I thought weekends were for resting !

All go at the rowing club

You have probably already guessed by now, I've been a bit busy these last few weeks, mainly at the Bergerac rowing club, where both my wife and lad row their little butts off (well, my lad rows his little butt off, and my wife rows her slightly larger butt off). I, for my sins, repair and maintain all the outboard motors on their rescue boats. I think we would be better off with American engines, but the powers to be, think Japanese, the price of spares on these things is extortionate, and here in France, difficult to find and even more expensive.

Weekend before last, the club held an "enterprise" Sunday, which was basically different companies in Bergerac putting teams together to row against each other, It was the local vineyard that won, and they all got "rat arsed" afterwards on red water. The beer and wine were flowing all day with an evening meal afterwards, washed down with even more red wine. Bit of a rush beforehand to make sure all the safety boats were working, due to the fact that somehow, the two stroke engines, of which there are three, all decided to stop working, water in the fuel !!! The six four strokes all going strong bar one which I think probably needs a new camshaft (if we can get a mortgage).

That's enough of the technical crap, back to the plot.

Well, there really is no plot today, other than to tell you that as of last week, I am now officially retired, and eventually, after much deliberation, bought myself a retirement pressy ( well, nobody else did ) of a digital camera, and last weekend at the French rowing championships, where my lad was competing, I took my latest acquisition to try it out, IT IS NOT STRAIGHTFORWARD !!! We arrived back home today, and when I find time to look at the results of my effort I'll post the results for your delectation , Hummmmmmm. Looking forward to that?

Dominique rides again

when I flush

Dominique is true old school French. Drives a Peugeot, always has, always will. He buys them from the garage around the corner because it's local, always employs local people to do work for him, (I resisted to say "tradesmen" there, and you will find out why soon) goes to the local bakers shop twice a day for his bread and cakes, and I personally think that is the reason why France retains some of its heritage, because that is in general what a lot of french people do. In fact, when they built a supermarket in his village, the Mayor only gave his consent if it incorporated both the local baker and butcher, thus ensuring their livelihoods. Makes sense to me.

Time comes when Dominique and his wife decide that they needed an extension to their house. And in true french style, they decide that a two storey square bit added onto the end, resembling one of those old places for keeping pigeons in, would be the very thing. Down stairs, there would be a bedroom and bathroom and upstairs, an area which eventually would be decidedly unsuitable for anything else, other than housing Dominique's piano and storage for the tons and tons of paperwork that french people are obliged o keep because the french government can't be arsed to look anything up on their computers.

The plans have to be drawn by a architect, so, a local man was sought. These people not only draw up the plans, but obtain the permission and find quotes from local people to do the work, they then let you choose between the various quotes, that would be the bricklayers, woodworkers, tilers, plumbers, electricians, window fitters and all the others of course, all individual businesses, because in this area there are hardly any companies who undertake to do the lot. It is the work of the work of the architect to try and co-ordinate all these different trades people. Not exactly an easy task but he does take his cut, which is a percentage of the overall cost of the job, not a small percentage either. Basically, the more expensive he can make the job, the more lucrative it becomes for him. (I can do that, give us a job). We are off to a good start then ??

Start day arrives and goes very quietly, as the people who are doing the ground work haven't finished their previous job, no word, no telephone call, nothing, just sit and wait, and the day they decide to start you've just popped out for five minutes and they look daggers at you for not being there, Oh and they have knocked your gate down because they couldn't get their truck in. It more or less carries on like that for the whole of the build. Nobody seemed to communicate with anyone else, I don't think that they knew who the other trades people were even. Comes the time for the bricklayers (concrete block layers actually,( it was beginning to resemble one of those watchtowers in a prisoner of war camps) never mind though, because almost all new builds look like that, until just before the end, they cover the outside in cream coloured glop ), they had to leave the window openings for the rather tasteful aluminium sliding windows Dominique's wife insisted on. "what size are they mate?" can't ring the window man because he is on holiday, we will leave the spaces so he can fit them later. LATER about two weeks later, after the brickies had left, up bowls the window man. Up the ladder, tape measure in hand and after descending says to Dominique with the shoulder shrug and upturned palms, "that's not a standard size hole mate, that's a special, take a month or so to make those, they're not of the shelf cost a lot more too" .Well, not much chance getting the builders back, they had an offer of a job in Spain and won't be back for months, Bugger !! The whole job went on like that, I never once saw the architect on site, but I saw him when he asked for his cut at the end.

