case, let's hope that, if the Conservatives get in as predicted, the only big con in the future is David Cameron. And Him indoors? He says all parties are short-sighted anyway, like him. Yesterday he said, you'll never guess who I bumped into? Everyone.

28th March 2010

2010-03-28T10:16:00.004+02:00

We're back in S.W. France again! It feels good to be home again, Bruno and Tina's tails wagging in unison like windscreen wipers. The house feels a little musty, but we've flung open the volets and windows, the forsythia bushes are a riot of yellow, and we can see bright blue between the clouds. Summer's coming at last.
The holiday's made me feel a bit strange: a re-run of my past life. My brother and I re-visited the house we grew up in. Everything looked so tiny. We walked around Perry Hall Park, where I used to play, feeling sad that the old canteen where our mother used to work was no longer there - burnt down in an arson attack years ago. At least the old oak tree was still there, under which I broke my arm doing a cartwheel fifty years ago. We enjoyed going to Villa Park again, cheering wildly when our team scored, even if I sadly now understand the vernacular all around me!
It was lovely to chat to old friends and hug close family, but...... How to compare the two countries? The Paris and London roads are both chockablock and maddeningly impossible to navigate around: Paris with its multitude of E road numbers - is it the E15, E05 or A3?? How can it be all 3? What I've got to do now is relax chez-nous and work out in my own mind where I feel happiest. I certainly can't do without the sunshine and bright blue skies, so perhaps I've already made up my mind. Time will tell.