Friday, June 19, 2009
About me ~ Profile update!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Vie en Vendée ~ Missive 7
Missive 7 already, but I promise not as large as the last one, and as we seem now to be properly online, hopefully the attachment will cause you no problems.
Well, if we thought things would quieten down when we were settled and there would be less to write about, they certainly haven’t and I have a growing backlog of items for forthcoming missives; idle snippets, people we have met along the way or sometimes simply observed, places we have visited and regular wonders of the world around us.
The amazing thing at the moment is that the missives continue, and will probably run for some time, but already you can get the repeats (and much more!!) on the Blog “It happened one Thursday in February.” But it doesn’t stop there as they are to be repeated again, in short edited snippets, with possible extra bits, on my very own weekly Blog on the Citizen’s webpage – “This is Gloucestershire!” (Gloucestershire’s local paper for those who don’t know!). It is due to be launched sometime next week (Week commencing Monday 15th June) with an “Introduction to their New Blogger” to feature in the paper before the blog goes live!!! Watch this space!
As promised, the covering letters are going to be kept short, just a final nudge, to say that we would love to hear from any of our readers about what they are up to in snowy / windy / wet / sunny?!? England!!
Love
Roger
La Loge
Mes chers amis
Vie en Vendée
Having returned, unpacked sorted out priorities like washing machine, dishwasher, lights, wine racks etc., life could have become quite quiet and sedate, but what with the garden (see below) and a pleasant stream of visitors (13 to date see blog “It happened one Thursday in February”) and generally getting to know the place life has been very busy. However, I hardly dare say it, but our trips to France Telecom seem to have finished, and with a hiccup caused by who knows what but put right by Linda over several hours and just a couple of billing errors to sort out, hopefully online, we now seem to be reliably in contact with the outside world. Indeed for the princely sum of €7-00 a month we have added calls illimité (unlimited) to English land lines to the package, so if you want to speak to us phone the fixed line number above and we’ll phone you back, or text us and we’ll phone you.
La Loge
Our new abode, affectionately known in private and amongst friends as Chez ‘iggs, is providing to be a great place to live, it is isolated and maybe our French won’t come on as well as if we were living in the heart of a village. But the peace and tranquillity more than compensate for that. We think the house was probably servant’s quarters / farmhand accommodation in the past and may have been as many as three or four very small and humble dwellings with the attics used either for storage or sleeping areas for the lowest of servants.
It’s ours for the next three years if we want it that long but can give three months notice should we want to leave. However, Monsieur can’t give us notice unless; he sells it or wants to move into it! As he has a chateau next door and hates France with a passion, he is unlikely to want to live in it and selling the estate in his words “won’t happen” and he seems to have something of a soft spot for La Loge. We think that perhaps, as a boy, he used to play here and maybe whoever lived here had a soft spot for the master’s son and slipped him the odd cake! Monsieur did, rather wistfully say at the signing of our contract “I won’t sell it, I love that little house!” When we discovered a primitive wooden sword and woven headdress in the rafters of the attic we wondered if they were some relic of monsieur’s past, we must ask him sometime, if we can get a word in edgeways!
The house is set well back in a long thin courtyard, which provides the terrace and front garden. There is no way out at the back, but the windows look out over the front of the chateau. Inside, we have a good sized living area and kitchen, three double bedrooms, one of which doubles up as a study, a hall area outside the bathroom which has a “his ‘n hers” double sink, shower and toilet. There is also another toilet. Outside we also have a small “cave” or wine “cellar” and an enormous boiler room which houses the boiler, oil tank and water purification plant, as our water comes from the chateau’s well! There is also a rather tumble down garage and three dependencies, which we don’t use at present but were a stable and two chicken houses. As for the garden see below! But, to appreciate the tranquillity and simplicity of our Vendée life fully, view the latest film on my blog; “It happened one Thursday in February” and become one of my growing band of followers!!!!! Well I am now living in a commune (see below!) so maybe you’re witnessing the birth of a new spiritual leader!!!!!
Monsieur Joe
Space has run out so M. Joe will have to wait until another time. However, like Monsieur he is a bit of a mystery. We think we met him once, but as said gentleman was helping himself to some mushrooms off the front lawn when Linda accosted him and said “Are you Mister Joe, pleased to meet you!” It could just be that it was best to agree with the strange English woman and escape. The latest theory I have come up with is that perhaps the mysterious Monsieur is a master criminal and M. Joe is his alias should things go wrong – I’ll let you know if we ever see them together!!
How does our garden grow?
When we first viewed the house we had decided to have it and then realised that the only thing it didn’t have on our “Must have” list was a garden. There were however, a couple of areas in the extended courtyard that could possibly be dug up and there was always container growing so we decided that the lack of a garden wouldn’t stop us renting the house. But we mentioned the possibility of grow some veg along the side of the courtyard to M. Pierre, the estate agent who by now we were convinced thought us mad to want to live in the country! Yes that was possible, but was it a garden we wanted, he said? On confirmation of this he somewhat puzzled said “Follow me,” and set off down the courtyard, past the large old barn, onto the road and turned right and seemed to be heading out into open countryside. But a little way down the road, hiding behind a hedge, was an amazing faded blue and very rustic gate that opened onto a large wedge shaped plot cut into the side of the bordering field, complete with a number of beautifully blossomed trees, which we were to discover were almond and plum trees, an overgrown small opened fronted corrugated tin shed and a patch of radiant daffodils seemingly growing wild in the large and very overgrown plot. You want garden said M. Pierre – Ici, and again you could see a certain bafflement caused by the excitement of us ticking the last of the essential boxes on the list.
Very quickly after moving in we tackled the garden, being careful a) not to be over ambitious with the size of the plot we dug over for planting and b) to make sure that when we did dig it over that we removed all the rank grass and pernicious weeds that had taken over the garden, which had obviously been well cultivated once, but not for some considerable time!
First we dug two large plots and trimmed, by hand the weeds and grass around the edges, then we managed to connect several electrical extensions together, including my father’s caravan cable and were just able to reach with my trusty Black and Decker strimmer, which did an absolutely fantastic job at cutting through the tough weeds and matted grass, until on the second cut it went clunk and bits flew off!! Fortunately, the damage sounded considerable worse than it was, and new parts were ordered over the internet, delivered to my parents and forwarded to here, all in the space of less than a week. Interestingly the postage from the English supplier to my parents was more expensive than it was to send the package on to France, by airmail. It was given in at the post office near my parents on Friday afternoon and delivered to our Vendée post box, over the road, under an ancient oak tree (See the latest Blog film!), first thing Monday morning. La Poste certainly seem to have the edge over France Telecom!
We are also now starting to eat our own produce – baby courgettes and greens for tea today, with some local creamy Mogette beans and double lamb cutlets with a herby salsa – home grown or hedgerow herbs of course, and all captured on camera!!
Slumdog Millionaire
To rave reviews, and just before it won a raft of Oscars, Slumdog Millionaire hit the screens of Stroud and Gloucester at a time when we just couldn’t find the time to go and watch it, and our plans were further thwarted as it hadn’t reached the depths of “The Forest” (of Dean for those that don’t know!) and wasn’t showing in Coleford until the following week, when we would have left my Mum and Dad’s, whose nearest cinema is Coleford, and headed off into deepest France.