The build did eventually get finished, and it was about four weeks afterwards when Dominique rang and said that his wife wanted to show me something and ask my opinion, which was a bit unusual as she was the driving force behind this local tradesman thing. So I duly arrived, she always produces a nice four course midday meal, so we sat down at the table to eat, Dominique producing a bottle of good wine he had purchased especially for the occasion. After the siesta I followed her into their new bathroom, she made straight for the toilet and flushed it, the contents of which then re-appeared in the shower basin, she then proceeded to fill the sink and when emptied, that too re-appeared in the shower. As there should be two distinctly separate pipes for the toilet and shower leading to the outside tank, by law, I dared to suggest that the local plumber had joined the pipes together in order to make less work for himself and to thicken his wallet. When the plumber did eventually arrive, that was exactly what he had done, and on top of which the large pipe from the toilet when it arrived at the outside tank was met by a very small hole which he hadn't bothered opening up. Oh dear!!

If you wish to learn about all aspects of plumbing in the Dark Ages, come to France, they are still teaching it.

Since that little episode, there has sprung up a number of national companies who reckon the can do better, they, apparently do everything. Only one drawback though. "Yes sir we can build your house, if you would like to choose a design from our brochure, there is a square one, an oblong one, or you could have two square ones stuck together, or two oblongs, if you choose two oblongs, then we can stick a square one on top " look like the Ponderosa then. These houses are appearing everywhere now, it's difficult to know where you are, cos everywhere looks the same !! I think I might have mentioned little boxes before.

My mate Dominique

schrooming

I've known my old friend Dominique for nearly 15 years now, in actual fact, ever since we moved here. He sang in the same choir as my wife sang in, and I have also sung with Dominique, he is always enthusiastic about singing, but I always used to avoid standing next to him at rehearsals mainly because I don't read music, so I tend to rely on the bloke next to me to hit all the right notes at all the right times, we both sang bass, although, I was a baritone, Dominique, bless his cotton socks, was a bass, but from time to time would sing the soprano line in a bass voice, especially if they were singing the tune and not the harmony, just slightly off putting !!

Anyway, I found Dominique had a slightly different outlook on life than most french men, probably due to the fact that his work, before he retired took him to England a lot of the time, he spoke very good English, apart from, when I arrived sometimes and he suggested I could cut the grass for him, he always told me that his lawn mover was in the shed.

He loves to do french things, which, in our neck of the woods, in the right season could include mushroom hunting. Not your ordinary field mushrooms of course, but the ones that are nearly impossible to find, that hide in very closely guarded secret places, (if you know of such a place you don't tell a soul) same goes for truffles, which our region is world renowned for also. Dominique had all the kit, an old Peugeot, plastic bag and a Breton beret. So he told me one day he would like to take me shrooming with him, but he had to await the day that they would be there. A telephone call from the Mushroom King would advise him, or as I thought, it was probably be that bloke who is always in the bar drinking yours and his Pastis.
The grand morning hunt arrived, he had obviously received the message from wherever, and we met in the bar for our breakfast drinkies at seven o'clock, oh, and a croissant of course.We drove to the spot, as silently as we could in an old Peugeot, I was waiting for Dominique to ask me to put the blindfold on, (perhaps I have watched too many movies) but he didn't, then we started to wend our way for several hours through the forest, You get very dizzy walking with your head down all the time, and you tend to trip over things or bang your head on low branches a lot. Did we find any ? did we hell. and it was like that the following three times, until we both decided that Dominique's closely guarded secret spot had been raided by somebody else who thought it was their closely guarded secret spot, the day before, or even one hour before. We consoled ourselves with the fact that we had a nice breakfast, and a nice long walk in the woods, what more could you ask for.Well, a few mushrooms perhaps would have been nice !! We will continue with Dominique rides again soon.

A licence to fart

pronounced leesonce to petay

Well, it's not quite got that far yet here in France, but we are getting there.

Just a quick bit of news about what's happening here in France. We are in our third day of rail strikes and Air France are planning to go on strike this weekend. That's good news!! The French do love their strikes, although I think they are a month late this year (probably because the weather is better now than it was last month).

