Oh wad some power the gifte gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion.
- Robert Burns, 1786
There are many French who see every setback as part of an international conspiracy (naturally concocted by les Anglo-Saxons) to rob France of its jobs. So how do intending English expats who are below pensionable age and therefore need to work, deal with this situation?
One such was Clive Cummings who, with his wife Tanith and four children, decided to spend 5million euros setting up a restaurant and hotel in Burgundy. With his English accent and poor grasp of French, he knew it would be a challenge. You can say that again! But worse - what he didn't realise was that his property would be covered in graffiti, protesters would gather at his gates, his children would have to endure snide remarks at school, and planners vowed to pull his property down. Despite trying to ingratiate themselves into the community by enrolling the children in local schools and employing a young French chef, Olivier Elzer, the hostility continued. The problem was never his closest neighbours, who were charming and supportive. It was those who lived "further afield" who were against their living and working there, so he had to fight. What would Winston Churchill have said: We will fight them on the beaches......
But, all that was in 2005. Today, after buying and converting the 900-year-old Abbaye de la Bussiere, near Dijon, the restaurant now boasts a Michelin star and the hotel is listed in the prestigious Relais & Chateau guide.
So, what's the moral of this story? In this global world, we must stop living 'in the box' of our own countries and mindsets and try to help and understand those who bravely come amongst us.
Just as Robbie Burns said all those years ago: Oh to see ourselves as others see us.
6th November 2008
Now that the global excitement of the last few days has begun to die down, I look again to matters closer to home. Through our blurry windows, the rain outside continues to pour down by the bucket-load, washing in muddy channels down to the nearby river Aveyron. Yesterday I pulled my L.L. Bean raincoat from its hook and decided to join Him indoors and Bruno for a muddy walk down to see how high the river had reached. Several yellow inondation signs were leaning against the castle wall, ready to leap into action should the river burst its banks. Fortunately, when buying our house three years ago, we made sure our home was well out of the flood zone but you have to be prepared. The river was brown and raging in full flood, making me think of wild-water rafting. Not the time for Bruno (or us) to have a swim.
In this kind of weather, it's ideal for me to spend time writing. I've now finished my first children's novel called 'Rose' but still search for that elusive agent/publisher to represent me. In the meantime, I have self-published it on the YouWriteOn site (funded by the UK Arts Council) and it should be available for purchase by Xmas. (I'll publish the link as soon as I know it). It is the first of seven novels in which each girl has an adventure in one of the 7 modern wonders of the world. Rose goes to the Ancient Temple of Petra in Jordan, and because its motto is 'protection against enemies', timid Rose becomes strong and learns to love her own enemies. I've already started writing novel no. 2 in the series, called 'Clementine', who will be travelling to the Colliseum in Rome.
In this kind of weather, it's ideal for me to spend time writing. I've now finished my first children's novel called 'Rose' but still search for that elusive agent/publisher to represent me. In the meantime, I have self-published it on the YouWriteOn site (funded by the UK Arts Council) and it should be available for purchase by Xmas. (I'll publish the link as soon as I know it). It is the first of seven novels in which each girl has an adventure in one of the 7 modern wonders of the world. Rose goes to the Ancient Temple of Petra in Jordan, and because its motto is 'protection against enemies', timid Rose becomes strong and learns to love her own enemies. I've already started writing novel no. 2 in the series, called 'Clementine', who will be travelling to the Colliseum in Rome.
5th November 2008
There's an historic phrase in England: 'Remember, remember the 5th of November'. It was always supposed to commemorate (if that's the right word) the day when a certain Robert Catesby and Guido Fawkes plotted to change their nation's government. Fireworks and burning effigies have always been grotesquely used to remember that day. All the more amazing then that from today, the 5th November will be remembered for something else. Yes, people have campaigned to change their government; yes, enormous effort has been maintained to overthrow what many saw as an iniquitous system, and yes, a new way forward was seized upon for the country's people. The change envisaged was certainly explosive, but back then in England it failed.
The difference today? The change is in another nation, across the Atlantic; the people have changed their government, but from Republican to Democrat; the people have elected the man they see as the new JFK, one to lead them forward through all the current world difficulties. And, amazingly, the new President is the first ever black President of the USA. Martin Luther King and all the former African slaves would be jumping for joy.
And the rest of the world? In Europe, there is muted applause for the result. M. Sarkozy has publicly congratulated Obama. But as I look out this morning onto the rain-washed streets and muddy fields all around me? People will still live their lives exactly the same as yesterday. And for the future? We can only hope for a better world.