But, it had arrived in France and was obviously a big hit, with posters prominently displayed all over the place. It was tempting, but I think our French will need a year, two or possibly longer before we could understand and enjoy a film in French! Although, I am having an almost daily conversation with the local farmer, who comes to a large trough at the front of our house to fill up a large water tank to top up the troughs of the nearby cattle, our closest and at times quite noisy neighbours. He always makes a point and coming and shaking hands and offering a cheery “Ca va?” to which even my schoolboy French can respond, remembering at least for the present that he is vous not tu! But he definitely speaks NO English and as do many of the locals laughs charmingly at the notion that he would! But, with my pigeon French and a degree of sign language we cover quite a lot of ground in the five minutes or so it takes the tank to fill up. Finally today, we learnt each other’s names, he’s called Michel, and talked further about; the weather and how although yesterday’s rain had gone, although we agreed it was “belle pour la jardin” (good for the garden) and the sun was back he still found it cold, he was surprised to hear that there had been snow in parts of England the day before (admittedly a rarity in June but a good talking point!), and how hopefully the sun would stay and the wind drop. He learnt Max’s name, but still failed to befriend him, Max just standing there all big and brave until Michel tries to pat him when he runs off. Michel is not the slightest bit worried about Max’s rather false show of guarding the place and on an earlier occasion, when Linda asked if he was worried about Max, his reply had been “Non, il ne mange pas moi!” (No, he won’t eat me!). Today, I also discovered he has seven medium sized dogs “pour la chasse” (for hunting) and he found out that Max is thirteen years old, which quite surprised him. He’s basically a very friendly chap and rather touchingly, when passing as my brother and family were leaving after their visit, made a great thing about leaning out of his tractor, waving and wishing them “Au revoir and bon retour.” (Good-bye and good return journey). Then our conversation the next day was about the length of their journey and he was shocked by the seven hours it takes to get to Calais. My guess is that he doesn’t venture far and certainly not to the slums of Mumbai, which is where this section started!
So, we seemed destined to watch Slumdog Millionaire at some time in the future, when somewhere with a television and the DVD, as although our France Telecom package could give us access to 40 television channels we have resisted the temptation, although having internet does mean we can keep up to date with the news and listen to English radio. Then we noticed a cinema billing that included a monthly English film and the next one was in a couple of Saturday’s time and was the original Slumdog Millionaire, with French subtitles!
Tickets booked we duly arrived, picked them up from a couple who were manning the ticket office, who together with the man checking tickets on the door, who I think may have moonlighted as the projectionist, were it seemed the only French people in the building. As we made our way to our seats and listened as we became surrounded by the La Châtaigneraie ex-pat community, I made a mental note to tell Linda after the film, that I didn’t want to join, but 26 years of marriage beat me to it, and she knew what I was going to say which agreed with what she had been thinking all along. OK it might make us a pair of outcasts, but I’ve better things to do than worry about which satellite dish will be the best to pick up English television, to find out what’s happened in “Britain’s got talent,” the “Eurovision Song contest” that would appear to refute the first item, and who’s bedding who in all of the Soaps!
I was delighted, although I could only understand a little of the speech made but the man who was issuing tickets on the door; welcoming us to cinema, telling us that this was the last film in this year’s season and that they would be back in the autumn and I think about major works that were due to be carried out in the cinema during the close season!, that he stoically talked to the room full of English people in French and that was that!
All went swimmingly, although the storyline in the first few minutes wasn’t quite what I was expecting, until the two young brothers who are pivotal in the film started to talk in Hindi and the subtitles were in French – but we got the gist of it and came out having thoroughly enjoyed the film, which had the memories of our visit to India flooding back – our guide Hamza, had even had his shoes misappropriated whilst we were visiting the Taj Mahal! If you’ve not seen it and get the chance, it’s a powerful film that highlights some of the shadier sides of modern and booming India, a boom that unfortunately, not all Indians are able to benefit from and enjoy!
Leaving England
It was rather strange and somewhat final, as the large noisily vibrating cross channel ferry
reversed out of Newhaven Harbour into the early Sunday morning channel, leaving behind the town that was only just beginning to wake up, and knowing that several decks below was a large and heavily laden van, hired from the SuperU supermarket in Pouzauges, holding the items for our new life in the Vendée.
As the ferry reached deep water and turned, a last glimpse of Newhaven and Brighton, with the white cliffs in between, and it was full speed ahead towards Dieppe, France and our new rented house with a chateau in the garden. The rising sun then rather aptly made a golden pathway over the water and I closed my eyes, with the warmth of the sun on my cheek and with a degree of trepidation dreamt of adventures to come!
White Van Sunday
One sunny Sunday recently, I threw open the blinds from the hall out onto the front of the house and as is my wont greeted anyone who happened to be listening with my standard “Bonjour tout la monde.” As we are so isolated, to date no-one has answered, but as a long distance footpath runs past the front of the house who knows when I might get a cheery “Bonjour Monsieur!” or more likely a somewhat surprised “Mon Dieu, vous me fightened à moitié mort!” (My God, you frightened me half to death!”) Whilst on the subject of isolation, I have just been surfing, the Internet not the Atlantic, and discovered that the commune (similar to an English parish but much more hippy sounding!) in which we live has a population of about 350 and an average of population density of 18 people per sq kilometre – well I reckon in our sq kilometre there are most of the time (except rarely when monsieur is home) only two people and their dog, who whilst retaining a passion for French bread, has refined his taste somewhat and now goes a bundle on oysters – the only thing is he hasn’t realised that it isn’t the shell you eat and has a daily raid on our shell midden of empty shells that is growing, almost as well as our veg, in the garden.
But what a surprise, I digress!! At this quite early hour, there was a veritable cavalcade of small white vans heading somewhere in the same direction, where they were going or what they were doing remains a mystery, but I’m reminded of two things: first the clandestine passing around of unmarked paper bags in a Year in Provence, when the truffles were in season and second the bike ride I did with my brother Chris, where we rode between my school in Stroud and a partner school in France. We set off at 2.30 in the morning and for several hours nothing passed us except white vans. I must get up really early one Sunday and lie in wait, in the car, and follow them to see where they go!!
M. Pierre, Immobilier (Estate Agent) Extraordinaire!
I keep promising to tell you more about the estate agent in whose window we saw our new abode and subsequently, quite miraculously managed to wade with, sometimes seemingly in sinking mud, through the intricacies and idiosyncrasies of house rental in France to eventually, after all the bizarre rules and regulations to get the keys a day before we should have, and to move in before we had signed the contract!!
We looked in M. Pierre’s window at the very start of our housing quest and were impressed by the number of properties he had on offer, so went in and disturbed a rather bumbling, old before his time, somewhat scruffily dressed Frenchman, who seemed to be more flustered by the fact that customers had come into the shop, than the fact that we were English with only limited French. He professed to speak no English, but as we got to know him he became braver and at the inventory and key handing over ceremony, he was confident to make a little joke in part English. When welcoming us to La Loge he told us that the commune, St Laurent de la Salle that we were moving into was a small village with only 350 inhabitants, but now we would make it 352!!
Not only his own appearance, but the appearance of the office, did little to inspire confidence, as every available surface, including those areas of the floor not needed for circulation, were covered in haphazard and toppling piles of paper, and indeed in later dealings we worried that copies of documents we gave him would join the great filing cabinet on the floor. But, to give him credit, it was obviously his mess and he appeared to know where things were however disorganised it all seemed. Well, we made our intentions clear and he fished out some details of possible properties, from a random pile that obviously in his mind was clearly marked – “Rental Properties in the correct price range!!” However, he had obviously misread us as the suave sophisticated type who wanted a neat little villa, on the edge of town with a neat easy to maintain garden surrounded by high green fences to keep out the neighbours! So all he offered us, didn’t really fit the bill and becoming increasingly flustered, he had to take his leave of us, as he had an appointment to keep. As we left the shop, thanking him and saying we would return another day, didn’t give the window a second look, as independently, we had both made the decision that nothing would make us return there!!