When we first moved here, I brought with me my RYA (Royal Yachting Association) certificates that enabled me in the UK. to teach people how to sail. I was in fact a qualified sailing instructor for my local sailing club in Derbyshire. It was my passion, and saw no reason why I should not continue with it here in France. I could see no reason, BUT the french certainly could !! The RYA. who are they? (only the world's largest organisers of sailing events and all Olympic sailing rules originated from them also) my certificates weren't written in french either. Is there nobody who reads English? Eventually, after about a year, they found someone who knew a thing or two about qualifications and permission was given for me to teach, but only if I had a french instructor with me, which of course we didn't have at our club, (which was the reason for offering my services in the first place). So the club carried on, as before, it was a bit like watching the blind leading the blind. I left. I feel, that when you offer both your time and expertise for free, to have to go through such a load of bullshit just slightly off putting. 

Obviously, there are lots of things I am sure, where there is a necessity to obtain a licence and a jolly good job too, driving springs immediately to mind of course. But the french have their own take on that too. Just in case you have never held a driving licence, or have been banned from driving either because you have been convicted for dangerous driving, or under the influence of alcohol or drugs, the french have just the car for you. It's called a "voiture sans permis", they tend to be a bit of a box on wheels, just a bit larger than a Smart car, however, just recently I have seen newer versions only a bit smaller than the VW beetle, with all the same curves and grace and widey wheels !! My mate bought an old one for his wife recently and asked me to get it ready for the road, well !, it had a single cylinder diesel engine, coupled to two cones on which rode a rather large rubber band. It moved eventually but reminded me somewhat of a "Rolls Canardly" ie. rolls down one hill but, canardly get up the next. They are one of the most dangerous vehicles on the road, simply because they go so slow compared to normal traffic, that everybody has to overtake them and also that you can never be sure that the driver knows what they are doing. I can't see they will ever get rid of them here, it's the right of every french person to go where they want, how they want.

Licence to tow a caravan !!  What ?
Licence to helm a boat with a motor bigger than 5hp !!  What ?
Licence to tow anything over 500kg (ie small trailer) !!  What ?
Licence to drive a vehicle over 3.5tons !! What ?

I could go on, but I won't. BUT, there is also this very french thing also about obtaining a doctor's certificate before you attempt doing anything, if you want to play football for your village, go to Zumba classes, join the rowing club, fly a model aircraft or join the local old boys' cycle club, in fact almost anything you decide you would like to try, you have to obtain a doctors certificate for it (that will be 23 euro please) renewable every year, otherwise you can't do it. Jobs for the boys or nanny state ? Even our doctor even thinks it a waste of his time (still takes the money though).

Talking, as I was earlier, about cars, if, as we did, you arrive in France with an English car and want to drive it here and get it insured, it has to go through the french ritual. Firstly, change the headlights (cos the french drive on the wrong side of the road) fair enough. secondly obtain a certificate to say that the car conforms to the french "norm" even if the car had been built in France, ie. Peugeot, Renault etc. a certificate is mandatory. and so on and so on. I will relate the story of a friend who had to drive to Paris to obtain some documents for his car with an inflated rubber glove poking out from beneath the glove box, on the motorway with the police, at a later date (long story).

Needless to say if you happen to be one of those Greek mythological characters "centaurs" which are half man half horse, then you don't need a licence to shit in the street. Oh, and the same goes for many dog owners here too (I mean the dogs shit in the street, not the owners !!)

Our first trip through France

our wardrobe on wheels

We had purchased our Volvo (the wardrobe on wheels) for two specific reasons. Firstly so that we could make deliveries of my pottery (visiting four shops in the south-west of England is a nice two day break), and secondly, because it was the only affordable monster we could find that could tow our extraordinarily large and heavy twin axle caravan, we previously had a Vauxhall, which went fine downhill but didn't want to go uphill !! The Volvo worked fine both ways, but had a tendency to bend cylinder heads, three it did in total, until I thought enough was enough, and gave it to a mate.