The difference today? The change is in another nation, across the Atlantic; the people have changed their government, but from Republican to Democrat; the people have elected the man they see as the new JFK, one to lead them forward through all the current world difficulties. And, amazingly, the new President is the first ever black President of the USA. Martin Luther King and all the former African slaves would be jumping for joy.
And the rest of the world? In Europe, there is muted applause for the result. M. Sarkozy has publicly congratulated Obama. But as I look out this morning onto the rain-washed streets and muddy fields all around me? People will still live their lives exactly the same as yesterday. And for the future? We can only hope for a better world.
4th November 2008
On this historic day when millions of American citizens are voting for a new President to change their lives, the rest of the world holds its collective breath. There is so much desire for change to the old, traditional values. As Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand in the UK have discovered to their cost, people will no longer put up with stupid, crass behaviour in public.
In France, as people look for a lead via the public media, there is no such thing as a cheap tabloid press written with bias, with unsavoury photos of D-list celebrities, as in the UK. While many French people prefer to read regional rather than national papers, the content is very different from what the average British reader would expect. For many readers, any paper which is Paris-based, e.g. Le Monde, is too far from their own centre of interest. Another reason for the huge difference in France's media is because the French have a very different approach to decency and taste. In 2000 a new law banned the depiction of victims of crime or violence to be used by the media if it would 'jeopardise the dignity of the person portrayed'. Thankfully there is still a feeling in France whereby family values are sacrosanct and it is required by law for children to take care of their elderly relatives.
It was heartening to see that Obama left his busy election campaign to visit his sick grandmother, who sadly died before the results are known. Maybe if Obama - with his African, traditional roots - wins today, there might be a subliminal shift towards those traditional family values that everyone around the world seeks. Let's hope so because there's no doubt: what America does today, the rest of the world follows.
In France, as people look for a lead via the public media, there is no such thing as a cheap tabloid press written with bias, with unsavoury photos of D-list celebrities, as in the UK. While many French people prefer to read regional rather than national papers, the content is very different from what the average British reader would expect. For many readers, any paper which is Paris-based, e.g. Le Monde, is too far from their own centre of interest. Another reason for the huge difference in France's media is because the French have a very different approach to decency and taste. In 2000 a new law banned the depiction of victims of crime or violence to be used by the media if it would 'jeopardise the dignity of the person portrayed'. Thankfully there is still a feeling in France whereby family values are sacrosanct and it is required by law for children to take care of their elderly relatives.
It was heartening to see that Obama left his busy election campaign to visit his sick grandmother, who sadly died before the results are known. Maybe if Obama - with his African, traditional roots - wins today, there might be a subliminal shift towards those traditional family values that everyone around the world seeks. Let's hope so because there's no doubt: what America does today, the rest of the world follows.
3rd November 2008
I was watching the highly-educated Stephen Fry on last-night's English TV. It is an interesting travelogue mini-series, commenting on each of the US States as he drives through. One particular comment he made, though, in Montana wasn't quite right in my eyes. Looking at the glacial waters in front of him, he referred quizzically to the number of detractors of global warming in the world. No-one can deny global warming is happening at the moment, even here in France. Just yesterday torrential rains forced hundreds of families to evacuate their homes in east-central France. Access to the A6, France's main north-south highway, was closed as was the A46 between Lyon and Saint-Etienne to the south. Train services in the area have been cancelled at least until Tuesday.
French regional representatives are trying to get to grips with it all by gathering against climate change in the city of Saint-Malo, in the Atlantic region of France. 'We need to take a stand against climate change', said one representative. But yet again, as with Stephen Fry, their comments grated with me. The point I'm trying to make is that no-one denies that global warming is happening; rather, it is how to deal with it that is important. My own view is that it is caused by a catastrophic natural event in our planet's solar activity, a previous one being the ice-age. So, what we need is world leaders to discuss how we can deal with its destructive effects, both after and before they happen, rather than argue interminably on its cause. Get weather forecasters to predict the worst of the weather in areas that are vulnerable and evacuate people from those areas likely to be flooded, e.g. in constantly devastated regions like Bangladesh. Use computer models to predict which coastal areas are at risk of high waters as a result of glacial melts. Look at coastal erosion around the world and compensate people living near cliff-edges to force them to move further inland. Only build houses safe distances away from such areas.
So, if you're planning to move home, don't even think of buying a house on the coast - particularly if that coast is prone to wild water, or you may find your very own real-estate reduced to just a few worthless grains of sand.