Little did we know that many very plush and well ordered offices later, many with good English speakers, and with only a couple of disappointing viewings for all our effort, that we would have to eat our words and at least go back and look in M. Pierre’s window, with the plan drawn up if there seemed to be something suitable in the window, that we would ask him to step outside, at least then we couldn’t see the chaos that rained inside, point to any properties we were interested in and make appointments to see them. The window scrutiny yielded, in the first instance, two possibilities and we duly stuck our heads around the door and flustered M. Pierre once more, but managed to get him to step outside and pointed at those we wanted to see. Unfortunately, the first one had gone, and the second one he seemed almost reluctant to rent us, merely dismissing it as being “Out in the Country!” When we said that was fine and when could we see it, he almost unenthusiastically suggested we go straight away, and almost before we knew it we were following M. Pierre, at breakneck speed through an unfamiliar French countryside and trying to read his mind at junctions as to which two wheels would leave the ground as he cornered without the use of artificial aids and no signals! Did I say earlier he was bumbling? Well, certainly that wouldn’t apply when he got behind the wheel of his car and tried to emulate fellow countryman and former Formula 1 Driver Alain Prost.
Eventually, many turns later, both physical and mental, we raced down a tree lined avenue and just where the road almost peters out, screeched to a stop on the loose gravel. M. Pierre, looking calm, collected and bumbling again, stood by his open car door as if ready to make a speedy getaway, cast his eyes around the surrounding countryside and said I did tell you it was in the countryside. To which we enthusiastically answered yes, much obviously to M. Pierre’s amazement. The rest is history and we are now well and truly ensconced, although we did have numerous dealing with M. Pierre, before the signing of the contracts and him finishing the bit he was paid to do! Two other meetings are worthy of note; the second previously alluded to, when his presence was well and truly overshadowed by the larger than life and highly confident M. Charles, our landlord and owner of the chateau we have in our garden! The first was to arrange the signing. Early one evening shortly after we had moved in, there was a quiet knock on the door, so quiet that afterwards I thought that perhaps he was hoping that we didn’t hear and he a could escape! But on opening the door, there was M. Pierre dressed just as he had been ever since we had first met him, come to tell us the arrangements for the Contract signing. Hopefully he was just passing as it was late to be working and home we discovered was some way away. Well, I invited him in, shook hands and sat him down, enquiring as to whether he would like a café (coffee), to which I’m sure out of courtesy he said yes, rather wishing he could escape straightaway. Never before have I seen anyone drink a coffee so quickly, sitting on the edge of his chair and ready, with a speedy “Merci et au revoir” to escape, after all we were in the country and who knows what might be lurking!!
Would we recommend him to a friend? In a funny sort of way, if you can look past the untidy office and bumbling nature, we ended up with a bit of a soft spot for M. Pierre and he certainly by “doing it his way” came up with the goods, so I guess we would. He was certainly better to deal with that the lady in France Telecom, who courtesy of a good friend, will from this day forth, be referred to (which hopefully we won’t have to do!!) as Phonezilla!!
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Un douzen huitre No 4 s’il vous plaît!”)
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Setting up home again ~ Missive 6 ~ and it's all a bit like Christmas
Dear All
I’ve suddenly realised that the covering letter has been steadily increasing in size, from a simple “Here’s the next missive,” to almost another chapter in itself!!
But not this time, simply an apology to all my readers that events have become a little muddled as to time line, and hoping that this has not marred your enjoyment of the contents too much and a thank you to all those who have replied and further apologies to those who have requested to be included on the list and have slipped through the net – hopefully now rectified?
Further replies, comments, suggestions (hopefully polite!!) gratefully received!!
Ladies and Gentlemen, pray silence whilst I prepare to entertain you forthwith, with mirth, merriment and near murder, Missive 6 attached for you edification and delight – I hope!!
Love
Roger
PS Largely due to problems of communication it’s a long one!!
La Loge
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
Setting up home again and it’s all a bit like Christmas
Having returned with what I’m sure was a seriously overloaded van, although remarkably fuel consumption remained the same full or empty, we then started to unpack, and sort out the rooms, though thankfully, in many ways, Victoria’s visit was delayed a little giving us a little more time. So we sorted out lights, washing machine, dish washer and filled the freezer as well as to having a Christmas experience, unpacking boxes and discovering what was really in them, as the contents scrawled on the top, didn’t always correspond too closely to what was actually contained therein!!
Communication problems
This was to be by way of an introduction but, as time goes by, warrants a section all for itself, and who knows may run and run and become a whole mystery / thriller novel, with a bit of bloodshed thrown in!! I’m afraid it might also mean that as the saga continues to roll, that this may become a monster missive!
The original introduction started ...... Soon communication will be easier, as on one of our less stressful and traumatic visits to bureaucracy, we found a lovely lady working for France Telecom, who despite professing to speaking little English, actually as is often the case spoke excellent English, but also insisted that we should at least try to do some of the transaction in French and we ended up agreeing, me speaking French and she speaking English, that the problem was not so much knowing what to say but being able to understand the answer, as it was delivered “très vite – very quickly!!” ...... We left the office buoyant and confident that in a couple of weeks we would be: on line unlimited, have a French phone number and have unlimited calls to English landlines, there must have been a spring in our step as bureaucracy had been overcome!!
How deceiving can things be. The time of the rendezvous with the technician came and went and they didn’t arrive and try as we might to contact the help desk; a lack of someone who spoke English, even just a little and our limited French as well as the broken promises to phone us back, saw me late in the day returning to the France Telecom office to find out what had happened, whilst Linda waited in just in case they were running late. Thankfully, I got the same lady, but she had obviously undergone a personality change and didn’t want to know and all she could do was make a further appointment, of which the earliest available was nine days hence. Protest as I might, the lady was not for turning, claimed it was out of her hands and ALL she could do was rebook the technician, and hope he came on the new date but she couldn’t guarantee it and didn’t know what she could do if he didn’t!! Very disgruntled and with a few choice words about the poor quality of service and I left with a very curt Au revoir. Arriving home, Linda was equally dismayed and we resolved to return to the shop the next day and do battle to move things on quicker. The next day brought no softening of the iron maiden and a point blank refusal to do any more, so with further disgruntled comments, and no Au revoir, we left the shop and waited the nine days that seemed inevitable.
Come the day of the second rendezvous, a Tuesday, and we had what seemed to be the first appointment, so rose early and spent the first couple of hours of the day standing in the road, so as to get a mobile signal should they be trying to contact us to find our rather out of the way location, but also to flag them down if they turned into the road and thought there was nothing down the road, as we’re a little tucked away beside a barn and could possibly be missed. Well, the allotted two hour block came and went, with no phone call and no sign of the engineer. So, becoming more and more disgruntled we waited for a reasonable time after lunch, again in case they were running late and once more returned to France Telecom shop, to find the iron maiden tied up with another customer and when we asked another assistant if she spoke English, it was an emphatic no! However, with broken French I explained the problem and suitably horrified the new sales assistant was straight on the phone, something the other lady had told us was impossible and there followed a series of heated exchanges on our behalf, culminating in the English speaker becoming involved and seeming finally to get somewhere, but sadly that some where was only another appointment another nine days hence, much to everyone in the shop’s annoyance.
Well, I’d kept quite calm to this point and demanded to know why they hadn’t arrived for the two rendezvous, to be told that they hadn’t been able to find us and weren’t able to phone an English mobile – which was news to us as this had been the contact number that had been taken!! It was then “toys out of the pram” time and we pointedly and fairly loudly said that the service was appalling and cancelled everything, storming out of the shop to make us feel better if nothing else.