The first head blew up on the M1, which for those of you who don't know, is the major route north from London, nose to tail traffic, 24 hrs. a day, until holiday time and weekends when it becomes a six lane car park. Stopped on the side of the road, with the caravan surrounded by police and fire engines, who had been told that we were on fire (probably due to the amount of steam we were emitting)

The second time, after having driven through France towing the monster caravan, we left the van in storage at a campsite near a town called Brantome, which by the way, is drop dead gorgeous, and decided that we would visit french friends who live in the Jura mountains. It didn't look far on the map, only about six inches, so off we trundled, this time a little faster than before. The route we took, passed through the extinct volcano bit of France, so there were a few hilly bits to negotiate, and the car decided to blow-up again on one of them, luckily we had a breakdown insurance, who found us an hotel for the night (which we managed to get locked out of in the morning, because the owner had forgotten he had a guest) we bumped into him in the local bar having his breakfast cognac and croissant. he said he thought he recognised us , but he didn't know from where. Later that day, after many false alarms, the breakdown service rang, they had at last found us an equivalent car to the one we had, five minutes later they rang again and said they hadn't !!!! We eventually ended up with a VW Golf which went well, but we couldn't squeeze everything in it. Organisation or what!        We arrived at the car hire place to pick it up, but once we told the guy we were English and we needed the car in order to return home, he immediately snatched the keys back and said we couldn't have it, unless we promised to leave it at one of his offices at the french port, ie. unload everything (which of course was all loose bits in the back of the car) get on the ferry with our loose bits, get off the other end, and pick up a new car, which of course he could not arrange. Well, we just looked at each other slightly dumbfounded and I replied to the man that I had no intention of taking it on the ferry and it would be left at the ferry port as he wished (didn't tell him which though) I think my wife thought I was suffering from sunstroke. But, as soon as we had driven away, a quick phone call to the breakdown insurance people (English of course) getting their ok. to take it to England, and we were happy bunnies on our way again, albeit a little cramped. That though, was nothing compared with being even more cramped in the different car we picked up in the UK. I think it was the Vauxhall Wewillmakeeverythingeversosmallandplasticy model which had just come out, good job we didn't have to go very far.

Eventually after much negotiation our car was repatriated and I repaired it ready for another epic journey to France.

The Volvo now rests sadly in the elephants graveyard which is the field behind my friend's house down the road. I do occasionally visit, just to remember the good times we spent together. Thinks bubble "perhaps I might get another one" (good job my wife doesn't read this blog),  at least I don't think she does !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! how it arrived at the graveyard is for another time.

I'm a happy bunny today

busy busy busy

I finished my course of anti_biotics today, so I think that deserves a glass of red juice this evening don't you ?

My old Fiat Panda (the one with the moustache) passed it's test today, despite the fact it has a miniature garden growing on top of it, (actually, under a microscope it looks like green fungus). Loads of stuff that is wrong with it, but apparently nothing life threatening. I think that deserves a glass of red juice too. Let me just interject here and quickly explain what actually goes on at one of these controls here in France. 
Hello, I have an appointment this morning at ten o'clock. Oh, you must be mr. suchandsuch. No.

Well, are you mr. sumptybody ?  No.  Well you must have the wrong day, let me look at the book, Oh dear we don't happen to have you down, you must have made a mistake.
No, I rang the other day and you said you would write it down, tell you what, I will wait five minutes and see who turns up.
Fair enough.  
As it was, mr.sumptybody didn't turn up, so the big bloke did my Panda, I don't know how he squeezed in, but it chugged into the workshop. Squeak, squeak, squeak, as he opened and closed the door, next job, open the bonnet, poor bloke tried but it didn't open until his mate stuck his bum on it. That must have been the straw that broke the camel's back because he went off and came back with a bucket of grease and a paintbrush and started slapping it around on any thing that moved or squeaked (saved me a job). then he noticed the tyres looked as if they could do with a bit of air, out with the air hose and pump them up until they look as if they will burst, they looked like bicycle tyres when he had finished. Anyway, onto the rolling road thing to test the brakes, and after taking half the tread off, it was onto the fun part. Each wheel is put on four separate disks which go up and down and in and out, looked like the car was on steroids, all I could see through the window of the waiting room was the roof going up and down, I believe the purpose of this machine is to boff the car about a lot, if your wafflegrot or diddlystick falls off then it's failed, if not, it's passed. I must have done a good job with those baked bean tins and wire.

My wife says I must stop apologising for things all the time, but I must apologise for the last rant. I get to a point, when describing what goes on, it starts getting depressing, so I stopped before I got too depressed !!! enough is enough so they say. Cheers to that, I say, with a glass of red juice in my hand.

There are very good reasons why we live here in rural France, so the positive must outweigh the negative, otherwise we would move on. Excuse me whilst I just fall over !!

And so to continue how we ended up in rural France, (something to do with the cheap red wine you're probably thinking). NOPE. 