French regional representatives are trying to get to grips with it all by gathering against climate change in the city of Saint-Malo, in the Atlantic region of France. 'We need to take a stand against climate change', said one representative. But yet again, as with Stephen Fry, their comments grated with me. The point I'm trying to make is that no-one denies that global warming is happening; rather, it is how to deal with it that is important. My own view is that it is caused by a catastrophic natural event in our planet's solar activity, a previous one being the ice-age. So, what we need is world leaders to discuss how we can deal with its destructive effects, both after and before they happen, rather than argue interminably on its cause. Get weather forecasters to predict the worst of the weather in areas that are vulnerable and evacuate people from those areas likely to be flooded, e.g. in constantly devastated regions like Bangladesh. Use computer models to predict which coastal areas are at risk of high waters as a result of glacial melts. Look at coastal erosion around the world and compensate people living near cliff-edges to force them to move further inland. Only build houses safe distances away from such areas.
So, if you're planning to move home, don't even think of buying a house on the coast - particularly if that coast is prone to wild water, or you may find your very own real-estate reduced to just a few worthless grains of sand.
I told you I was ill
Part 1.
For a happy marriage
The husband should be deaf
And the wife blind
Old Occitan proverb
It's Summer 06. Our ancient ventilator fan has been moved into the bedroom, ready and willing to crank into life when perspiration in the middle of the night reaches that point of no return.
He who never went to the doctor back home, when everything was free, has now decided he should get his left leg checked out. It must have been whilst wearing his new French shorts that I bought from the open air marché in nearby Caussade that brought him to this momentous decision. He has been limping for more years than I care to remember, resulting in one leg having become wasted and thinner than the other one. There’s nothing like exposing all that flesh to reveal life’s imperfections. My brother once said that everyone should be like him and not wear glasses, as he didn’t want to see everyone’s spots and pimples in all their red and gory detail. But there we were. The shorts definitely revealed H’s leg problem to one and all, so a solution needed to be found.
When we were originally contemplating moving to France – or rather when I had decided and H had reluctantly agreed – I had managed to persuade the medical people at the Centre for Non-Residents in Newcastle upon Tyne that I should be issued with their E106 form. This was no mean feat, as I was pushed from pillar to post trying to get through to the correct office.
Eventually I managed to persuade them that I had been paying full national insurance contributions for nearly thirty years and surely I was entitled to something? But, of course, because I was yet to reach the magical age when I would qualify for a full pension, all they could promise me was an E106 form.
‘But, what am I supposed to do with it?’ I asked, expecting a rude reply.
‘We will send you two copies of the E106. You need to take both forms to your local sickness insurance office. Do not fill in any part of the form yourself (on pain of death!). The foreign authority will then complete part B of both forms. They will send one copy to us to confirm registration and will keep a copy themselves. Once you have registered with the foreign authority, they will deal with any claim you make for help with medical costs. They can also tell you what you are entitled to.’
‘But, you told me that my E106 will run out in January 07 – that’s eleven months before I reach sixty. What will we do then?’
‘When your E106 certificate runs out, you must make enquiries with your local sickness insurance office about the possibility of joining their sickness scheme. Then, when you actually reach sixty, you can apply to us for our form E121.’
Another form, aargh!
I put the phone down, my head reeling. So that was all there was to it, then! We didn’t even know where our ‘local sickness insurance office’ was, let alone how to ask about all this in our halting French.
I decided that the most appropriate place to ask was our local friendly pharmacie, where the helpful owner spoke some English. He told us that the office we needed was in Montauban, the capital town of our region. We thanked him and studied the map. As with all the places we needed, it was situated more than fifty miles away. This was proving the case for everything.
Once I received the all-important forms from Newcastle, we filled up the car and prepared for a long haul. As usual on our journeys we took several wrong turns, screeched via hand-brake turns off many a private piece of farmland before we took the inevitable scenic route to Montauban. The traffic in the city reminded us of back home. Narrow roads, parked cars, no time to stop and look before receiving gesticulations and impatient horns. Before coming here I had led a very sheltered life, but have now learned phrases, arm movements and swear words that I would rather not repeat.
By now our watches showed the inevitable: eleven fifty-five. Too late. No wonder French restaurants do such a roaring trade every lunch-time. Everything shuts (except restaurants) for at least two hours every weekday, just when you manage to find the place you’re looking for. There was only one thing to do. We walked into a restaurant and ordered lunch.
Continued next Sunday..........
For a happy marriage
The husband should be deaf
And the wife blind
Old Occitan proverb
It's Summer 06. Our ancient ventilator fan has been moved into the bedroom, ready and willing to crank into life when perspiration in the middle of the night reaches that point of no return.