We then went on the search for an alternative supplier and realised our mistake, all the opposition, whilst able to give us a contract, relied on France Telecom for the line!! A case of over a barrel, but at least the alternative we chose dealt with France Telecom and sorted it all out for us. But when they phoned up to get the wheels in motion, they were told that our number was barred!! With a liberal amount of steam rising, I stormed back to France Telecom to ask what was going on, to be told that as we had cancelled the contract it was common practise to bar the number for three days, but as Friday was a Bank Holiday and Fontenay shuts on a Monday it would be Tuesday!! I couldn’t help to feel that we were now in the realms of childishness, and not for the first time incredulously left without then energy, or sadly sufficient suitable language to argue. However, the other providers had been very helpful, so we returned, explained and said we would be in the following week to sort it out!
We returned home, resigned to further bouts of sitting outside local tourist offices or churches and using a Vendée Wi Fi hotspot!! Imagine then our utter surprise, to receive a phone call early morning a couple of days later, in French, seeming I thought to say that the engineer would be with us at midday and ending abruptly as the language was causing a problem!! Part shock and part insufficient language again made me accept the appointment and not mention that we had cancelled the contract, deciding we could go in and reinstate it once the engineer had been. Then they didn’t arrive and I started to have doubts about whether I had properly understood the conversation! But, at one thirty a blue car skidded to a stop outside the house, out jumped a man who shook hands and introduced himself and I had to check he was in fact the engineer, to which he replied “Of course” and did have the grace to apologise for being late! What’s the odd twenty one days amongst friends!!
But the job was done and the telephone connection would become live twenty four hours later, so back to madam at the France Telecom office (incidentally a round trip of about 22 miles each time) who was at her charming most UNHELPFUL yet and told us that it was impossible that we were connected and why had we let them do it! We explained!! But no, the contract was terminated and couldn’t be reinstated or indeed a new one drawn up, she was finished with us, that’s it, final!! So what were we to do we asked, to which she said if you’re connected use it – I don’t know!! End of conversation. So pleased to be connected, but worried about not having a contract we returned home, surfed and emailed all night, and were promptly cut off in the morning, even before we had time to email France Telecom / Orange and ask them what we should do – our chosen course of action. Unfortunately, this meant a return to the iron maiden, but you may have worked it out that it was now Friday, Bank Holiday and our visit would have to wait until the following day.
On arrival, the maiden was busy so we approached another assistant, who spoke no English and said we must wait for …… yes you’ve guessed it. Well, an element of surprise seemed a good strategy, as she hadn’t seen us come into the shop and we waited conveniently out of sight behind a pillar. However, when she came with her customers, over to the till she saw us, was obviously not pleased and in the middle of serving the other couple proceeded to start an argument with us as to how our dealings together were over. But, I had decided that I wasn’t taking no for an answer, at least not from the monkey – I was going to straight to the Organ Grinder and asked to see the boss!!
Unfortunately, the boss spoke no English so the maiden had to act as interpreter, but we were able to understand enough, for her not to try and get away with anything, and after a couple of phone calls, miraculously a new contract was a possibility, but then there would be the nine days ….. well, my expression was sufficient to get that down a little to seven days and we left, displeased but thinking there was light at the end of the tunnel, and at least this would be quicker that the other provider who would have been over three weeks getting us online!
On Thursday a phone call told us that there was no-one available for Saturday, so it would have to be possibly the following Monday and they would let us know when. Friday morning the phone ran and expecting it to be the time of the new appointment, or someone trying to sell us the internet (ironically a common occurrence!) or indeed what seems to be fairly frequent calls for Orange to ask us something, but which, due to language difficulties usually fizzled out without a conclusion!! We even had one from customer relations asking if we were happy with the service we had received – not sure if they understood the English that we used, but the line went dead! This time, someone seemed to have seen sense and were hoping that they could come today – three days early to get everything sorted, and they arrived on time, had some difficulties sorting out the signal through our exceptionally thick walls, ending up selling us, at great expense, this gismo that feeds the signal through the electricity cable, to replace the wireless dongle thingy that the previously engineer had insisted that we needed and although sold us at great expense and failed to leave a receipt – so a battle remains to get the money for the first ineffective item refunded. After an age, trying all sorts of configurations, including putting the “Live Box” and associated wired in the middle of the floor just inside the front door, to save us money, we finally settled on the gismo!!
He left, we had to return to the France Telecom to check a minor thing on our contract and caused quite a stir when we arrived, tense to say the least, until I put the maiden out of her misery and said “no problem, l’internet c’est bon!!” when there was an audible sigh of relief throughout the shop floor! There was almost that same bounce in our step as there had been all those weeks previously went we had first started the process off!! But sadly, once again the euphoria was to be short lived!! Twenty four hours came and went and no Internet phone line, that was when we discovered, quite by chance that there was a English speaking helpline and no one had bothered to tell us. Nearly a week later the phone remains unconnected, despite a promise it would be done yesterday and today the internet went down and despite hours of fiddling, Linda has only managed to get it back on then main computer, not on the laptop. We now wait, the breath hardly now bothering to be baited to see if the helpline phone tomorrow, as promised, to see if all is well!!
As I said this story could run and run and once it has run it’s course, there will be a heated email or two winging their way off to complain bitterly about the atrocious service we have received – so who knows, we’ll probably be barred again!!
Madame becomes Monsieur
Well, as I mentioned in the covering letter of the last missive, quite out of the blue, and involving no surgery whatsoever, Madame has mysteriously become Monsieur, and a fine fellow he seems to be, as despite residing most of his life in Spain, he has been back and we have met on a couple of occasions, but more of that in the next section!
Throughout our discussions and negotiations with M. Pierre, the Estate Agent, he always spoke about madam: Madame, the owner spends most of her time in Spain ... It is difficult for me to contact Madame in Spain ... We must wait to see if Madame agrees to you moving in, and when it was obvious that we would be moving in before signing anything ... You will have to meet with Madame as soon as she returns from Spain.
So imagine our surprise, when having taken procession of the keys, hired the van and returned to England, to meet Monsieur, with no sign of a Madame, as we pulled into our courtyard on our return. Read on for the full version of events!!
But, how strange, I am at times baffled by the French use of gender, or should that be sex?, and le and la etc., but certainly have no problem with sex, that is when sorting the men from the Madames!! M. Pierre is himself a strange but kindly chap, with limited English, but a very strange mistake to make as he appeared to know M. Charles the owner, when we met the following week for the signing, but more about that next time, and M. Pierre will undoubtedly feature in some future missive, although our dealings with him are now over, his job complete as he doesn’t manage the property.
Our first three or so visitors!!
Hardly had we arrived, parked the caravan and unpacked the car, taken delivery of some heating oil and it was time to sit outside in the warm early April sunshine and have our first meal at La Loge Grimouard, an alfresco lunch which we hoped would be the first of many, but also a chance to recharge batteries before picking up the hire van and collecting the white goods, before an early night and then the journey back to England to pick up the next instalment. With my mind wandering to the tight schedule of the next few days, my deep reverie was broken by the sound of a vehicle fast approaching along the road. As it reached our entrance there was a screeching of brakes and flying gravel as the van stopped abruptly and out jumped, almost before the vehicle had properly stopped, a tall well-built Frenchman wearing workmen’s overalls plentifully covered in fluorescent strips to help spot him in the dark!! With what seemed to be three enormous and rapid strides he was bearing down on me, as rudely awoken from my daydream I jumped up and met him halfway across the courtyard and clasped the proffered hand, sharing a hearty handshake and equally enthusiastic welcome, which was equally energetic when Linda joined us. This was Monsieur La Poubelle, (Dustbin) or Boneur (Dustman) to give him his proper name and he was coming bearing gifts. After an initial torrent of French and him cheerfully telling me that he spoke no English at all, the mere thought of it made him chuckle, we managed a good conversation about the various dustbins we were provided with, when each of them was collected, and where we had to put them for collection on a Monday morning, but as they leave the depot at five o’clock in the morning we might like to put them out the night before. Then, with similar wholehearted Au revoirs he was, in a cloud of dust, gone but from that day on whenever we see him, and he appears to be not only a Boneur but also the local Cantonnier (or road-labourer) we get a vigorous and genial wave.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
With a great degree of relief, I turned the large hire van into the avenue of trees leading to La Loge, a cup of tea and a rest after four days of hectic activity, including the drive from the Vendée to Gloucestershire and back. Not only something of a feat of endurance but thankful that the van springs had held up!!