Actually, my second wife and I had met after she had read my carefully worded advert in the local rag, and we hit it off, as it were, more or less straight away and have been together ever since. It was actually before my motorcycle accident that we met. When I had my crash my dearly beloved came down from the wards, where she was a nurse, to see which bits I was missing,  I reckon she was wondering what she had let herself in for, and by now, she probably knows !! 

Anyway, I had left my first wife with only a ruddy big Volvo and a big caravan and it was with those things that our french adventures began.

just a short note to all you Americans out there, a bonnet, I think is what you call a hood. And apologise has an s, not a z, in England. I only wish my spellchecker could work that one out.

customer service, no sir, we don't do that

we aren't really in the EU are we

Before I start this one, and once I start, I'm difficult to stop, let me just take a step back to one of my earlier rants, the one about work. I say this because, I have a good french friend Guillaume, he is, or rather was, what is called in the UK, a qualified health care assistant. He is now unemployed after finding out that the hospital he was working at, only wanted him for a year, got somebody new and paid only the first year base rate, after one year, that guy will be kicked out and so on. Here in France he is obliged to make an application to each hospital individually to see if they have any vacancies, there does not seem to be any overall organising body. So, as he speaks pretty good English, I suggested he tried UK. hospitals. We went on line and found over 9,700 jobs available now and over 20,000 on line every month apply on line, full description, search by job, city or region. Life can be easier with a little effort. SIMPLES !!!

Ok, you know when you go into a shop to buy something, there is always the exact thing on display you've been looking for, BUT, you don't take that one, cos people have been playing with it, so you pick up the one in the unopened box. Well, you need not have bothered, because when you get home and open the box it's already broken. This is probably the same the world over, you take it back to the shop, and they exchange it for another and apologise for the inconvenience, at least, that's the kind of after sales service I had been used to before I moved to France !!!!!!!!!! 

I will relate a few stories that happened both to me and a few friends (both French and English)

I bought a pressurised hot water cylinder last year, not a cheap or small piece of kit. With the help of my son in law we put it in the car and installed said cylinder on the wall in the house. We filled it up with 200 liters of water and it leaked, from a large joint that had been fitted at the factory. I'm not going to empty it or take it back off the wall straight away, so I go back to the shop,
Can I help you sir?
Yes, I bought a water heater from here yesterday, and it leaks,
Ok. I will call somebody
THINKS, I hope it's not the toilet cleaner.
Hello says the man one grade up from the toilet cleaner, can I help you ?
Yes, I bought a water heater from here yesterday, and it leaks,
Just a minute sir, as he scuttles off somewhere, arriving 10 mins. later with a scruffy piece of torn off paper,
This is what you want, as he hands me what I could have sworn was a piece of toilet paper,
Phone these people,
Who are they,
The manufacturers, (don't know what I would have done if the thing had been made in China)
But, it's your problem to resolve not mine,
No sir it's your problem because you bought it,
I wish to speak to the manager please,
Not possible,
Why,
Because it's not his problem,
I could have had this conversation for the rest of my life, so I swore at him in my best french, by this time the heavy's had arrived and I was escorted out of the shop.

Arrived home and phoned said number
We will send you a new joint sir, that will fix it.
Am I meant to fit this joint ? only it is a pressure vessel around 4 bar. haven't you an engineer ?
No sir, we don't do that, you will have to find a plumber
etc. etc. etc. waist of time, I did it myself.

Huge Hypermarkets where you cant find anything or anybody.
Twenty tills, four open.
Loads of products, but beware sell-by dates on food, (currants a year out of date found by me)
One price on product, another price at the checkout.
Garages that take three days to repair a puncture
200 euro electric drill broke in first week, no new drill sir, we will repair this one.

The list is endless, depressing ain't it.

reminds me of the story of the guy who came out of prison and was searching through his pockets and found a ticket for shoes he had left for repair which he had put in there five years ago. So he arrived at the repairers and gave the ticket to the man there. " ah yes sir, they will be ready tomorrow".

In either 1998 or 1999, I can't exactly remember which, all the countries of the European Union signed the same document regarding consumers rights, only France hasn't read them yet !!!      There is a man in Normandy who is so incensed by the whole affair that he produces a pdf file of the agreement in French and English for both french and English people to print off, so they can put them under the noses of those who need to be better informed. It's funny, but the french generally accept the situation without question.
They have an expression  " ce comme ca"  meaning it is like that.