He who never went to the doctor back home, when everything was free, has now decided he should get his left leg checked out. It must have been whilst wearing his new French shorts that I bought from the open air marché in nearby Caussade that brought him to this momentous decision. He has been limping for more years than I care to remember, resulting in one leg having become wasted and thinner than the other one. There’s nothing like exposing all that flesh to reveal life’s imperfections. My brother once said that everyone should be like him and not wear glasses, as he didn’t want to see everyone’s spots and pimples in all their red and gory detail. But there we were. The shorts definitely revealed H’s leg problem to one and all, so a solution needed to be found.
When we were originally contemplating moving to France – or rather when I had decided and H had reluctantly agreed – I had managed to persuade the medical people at the Centre for Non-Residents in Newcastle upon Tyne that I should be issued with their E106 form. This was no mean feat, as I was pushed from pillar to post trying to get through to the correct office.
Eventually I managed to persuade them that I had been paying full national insurance contributions for nearly thirty years and surely I was entitled to something? But, of course, because I was yet to reach the magical age when I would qualify for a full pension, all they could promise me was an E106 form.
‘But, what am I supposed to do with it?’ I asked, expecting a rude reply.
‘We will send you two copies of the E106. You need to take both forms to your local sickness insurance office. Do not fill in any part of the form yourself (on pain of death!). The foreign authority will then complete part B of both forms. They will send one copy to us to confirm registration and will keep a copy themselves. Once you have registered with the foreign authority, they will deal with any claim you make for help with medical costs. They can also tell you what you are entitled to.’
‘But, you told me that my E106 will run out in January 07 – that’s eleven months before I reach sixty. What will we do then?’
‘When your E106 certificate runs out, you must make enquiries with your local sickness insurance office about the possibility of joining their sickness scheme. Then, when you actually reach sixty, you can apply to us for our form E121.’
Another form, aargh!
I put the phone down, my head reeling. So that was all there was to it, then! We didn’t even know where our ‘local sickness insurance office’ was, let alone how to ask about all this in our halting French.
I decided that the most appropriate place to ask was our local friendly pharmacie, where the helpful owner spoke some English. He told us that the office we needed was in Montauban, the capital town of our region. We thanked him and studied the map. As with all the places we needed, it was situated more than fifty miles away. This was proving the case for everything.
Once I received the all-important forms from Newcastle, we filled up the car and prepared for a long haul. As usual on our journeys we took several wrong turns, screeched via hand-brake turns off many a private piece of farmland before we took the inevitable scenic route to Montauban. The traffic in the city reminded us of back home. Narrow roads, parked cars, no time to stop and look before receiving gesticulations and impatient horns. Before coming here I had led a very sheltered life, but have now learned phrases, arm movements and swear words that I would rather not repeat.
By now our watches showed the inevitable: eleven fifty-five. Too late. No wonder French restaurants do such a roaring trade every lunch-time. Everything shuts (except restaurants) for at least two hours every weekday, just when you manage to find the place you’re looking for. There was only one thing to do. We walked into a restaurant and ordered lunch.
Continued next Sunday..........
1st November 2008
I see that even Joan Collins has taken on board the latest craze - downsizing her food bill by shopping at her local Target lo-cost shop in West Hollywood, CA. before loading up her RR outside! Le 'spending power' is the new buzz word in France too. There's a TV show over here called Combien ca coute? (How much does that cost?) on TF1 on Saturdays. So, it looks as if everyone's at it. But me? No. Not with food. As a pensioner I've learned a bit over the years. Life is precious, and our bodies are our lives. I can't understand why people think nothing of spending thousands on material goods but then stuffing their faces with cheap fast (rubbish) food. The quality of the 'fuel' which drives our bodies means that our bodies (i.e. our lives) will last that bit longer. The French have traditionally always understood this, so I hope the new trend doesn't catch on. You see them eating out at quality restaurants before returning to their meagre little apartments in their clapped-out old cars. Correct. Does Joan Collins run her expensive car on cooking oil? I don't think so. Yet, she is apparently now content to run her own body/life on cheap 'fuel'. Where's the sense in that? You can always buy a new car/house, but not a new life. Once your body's gone, everything's gone. So, buy fresh veg, avoid frozen, and cook nutritious meals at home. Re-arrange your time and money, give less emphasis to material goods, and give greater emphasis to the things that really matter: making you live longer and healthier.
Vive le bien manger!
P.S. New serial tomorrow.
Vive le bien manger!
P.S. New serial tomorrow.
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