Well, part way down the avenue, just after the bend that shields the end of the road from the end of our courtyard, walking towards us was a tall rather flamboyantly dressed man with a rather shabby large black dog, which he called to his side and stepped onto the verge to let us pass. I acknowledged this with a wave and received something of a puzzled frown in return and as we passed, I noticed in the mirrors that the gentleman had promptly turned around and followed the van up the avenue. By the time I had manoeuvred the van ready to unload, he was turning the corner by our garage and striding towards me.
I walked out to meet him and remembering we were back in France proffered my hand which he took and asked, still somewhat frowning if we were going to be living here and when I affirmed this, his demeanour changed dramatically and with a broad smile and an expansive gesture, he said, “Well I’m the owner, welcome home!!” There followed quite an hilarious exchange, which being very tired was almost hard to keep up with, but at least confirmed that the natives, at least those that choose to spend most of their time in Spain, were friendly.
Fortunately, Monsieur is fluent in English, and we were to learn later also German, Spanish and his native French, and because his sister has married someone from the Czech Republic, is in the process of learning Czech!! But, he keep repeating that we were most welcome – “Welcome Home and Be Happy,” liberally scattered through a conversation that covered how, almost to his regret his parents had left him this chateau, completed with various outbuildings, stable yard, chapel, two lakes, park and wood, the extent of which we still have to discover. He informed us he had lived in Spain, first the Canary Islands and now Benidorm, for 40 years and was therefore more Spanish than English, but duty insists that he must spend the odd week back at the family chateau!
The conversation was fairly one-sided as Monsieur, was obviously not only pleased to meet us but also delighted to be able to try out his English, and I was exhausted after the numerous journeys we had made over the last four days. But it covered a little about ourselves, how the water came from a well 2 kilometres away and he and his family had always drunk it with no ill effects, but he had put in a purification system just in case. Collecting my thoughts sufficiently to say that he certainly looked very well on it and perhaps he should bottle it, and the conversation turned to how it wasn’t as good as Lourdes otherwise he would bottle it and become a millionaire. We then for the first time were treated to his booming infectious laugh that started deep within and took some time to rumble out!!
Mentioning Max, we were told this was no problem and introduced to his motley companion, who we were told had been abandoned by the roadside and was obviously now his constant companion, and if he were to come sniffing around to send him back to the chateau!
He then told us that he spent most of his time in Spain, only visiting by necessity, and really after 40 years he was more Spanish than French. We then asked if the chateau was empty when he was not there and he told us it was and that he had a caretaker, Monsieur Joe, who lived in the stable block. He then, with a twinkle in his eye told us that if we saw anyone in the chateau then it would be the ghosts of his ancestors! I retorted by saying that we would be sure to invite them in for a drink, and we were once more treated to his distinctive rolling laugh, when he said that therefore they would have to invite us back!!
His obvious love of languages then came to the fore, as again he welcomed us home and said that when he was not there we were to treat the park, woods and lakes as our own, and were free to fish in the lake, although he had no idea what we would catch, and could “wander, ramble, dawdle (which he pronounced dowdle before realising his mistake), walk, stroll, meander, roam, amble or mooch!!,” at will in the woods or park. We were to find out that it seems that Monsieur likes nothing better than to go to bed with a good Thesaurus and brush up on alternatives for any word that took his fancy. I wonder if he has a whole shelf of Thesauri; English, French, German, Spanish and a shiny new Czech one!
After some time he bade us a cheery good-bye, as he guessed we must have lots to do and left, bowing out with further expansive gestures, “welcome homes” and “be happy” as he disappeared round the corner and back to rattle around the chateau, with it would appear only his ragged dog and ghostly ancestors for company!!
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The third visitor was an altogether more slippery customer. We had just had lunch sitting out on the terrace and I collected the things and started to make my way towards the front door, when I was abruptly brought to a halt and couldn’t stop a suitable expletive from passing my lips, as there heading gracefully towards the front door was a snake, not huge but even a couple of feet is big enough. Linda asked what the matter was and when I explained she disappeared inside, not to get the long handled broom that I had asked for to try a persuade the snake that it was better to go back the other way, but to get her camera, and pictures taken, in the nick of time the broom was got and the snake beat a hasty retreat, first dropping under the cave door and again having to be persuaded that this didn’t make a good home and finally disappearing, not to be seen again down a crack at the corner of the house into with the down pipe flows. It was some days before I could comfortably pass that crack and still rather gingerly open the cave door just in case it’s changed its mind!! Fortunately, it appears to have only been a grass snake, but I wasn’t taking any chances and it was still a bit of a shock to find it on the doorstep!
A couple of other notable visitors also need mention, and who knows this might become a regular feature:
One night, shortly after the visit from the snake, when in the early hours I opened the door to let Max into the garden, there sitting watching me from the doorstep was a large frog! I was tempted to kiss it and see if it turned into a beautiful princess, but it looked rather slimy and I didn’t think Linda would have been too pleased to have a stunning blond princess move in!!! Bet it would have been a different story if it had been a handsome flaxen prince!!
Then, during an idle moment just yesterday, when after lunch we were both sitting having a read before continuing the day’s labours, me with my back to the open day and Linda facing it. Suddenly, she screamed as she leapt from her chair, scarcely avoiding a collision with an extremely fast moving black object that hit the window behind her chair and fell to the window sill, collected itself got its wind back and fluttered around the room a couple of time before heading back through the open door. I’m not sure who was the most shocked the poor swallow who had mistaken the open door and the closed window beyond as a clear way through, Linda who thought that a missile had been fired at her, or me when Linda shrieked!!
Out and about
This section is in danger of pouring out so fast as to trip over itself, and become so excitedly garbled, as to become more hard to decipher than normally!! As we went out and about our new patch the wealth of flora and fauna, or plants and animals if you prefer!!, is just staggering and the list just keeps on growing. But rather than a complete run down, rather unscientifically, suffice to say the animal list stands at 10, the bird list at 13 (including the undoubted highlight of two sightings of a hoopoe), the tree list an incomplete 11 and the star of the show, the flower list has reached over 30 and still counting!
But, like the visiting grass snake and hoopoe above there are some highlights, so here goes!:
When digging the garden, I noticed a small hole in the ground and as the spade dug perilously close to it, I jumped as a scurry of activity saw a family of field mice disturbed, mum rather surprisingly leaping for the cover of the nearby hedge and leaving three small babies to fend for themselves, I’m hoping they were reunited after I left the digging in that part and moved away. Then the next day when digging not far away, a sudden movement in the soil revealed a chunky black and yellow lizard, a salamander, about 15 centimetres long, who also determinedly, but slower than the mouse sought the safety of the hedge bottom.
Just beyond the hedge at the bottom of our vegetable patch is a large pond in the corner of the field. Here a family of coypus, large rodents a bit like beavers, live and when I’m digging the garden, you can often hear them chirping to each other or see them swimming across the water ducking down to collect weed, which is what they eat. Then the other day, peering around the hedge that separates the garden from the field and pond I was just in time to see a large heron, obviously intent on catching one of the large fish that regularly can be seen jumping clear of the pond’s surface, unfurl its enormous untidy wings and almost lazily take flight and fly low over the field to the next pond and potential meal.