Let's be more upbeat tomorrow shall we? I'm going to the rowing club in the afternoon to look at a couple of motors, that always cheers me up, I might not have time to post straight away so bear with me, things can only get better.

a bit of stuff about nothing really and a few pics

the daily grind

I just happened to be passing the house and shop of my good friends Jean Victor and Anne Dubois yesterday, after disposing of my empties in the commune recycling, and I noticed them in the garden, decided to stop and enquire how their recent holiday had gone.

They have a camping car, as loads of French people do, and they had recently taken it to England for their first ever visit. I was interested to find out of course if they had enjoyed it, and what they thought of it. Well ............... they liked the lamb, or at least he did, she is vegetarian, they enjoyed the Nation Trust gardens, well he did, she was not all that interested, the museums were great but all the roads were far too narrow. That was about it really, other than they would like to go back, or at least he would.

Our evening passed convivially after having received an invitation from friends for aperitifs and nibbly things, these are friends who used to live nearby, but have since moved back to the UK. I think he still has a longing to live here, but she doesn't. (are you noticing a pattern here ?) The evening wasn't quite as enjoyable as it could have been though due to my alcohol ban ( only three more days to go ) wah hoooo.

It's a bit warmy today so I'll do as most French people do and stay indoors, the walls of our stone house are half a metre thick, so it remains nice and cool in the front room (old barn). The French of about a hundred years ago, certainly knew a thing or two about building houses for warm climes, its just a pity that they seem to have lost the plot and are building generic boxes everywhere. Believe me, they are not nice, and they all look just the same. little boxes, little boxes and they're all made out of ticky tacky, little boxes, on the hillside, and they all look just the same. Never a truer word was spoken.

And now for something completely different..........................

I thought I would stick a few piccys in, if your interested.

first is of me, a few years ago, outside our house, riding a bike I built for fun !!!!!!!!!!

my garden this afternoon







my cockerel eyeing me up for dinner




              high-tech advertising at my gate          
              

                                                                    
I will learn eventually how to move pictures around on the blog, but for now, we will all have to put up with where google thinks they ought to be. sorry !!!
For me, this blog thingy is a steep learning curve, but what the heck, it keeps me of the streets. I think I might try to link things next, it always looks simple, until mr. google pops up and asks you for an answer and you don't even understand the question. 

But, I have been reliably informed by those in the know, that my computer will not explode if I push the wrong button.  WANNA BET, we'll give it a go soon.

uncle neil's and beyond

confused ?

I sincerely hope that you are not getting too confused by the way I write this blog. It's kind of a story, rudely interrupted by my ramblings. My wife says she finds it a bit confusing, but there again she has a woman's mind, which apparently, is more organised than mine, (so she told me). I intend to carry on none the less with my confused ramblings until you the viewers tell me that you can't follow it either. (apparently you can send me messages if you want, feel free to do so if the mood takes you).

Any road up, back to the plot.

Uncle Neil was a man of the cloth, although to meet and talk with him you would not have immediately thought so, rolled up jeans and sandals under his cassock. He was gentle and understanding and ran, as I have mentioned before, some gites and a kind of everybody sing together restaurant for happy campers. Neil could thump out the odd tune on his electronic thing, wear rather odd costumes (sometimes up to four different ones a night) unroll a big song sheet in front of the diners and insist they sang along, and they did with gusto (probably due to the excessive consumption of the red water they were plied with) This went on every night for the eight week summer season, it was exhausting to say the least. Both Tom and I helped out with the cooking!! (there was only one menu, Lucretia Borgia soup, chicken and chips, followed by ice cream and as much of the red water as they could consume in three or four hours,) needless to say, after that lot there was quite a bit of clearing up to do, so we helped out with the washing up, ably assisted be a team of students who had been especially imported to help out and enjoy the free meals, accommodation, and a few francs in their pockets. The times were good, and I was truly saddened to leave all the new found friends I had made during the eight week stay.

You know what it's like when on holiday, "wouldn't mind living here" you think to yourself, well, I put that in the storage box, that is my memory, for future reference.

There is that awful saying that "all good things must come to an end" I've never worked out why they should, but unfortunately they did for Uncle Neil. A few years after we left, the French authorities, with all their usual subtlety of a flying brick, managed to close the restaurant, and the good times, down. More sadly however was that Neil, having been diagnosed with a rather aggressive form of cancer, died a couple of years ago. There should be more people on this earth like him, it would be a more peaceful place.

Back in Derbyshire, my first wife and I had decided to part company, but, with nowhere to go I stayed in the house and worked in the pottery (about ten minutes away on tractobike) until ................. February, dusk, lots of cars, moving slowly, lights on, some PRAT thought he would turn out of a side road between me and the car in front, need I say more, I hit the side of his car flew over the top of his VW and just rolled down the road like a rag doll. Police, ambulance, WAH WAH WAH WAH  hospital. Luckily I was alive, and hadn't broken anything, but I couldn't move or use my hand, the hand I used for decorating the distinctive pottery I was selling at the time. End of the pottery, (nobody else could decorate, foolish me) end of my marriage, things were definitely taking a slight turn for the unfortunate, I told myself.  Twas the time to do something completely different.

What do we do now?  What do we do now,  What do we do now?

working in France, you have got to be joking !!

my cynical (but none the less valid) view

I can do that, gee us a job.

It's difficult to know where to begin with this one. Firstly let me say, that the French government do not like to make things easy for anyone to work, especially if you want to be self employed, in actual fact, up until recently when things changed a little, I honestly believe their rules and regulations, actively discouraged it. That may seem a rather cynical view, but, having lived in England for the previous fifty years and having been self employed for quite a few of them, when we arrived in France, to do the same thing here, proved too complicated and too expensive to even contemplate.

Let me explain................

The French have a real love for paperwork and certification ,copies in duplicate  and triplicate are the norm for everything,  (deforestation of the planet, or what !) Anybody who intends to work here will find it very difficult, if they do not obtain the necessary certification beforehand. Now, I can understand that I would prefer to be operated on by a doctor who is qualified rather than my next door neighbour and that I would like a qualified plumber to install my gas central heating, but it's stretching it a bit far when employers want certificates before they take on waitresses or shop assistants. This believe it or not is the norm.

When we lived in England, I worked in my own pottery and know from experience that employing people can be, to say the least, a difficult business. The first hurdle my prospective employees had to jump over was that I needed them to be literate, if I left an instruction for example, I wanted them to understand it, after that, I ignored totally any certificates they held, and looked for honesty, integrity, but most of all an enthusiasm for what they wanted to do. Sorry to say, but that kind of recruitment process seems to be in short supply here in France. It worked well for me. It is small wonder that  entrepreneurs who wish to start businesses here in France move to England and start them there !!

In 2000 when we arrived here it was illegal to work for yourself if you had not registered with the appropriate authorities beforehand. Firstly you have to find the relevant authority, which is not easy, as each trade has its own regulatory body situated somewhere in the country. As soon as you register, as you have to provide your bank details, the money starts disappearing from your account, and I mean a lot of it!!. This is of course before you have started working. There was an alternative to this for small businesses called " micro enterprise " which was a bit easier to follow, but still did not prevent the money disappearing from your bank at an alarming rate.
If you perhaps were a baby sitter, gardener or cleaner or similar and were self employed there was a system whereby your employer applied to their bank to issue them with a specially printed cheque book which they would pay you with, they of course had to provide their bank details to the state who in turn took money out of their account for the pleasure of having employed you and for your health and social security. You can only work up to eight hours max per week for any one employer. COMPLICATED OR WHAT ?

WAKE UP FRANCE GET A GRIP ON REALITY 

However, a few years ago, when Mr Sarkozy was in charge, he introduced a new system that he called  "Auto Entrepreneur". The unions were up in arms, as they could see their lucrative and extortionate hourly rates being eroded by people who lived in the real world, they still are up in arms and there are ministers in the government try to change things back to how they were. France is, if you didn't already know, rather resistant to change but the new system actually works quite well. Both I and my wife are auto entrepreneurs, I build and repair bicycles and my dearest teaches piano, singing and conducts two choirs here in deepest Dordogne. We still end up having to pay shed loads of dosh to the government, but that's what you get for living in such a beautiful place. The system exists to enable you to receive a " Carte Vitale" which allows you access to the French medical system, (more about that later), the "carte" exists to ensure that it is difficult to abuse said system.

I have just re-read what I have written and, I would agree with you that I am a cynical old git, why the hell do I keep living here? I suppose if I were french I would have been brought up with the way of life and all it's foibles, I would just accept it. Let's put it this way, it could be a great deal more straightforward, think of how many trees it would save!