On another occasion, Linda and I were fruitlessly waiting out in the road for the France Telecom technician, to either arrive or at least telephone for instructions. Waiting inside is similarly fruitless, as the walls of La Loge are too thick to allow mobile telephone signals to pass through. At the same time we both saw a movement further along the tree lined avenue, as a relatively large animal came out of the undergrowth and lolloped towards us. At first it was too far away to identify it, and we thought from its gait that it might be a fox, by as it got closer, obviously totally unaware of our presence we could see it was a large hare, lazily strolling down the avenue before disappearing off once more into the undergrowth, looking very unlike the sleek champion sprinter it could be, when in full flight across an open field running scared.
Finally, the flowers – wow what a show April put on and each time we went out we discovered new delights, from enormous early purple orchids, through swathes of bright bluebells to more hidden delights such as violets and vetch. But there remains one mystery, a flower we have watched grow from an early cluster of broad almost daffodil like leaves, with a long flower stalk capped with an untidy black flower head that continued to grow, reaching four or five feet in height and opening out into a long white flower head with delicately striped petals. At first “our” avenue seemed to be the only place that they were growing, but as the flowers have come out we have realised they are more widespread, and what they are remains a mystery.
A Night in the Country
And the encounters don’t stop when night falls!!
Like something out of a sci-fi horror film, there are the relatively large wall spiders, whose bulbous bodies you rarely see, but who live in small holes or crevices and you see, at night, hanging their legs out hoping to catch an unwary and unsuspecting insect passing by!
And, by far, the loudest of our wild neighbours, in all the lakes and ponds around, are the noisiest frogs I have ever heard, they sound like lots of ducks all quacking loudly together, and are even worst at night – as the nights get warmer and we have to have the windows open they will probably keep us awake and maybe we’ll have to think seriously about eating vast quantities of that French delicacy – frog’s legs!!
There is also something, with claws, that sounds much bigger than a mouse living in our attic!! Occasionally, late at night when all is quiet and I am reading or writing, the footsteps cross the floor above me, sometimes quite quietly and at other times with a strange thump or two! The morning brings no tangible evidence of visitors, when complete with wellies (interestingly the spell checker wanted to change this to willies – also rather apt in the circumstances!!) tucked carefully into trousers I have gone, rather timidly, to investigate!! Perhaps M. Charles’ talk of ghostly ancestors wasn’t in jest and we should be going up into the attic and inviting them in for a drink – then we could get a return invite to the chateau!!
All these encounters, which continue on an almost daily basis, are largely down to the tranquil nature of our new surroundings, as commented on by the farmer who farms the fields around us and maintains the chateau gardens, when we met him recently and in a mixture of pigeon English and rather more pigeon French introduced ourselves to each other. He heartily agreed when I commented on how well I slept, but that only after having overcome the intense quiet of the place somewhere beneath the croak of the frogs, the hoot of the owl, the nightly whistling, cheeping and cackling of the bird in the tree outside our bedroom window, the crickets and the occasional farmer ploughing his field well into the early hours of the morning – who put headlights onto tractors!! Actually, little has ever kept me awake, and even more so with a plentiful supply of good, cheap wine!!
Cheque Book update!
Now where were we with the cheque book? Oh yes, the good news is we have the cheque book, but unfortunately it has the wrong address on it and we need another one, but eventually, they decided we could keep it, just in case we needed it until the new one arrived in eight days time, which is already nearly two weeks!!
We found this out when we went to pick up the cheque book and associated cards and were told by the struggling young man behind the desk, struggling I hasten to add with his gallant and at times failing attempts to converse in English, but at least he tried, that Madame, with whom we had originally made contact needed to see us, and an appointment was made for a couple of days hence – yet another visit to Fontenay-le-Comte our local town 12 miles away. He also gave us our new cards but there was some confusion as to how we were to activate them, with numbers it seemed that we had already been given, but a thorough search of welcome pack didn’t reveal. However, all was revealed at the meeting with Madame, at which she nearly took back our cheque book. The security codes had been sent to the wrong address, returned to Madame who was now giving them to us, the envelopes open, as she needed to ascertain what was inside, but the security envelope intact inside, so we could now activate our cards and in time have a second correctly printed cheque book. It was fortunate we did keep the old cheque book as we had to write our first cheque for the telecom engineer, well at least get him to write it to be sure it was correctly filled out!! Watch this space!!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Who put those large white cows in the field next to my garden and don’t get personal, it’s alright for another dog to have a sniff, but a cow – really!!)
And to come next time, who knows but it may contain:
Leaving England, La Loge, Monsieur Joe, How does your garden grow? Slumdog Millionaire, and White van Sunday!
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Here, there and everywhere: but finally ICI!! ~ Missive 5 ~ Frantic activity in an otherwise peaceful existence!
We’re in and waiting to receive our first visitors – Victoria and Dermot who should have come this week, but events conspired against it. However, it has given us time to unload the rather heavily laden van and make various trips to Mr. Bricolage (The DIY store) to get various items and the Electromanger (Electrical store) for our new white goods, including a rather natty five burner portable gas range – the bottle is stored inside!!
We also, on our wedding anniversary signed the contract for renting La Loge , exactly one year on from our first sortie to the Vendée in search for adventures new, and a week after being given the keys, an impossibility without a French cheque book – read on!! And ... the hot news is that madame has changed into monsieur, not by biological means you understand, but appears to have always been so!! The estate agent has little command of English, but in my book this fails to explain this further bit of confusion!!!!
We also have managed, nearly, to get our French cheque book! On our return from England, we had a card notifying us that there was a letter waiting for us to sign for at the local La Poste (Post Office). On fetching it, it contained a card for us to present to the bank as proof that we lived where we said that we did! We hot footed it to the bank, only to be told that still we couldn’t have the cheque book, because they hadn’t had back the letter from the post to say that we had signed for the letter, even though we had, in our grubby little hands, the card that was in the letter, that we could only get if we signed on the dotted line – arrrrrrrrrrgh!!! We are getting quite good at smiling sweetly and saying nothing, whilst screaming inside! Read on!!!!!
It was the start of a potentially disastrous day, as we had to go to another post office to get a refund on our electricity bill, as they had double charged us. We’ll have to watch out as we hadn’t at that time even moved in!! However, despite instructions to return to La Poste, where we had paid the bill, to have the money refunded, the office knew nothing about it and certainly couldn’t give us any money back – the refund has yet to be sorted!! We then went to IKEA in Nantes to buy a couple of wardrobes from their 2009 catalogue, only to circumnavigate the city looking for the large blue and yellow sign, finally stopping at a supermarket to ask instructions, and our first stroke of luck for the day, found a lady in the Espace Cultural (Books, CD’s, Theatre tickets etc.) who spoke perfect English and knew exactly where IKEA was and better still how to get there by car! The luck didn’t last, as the wardrobes were discontinued!! We did however, not waste our visit and came away with a carload of items for the new abode!!We’ll now need two vans when we move next time!!
Attached is the next missive, that I have tried not to make too massive!!
Love and Best Wishes
Roger, Linda and Max, who at the moment is snoring loudly, on one of his many beds, talk about pampered pets – next he’ll want to go to the Chien Toilettage – grooming parlour, of which there are nearly as many as there are coiffures (hairdressers)!!
P.S. Rather late sending as we have fallen out with France Telecom and have not been able to get on line, could be another 4 weeks now!!! More arrrrrrrrgh!!! More I’m sure to follow!!!