Reasons to be cheerful. lovely weather, lovely house, lovely garden growing our own veg, lovely chickens (apart from one, who sits on eggs all the time) giving us lovely food, lovely clean river a five minute walk away, and I am grateful to the lovely doctors and nurses who have found and operated on my cancer (more about that later too).

Thanks by the way to all my readers in the USA. Germany and the Ukraine, hope you will tune in for the next episode at uncle Neils' and beyond. Which should follow, unless it doesn't.

back to the tractobike

through France

It has been a while now since I last mentioned tractobike, and to be honest, there is not a lot I remember of the ride through France, it wasn't all that remarkable really.

I haven't as yet said anything about my first marriage, but after about twenty years, it was to say the least taking a rather different turn. I sort of think about it now as a bit like Fred Dibnah (me) taking down a chimney brick by brick from the top and my ex taking out a big hole at the bottom, supporting it with pitprops and then setting alight to it, the whole lot of course came tumbling down.

The result of that, was that I was accompanied on the trip through France by my good friend Thomas. Thomas had a close friend, Neil, who had set himself up in a large house with gites, camping and a sort of restaurant in which he regularly entertained a hundred or so happy campers each evening sourced from all the local campsites, mainly Dutch and English (they eat anything) !

There were a couple of things I remember vividly about the journey. The tractobike alone, weighed in at loads of kilo's, on top of that, I added topbox, two panniers, tank bag and on top of the lot, tent and anything else that didn't fit in the boxes or bag and of course, my mate Thomas on the seat behind. To say the least, it was rather difficult to control at anything under 30 mph. We stopped at the local garage to fill up, put the bike on it's side stand and went in to pay, problem was, it was a warm day and  when we came out, the bike was on it's side, the stand having sunk about four inches into the tarmac, it took four of us to lift it back up before we were on our way.

Second most memorable incident happened about every 100 miles, sorry, but it was my butt again, That bike was UNCOMFORTABLE, (bit like a tractor really).

A very warm welcome awaited us at Uncle Niels, after which we decided we would set up the tent in the field , rather than accept the kind offer of a bed in the loft in the house. It wasn't until the third day of continuous downpour that we changed our minds and took advantage of Neil's kind offer.

Before I sign off tonight I must tell you that today has been gorgeous, lots of weeding in the garden, picking some strawberries, and sowing the first of my dwarf french seeds, tomorrow might be wash the campervan day, we'll see.

The French kept this rather quiet

The man with the elastic ruler

The National Society of iron tracks, (SNCF) aka. the railways here in France, recently took delivery of about 2000 new engines and carriages, presumably to replace some of their ageing stock. It wasn't until they put them on the tracks, I presume, that they found that they were too wide for the stations !!!!!!!!!!!!!!. They now have teams of men who travel from station to station, hacking a few inches (sorry, centimetres) off the platform edge. Needless to say, this did give rise to a few photo shopped pics on facebook of a TGV with a cheese grater mounted up front, a ticket collector with a ticket bigger than the carriage door, and my favourite, a view of the designers front room with an 8ft long settee "fitted" into a 7ft wide room. What's that all about then ?

Do you ever have those WEIRD dreams ? I had one last night, I think it was the coffee. I had obviously gone back to England to buy a house, it was large, in the industrial part of the north with a big barn out the back. Oddly enough I must have bought it without really looking and without my wife, she was to follow on later !!!. First morning there, I woke up to find the kitchen full of people I didn't know, with the exception of one, they made me my breakfast and I thought nothing of it. Not until I decided to investigate the barn, which I was going to use as a workshop, and found it full of families and beds, did I realise that this was rather odd!!!. The guy who was presumably in charge, informed me I had bought a hippy commune who all paid me a £100 a week and I was responsible for buying their food and every thing else. NA NA NA NA NA NA.

What was that all about then ?

Back to reality, yesterday was a pretty good day, I went to the rowing club in the morning, both my son and wife row. My son competes in races and my wife rows cos she likes to. I, for my sins, repair the outboard motors on all the clubs safety boats, about eight in total and I had a lot to do yesterday. In the afternoon, I had thought I would cut the grass, but.............it poured down until it was time to pick up our son and the sun came out, so we sat by the river waiting for the coach that was bringing all the rowers back from a competition, lovely, followed by a nice meal out (that's where I had the coffee) and so to bed to dream of weirdy things.