We have also had our first two lots of visitors who seemed to go away happy and the next visitors arrive Monday, with visitors and digging the garden and retrieving it from the jungle leaves little time or energy for writing – whoopee I hear you say!!
En France, La Vendée to be precise!!
(As we leave a little bit of Ireland in the Vendée, and yes Tom was delighted with the outcome of the 6 Nations, whilst other friends from across the Severn Bridge were looking for a “twll” (hole) to crawl in to!!), and we move into Chez ‘iggs, and look forward to welcoming our first visitors, the day after we arrive back with the furniture!!)
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis (as corrected by my French mistress – Oh la la!!!)
Here, there and everywhere: but finally ICI!! ~ Frantic activity
in an otherwise peaceful existence!
We thought the travelling was over – little did we know, not only did we have to make an extra, unscheduled, journey to England (see below), but we seemed to be quite literally – Here, there and everywhere; seeking out the white goods at the best prices, opening bank accounts, taking out insurance, shopping, booking van hire and finding Internet Wee Fee (Wi-Fi) hotspots to check emails and keep up to date with what was going on with friends and family. The wonders of modern technology have meant that we are quite often to be found outside the church in Chantonnay, early evening, sitting in the car talking animatedly to our computer as we talk to people through Skype. I had wondered if it would look better if we pretended and held a mobile to our ears, but nobody particularly seemed to notice, proposition us or indeed send the police around to investigate, so no doubt until we are connected at Chez ‘iggs, our trips to the car park will continue!!
Chez ‘iggs arrivée
Having seemingly got the okay on the house, our various trips often saw us just happening to drive past the new place, despite it being very off the beaten track and certainly not on route to anywhere!! Indeed, again it was surprising that the police weren’t call to say there was a slow moving turquoise English car repeatedly casing the chateau – would they have believed that we were really looking at the altogether more modest empty servant’s quarters at the end of the chateau drive!!
Each time we drove past the sun seemed to be shining and the wide verge on either side of the road, seemed to proliferate a huge variety of wild flowers, most recognisable, but others unknown to me. On one occasion as Linda, took surreptitious photos of the Chateau security system, no sorry of our soon to be new abode, I decided to walk the dog along the avenue that leads to La Loge, and promptly featured in one of the photos – one man and his dog or too the manor born!!
The sun was shining, warm enough not to need a jumper, as down the quarter mile avenue of mixed trees and a wonderful selection of wild flowers in the hedgerows; campions, white violets en masse, dandelions, primroses, cowslips – the list was endless and the crowning glory seemed to be some sort of wild iris type plant, daffodil-type leaves and a large flower stalk, almost growing as you watched it, topped by a black tangled flower head about to emerge into what – I didn’t know as the flower is unknown to me and also in our travels we have only seen it in one other place – so perhaps a rarity, maybe from where La Loge gets its name!!
Also, I was delighted to see lots of Butcher’s Broom, a plant that I didn’t know until looking it up after a walk with a class of French Schoolchildren when visiting our friends near Brest, in Brittany. The plant has small very tough leaves, not unlike holly but without the spines, just one sharp spike at the end. It was this and the general toughness of the leaf that made it very useful for butchers to clean off their wooden cutting blocks at the end of the day, hence its common name.
But above all, was a great feeling of peace and tranquillity. It just felt right, could things get any better? Certainly we felt that we had arrivée!
The first cut is the deepest! (just another quick snippet, quite literally!!)
Just one of those little amusing cameos on life, when we recently visited nearby Pouzauges, having unsuccessfully visited a couple of estate agents to find they had nowhere suitable on their books for us to view with a possibility to rent. (This is one of those out of sequence pieces that happened before Chez ‘iggs!)
We were hastening back to the car, having very briefly been drawn into the covered market, to view the produce and sniff the fish, those of you who know me well will know that this is a little weakness of mine!!, we almost missed it in the rush. But, there amongst the parade of shops that included; a Tabac, Insurance Office, Flower Shop and Patisserie, was a small tattoo and piercing shop, its slightly set back front window discreetly covered with a blind, that was far from discreetly covered with samples of the available designs and pictures of those piercing that they performed that could be viewed in public!!
Beside the narrow window and lace curtained door stood a large potted evergreen shrub, not unlike a privet, and next to this the even larger black clad tattoo artist who, visibly, had all but run out of available space on which to advertise his art. He stood there, rather self consciously, with his back to the thronging market crowds just across the narrow street, a very small pair of scissors in his hand delicately clipping the odd wayward frond off the shrub and I’m sure hoping that none of his macho, tattooed friends happened to be passing and desperate for the anonymity of dingy shop interior!! I was briefly tempted to comment on what a lovely shrub he had, but my French wasn’t up to it, and he was rather large!!
In the Dog house!!
The unscheduled return to England with the car and not a van for the furniture was, as some of you know, all my fault. Some evenings previously we had been checking the diary and sorting out when we could return to England and fetch some furniture for Chez ‘iggs, and a little niggle entered my head, that was later to develop into a major headache!!
Suddenly, I remembered that my driving licence, which had normally resided rather bulkily in my wallet, it being the old-fashioned paper variety, was not there and although I vaguely remembered removing it to clear out the wallet a little, I couldn’t remember where I had put it and certainly didn’t remember seeing it in the altogether bigger “man-bag” that I tend to carry on such occasions!!
I ventured a rather lame, “I don’t know where my driving licence is!” to Linda who emphatically declared “Well, you better find it!” So the search began, and every nook and cranny in the caravan and car was turned upside down, despite it being dark and cold outside and places already searched, searched again all to no avail. Eventually, tiredness got the better of me and I went to bed only to find that I couldn’t sleep, worrying about where the blessed thing had been put for safe keeping!
After a fitful night, I retraced my steps in daylight, searching everywhere again and even looking in the most unlikely of places, such as the food cupboard and the fridge, more in desperation than in the hope of really finding it. Then after several fruitless searches, the realisation dawned that it certainly wasn’t with us, after all there are only a limited number of places in the car and caravan where a driving licence could be hiding! So what to do, and was the licence safely stored away back in Stroud or had I lost it / had it stolen? It was all rather a dilemma and not a few words were exchanged as to what we could do to find or replace the licence.
Daniel’s help, back in Stroud, was enlisted and he searched in any of the likely places back at our Bath Road house, but still to no avail. It became clear that the only feasible plan was to delay the hiring of the van in France, that we were going to come back to England in to collect our things, come back in the car, find the licence or at least arrange for a new one and then return to France, hire the van and make a second visit very shortly after the first, so as to have everything ready for the imminent arrival of our first visitors! Further problems followed as when we tried to book the van from one of the many local supermarkets that all do van hire, none of them had one available at the required time! Finally, we also needed a French cheque (see below ~ “Which came first the chicken or the egg?) to pay the deposit, but thankfully Tom, our campsite host of a couple of weeks, came to the rescue and offered to hire the van in his name, with his address and with an €800 cheque as surety!! All very generous, but as he jokingly pointed out, we would be leaving the car and caravan at his place, worth considerably more than €800!! However, in the end with the changing dates, the car and caravan were at our new abode, so we left no surety, but still he was only too pleased to come to our aid, for which we were extremely grateful!!
Hence, the unscheduled return, which actually proved to be an added bonus, as we thankfully found, fairly quickly, the licence and then had time to catch up with work colleagues, who we had missed because of the snow on the week of our departure. We also filled the car with some extra items and left Max with my Mum and Dad for a holiday, which avoided too much travelling for him. So I wasn’t sleeping in the kennel for too long!!!
Ferry hoppers ~ the first of two “people watching “
items from our return ferry trip
They swept on with a purpose, middle aged tightly coated couple, his head bare and bald hers covered in a large furry Russian-style hat! Each carried a blanket and a pillow with the gentleman also carrying a rucksack on his back. They nigh on marched to the seats at the front of the salon and promptly disappeared as they spread their blankets on the space in front of the seats and still tightly buttoned up put their heads onto their pillows and didn’t stir until the announcement was made, that we were approaching Dieppe harbour and thank you for sailing with us ......
At this point they were both up, blankets folded and stacked with pillows on a nearby vacant seat, a thermos flask was produced from the rucksack and two china cups were filled with coffee and drunk, leaving just enough time for a trip to the toilet, with wash bags to freshen up, before the announcement came for passengers and drivers to rejoin their vehicles.
Obviously, seasoned and well-practised travellers, intent on sleeping in readiness for the onward journey, and so well sorted out, that I certainly took a leaf out of their book on my next trip, and took a blanket and pillow with me and definitely slept more than on previous journeys!!
There was nothing Conservative about the “lady!”
Their car first came to our attention as we boarded the boat, and whilst everyone else waited in line to be told where to park, this large British Racing Green 4 X 4, several cars in front of us, thought it knew best and tried to push in, only to be firmly stopped by a deckhand and told in no uncertain terms, that on the car deck, they were in charge and people did as they said! They were then ushered none too politely back into the line of traffic ending up parked just in front of us. Inside were a middle aged couple, who rapidly left the car seemingly intent to be the first to get their towels, metaphorically, on the sun loungers, and without becoming too involved in cultural differences – they were English.
I didn’t then give them another thought, although in hindsight I remembered seeing the rather bouffant lady of the car acting rather strangely when seeking out the Ladies, or should that be powder room, as I don’t think the ship’s toilets quite came up to scratch!! That was the last I saw of them until we were coming into the harbour at Dieppe and were asked to return to our cars. As we got back, the lady was already seated in the front of the 4 X 4, the gentleman lurking outside, probably trying to escape the messages and orders that were barked out every-so-often, when the lady thought of something and opened the door and announced her thoughts to the wide world, in a very loud voice that the gentleman seemed quite adept at not registering!! Obviously, a well deserved case of selective hearing!!
Then as vehicles started to move, the passenger door opened more frequently and further ordered were barked from within, including instructions to us to move. I stoically ignored her, waiting to be told by someone in authority as to what to do, and the orders became more frequent but still fell on deaf ears, but eventually the driver did get in the car and start the engine. When finally given the go ahead to leave the boat, by a crew member not the lady in front, we had to carry out a strange manoeuvre, and reverse some way down the car deck before being able to turn and leave, as I set off the 4 X 4 tried to reverse rapidly after me, only to be thwarted by a very nonchalant crew member who walked very slowly after me, his back rather pointedly towards the 4 X 4 only moving aside and signalling them out when he wasn’t big enough to block the exit on his own!
I was all for giving them the benefit of the doubt, and despite being very rude I had wondered if the lady had a phobia of travelling by boat and was desperate to get back on to dry land – it was then I noticed a “Vote Conservative” sticker on the back window and all was explained!! (Sorry Beryl!) Then as I drove down the car ramp and waited at the bottom for a lorry coming out of the deck below, the 4 X 4 undertook me, sped out in front of the lorry and across the dock, leaving me with a disappearing view of the sticker on the other side of the back window saying “Keep Hunting Legal,” so I thought myself lucky to only have had a lashing from her tongue and that she hadn’t taken a riding crop to me!!
I also hoped that customs would stop them and take the car apart, but sadly, at this early hour there were few customs officials in sight, so they were quickly out on to the open road, leapfrogging anything that got in their way, the driver obviously keen not to spend a moment too long in the car with his companion – and just maybe, one of the multitude of speed cameras springing up all over France caught them, not that I’m the vindictive sort!!
Which came first the chicken or the egg?
I have just returned from Fontenay-le-Comte, which will be our nearest large town once we have moved. Here I ventured to explain the “chicken and egg scenario” to a bank employer, who spoke excellent English and had just informed me that “You won’t believe this, as we are a bank, but we can’t take cash!!!”
The cash in question was to pay for contents insurance on the French house and he had asked us for a cheque. I had then told him that although we had a bank account we didn’t have a cheque book, because the bank wouldn’t issue us one until we had an address to send it too, hence the chicken and the egg conversation!! We had then offered to pay on a VISA card but that also was not possible and then we had the conversation about the cash!!
At least, we have taken solace in the fact that when we come to eventually buy a house at least all these little idiosyncrasies will have been ironed out and most importantly we will have the all important French cheque book to pay people money with.
Our first encounter with this strange chicken and egg situation was when the Estate Agent said he would need a French cheque to cover; his fees, the deposit on the house, the first month’s rent and the fees for the notaire acting on behalf of Madame. When we said that we didn’t have a cheque book and couldn’t get one until we were moved in and had an address to send it too this caused a degree of consternation, and although the agent accepted cash, the rest would have to be a cheque. So off we went again from La Châtaigneraie (the Estate Agent) to Fontenay-le-Comte (Bank) and asked the obliging bank employee if they could provide a cheque if we were to give them the money, but no “It is not possible!!” We now hope that we have got around this by a kind friend with a French cheque book writing the cheque in question, we just hope that that doesn’t cause further Gallic shrugs and sharp intakes of breath, with them thinking that we have sub-let as it’s not our name on the cheque!!
Finally, a way was found around the payment of the insurance, a direct debit would be set up and everyone would be happy!, well once the multitude of forms had been signed, this time just a signature, not like when opening a bank account when the 101 signatures all had to be prefaced with a written “Read and Understood” statement, which was incidentally already clearly printed above the signature box! The bank employee was however, beginning to see the funny side and as he straightened up the vast pile of papers that the computer had spewed out, he said “Welcome to France, now we must sign all of these!!” When I retorted with “Just my signature?” he said “Yes, to start with!!”
So that’s all done then, well not exactly, first we have to transfer funds into the French Bank Account to cover the Direct Debit, then to make it all official we have to prove who we are, by taking in our passports and then prove that we are actually renting the house by taking in the contract, which in theory we can’t sign unless we have the insurance!! But Antoine, as he insisted we call him, was beginning to realise our predicament and gave us the necessary papers, provided we return with the relevant documents, in due course. And all we wanted to do was pay the bank for some insurance, which would have been invalid had we made a false statement anyway!!
The bank in the meantime had already seen our passports, but still needed proof of our new address, which even once we had provided it didn’t qualify for the release of our cheque book, for which they were sending around the postman to verify!! Oh, and as it was a joint account they also wanted proof that we are married!!
Again the saving grace is that I was reading a book about living in France last night, or in fact the chapter on dying in France!!, and obtaining a death certificate is relatively easy, and you don’t even have to sign it yourself to confirm that you have read it and understood it!!
Postscript: Having got everything that the Estate Agent wanted us to do; French cheque for deposit and first month’s rent, proof of who we are, proof that we had money and contents insurance ready for the completion of the Inventory and subsequent signing of papers with Madame’s Notaire (Solicitor) – all of which we had to do before there was any possibility of moving in, when we dropped the cheque off we were told that oil was needed to be able to have heating and hot water, and although we were due to get the keys on the day of the inventory, the Notaire was proving difficult to pin down and we might have to sign after we have moved in. When I said we were returning to the UK to pick things up, the day after we moved in, this didn’t seem to be a problem, as long as we signed sometime – so much for all the rushing about getting everything sorted before being able to enter the premises!!
Plus amour et grosse bises!!! (More love and big kisses!!!)
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“bring on” Monsieur ou Madame La Poste!!)
And to come next time, who knows but it may contain:
A night in the country / Madame becomes Monsieur / Our first three or so visitors, and ...... who knows what other adventures the new abode will bring!?!
