19 - 30 juillet. Le coiffeur, des amis et des ennuis

Mardi, 19 juillet
Je vais chez le coiffeur

It is now twelve weeks since I had my hair cut. I’ve been hesitating about where to get it done as it’s difficult to keep even reasonably tidy without a decent cut but a week ago I saw a woman whose hair I liked and asked here when she got it done. I went along to that salon and booked with her hairdresser, who, when I went, was off sick. He was still off sick a week later by which time the situation was getting desperate so I took pot luck and kept my fingers crossed. The techniques were certainly different but it feels better for being a bit shorter in this heat (high twenties centigrade). Let’s see how it lasts. This is the real test.

Mercredi - vendredi, 20-22 juillet
Nos amis arrivent

It was lovely to see Sue and Roger, our first guests, albeit several hours later than expected after two accidents had closed motorways near Lille. We celebrated the event (their arrival, not the traffic jams) with bubbly, plus a few more stress-relieving drinks.

The following day, Thursday, we spent strolling round town and managed to see almost all the sights, as well as celebrating the Belgian National Day appropriately in one of my favourite squares.

 On Friday Sue and Roger went to look at Vimy Ridge, one of the significant places of the First World War. I stayed at home and it wasn’t until late morning, when I went out shopping, that I realised I had no voice. This was fine when trying on a dress but slightly more problematic when I wanted to book a restaurant table for this evening. The waiter is standing in the doorway. He asks if I need help. I do my best but there’s traffic going past, people talking and he can’t hear anything at all. This comes as no surprise to me, battling womanfully on the production side of things. Sign language comes in useful at times and we ascertain that I want a table for four. “In what name?” he asks. People have enough trouble with my name when they can hear me but he’s very patient so we manage and will see each other again at 8pm.

Sue, Roger and I set off at the appointed time, Wilf following later due to a communication breakdown (I didn’t tell him but thought he knew). We arrive at the restaurant and the waiter rushes out to meet us, clutching his throat melodramatically and rasping hoarsely as he shows us to a table. He miraculously recovers his voice and we dither over menu options until Wilf joins us. It’s a good meal, we’re all satisfied and it seems to have helped my voice a little bit.

Samedi, 23 juillet
Nous cherchons des choses indispensables

A day for life’s necessities: a slow late breakfast, a trip to the market, a slow late lunch, watching the Tour de France on tv and a trip to the wine shop. Roger's been vrey good at croissant-shopping and knows his way to one of our favourite baker's so we test his fruit tart shopping. He does well.

Dimanche, 24 juillet
Nous allons au lac

We stroll across town for a walk around the Etang du Vignoble. There used to be a vineyard which went out of use but has recently been re-established. There’s a lake, home to many birds though Sue, a keen bird-watcher, tells me that they’re mostly grebes. I think I’ve never seen so many and while we wait for the men to catch up, we sit and watch a mother grebe teaching toddler grebe to dive for its own fish. She dives, catches the fish, flaunts it in front of the youngster then lets it drop. Titch will get the message when he’s hungry enough.

Lundi, 25 juillet
Les sîtes de la Première Guerre Mondiale

Our friends go to visit the First World War memorial at Thiepval, while Wilf works and I stay at home. We’ve not started to look into visiting the war sites of the area yet: we’ve been busy with other things and, being in the middle of the region affected by both wars in various ways (occupation, ground combat and aerial bombardment) it seems a bit too much to take in and will come gradually and later, though we must make sure we don’t miss it completely.

Mardi, 26 juillet
Au revoir, fromage

Roger is infamous in both families (and possibly further afield) for his love of cheese and his purchasing skills thereof so he and I go down to our local cheese shop and ensure that the owner will have a comfortable retirement. As we buy, we are given a virtual tour of France, different milk used, serving suggestions and, quite possibly, the name of each cow/sheep/goat on the farm. Fortunately it all squeezes into the car and they set off for Dunkirk, following my directions to get out of town. It was good to have a second chance to wave as they went.

Mercredi, 27 à samedi 30 juillet
La carte grise, pas d’assurance auto mais tout fini bien

I have to go to the sous-prefecture for something today. I’m not sure what, but I have a piece of paper with today’s date which tells me to go to Window 6, so I do. I can jump the queue, which is again outside the door and down the street when I get there ten minutes after opening.  I have to wait a few minutes, hand over some money, am given a temporary registration document and our car is now known as EE-937-EN. Just need the plates to match now.

Our UK insurance expires on 28^th (see heading above) so we start looking for French cover. This is tricky to do online, if not impossible: car models have different names here, we can’t say which département we were born in, as it doesn’t have Manchester as an option, etc. I try three local offices and get slightly further along the process, then go back on Friday and take a couple more steps. We can do no more today so walk across town to see a band playing in Place St Nicholas. The square is busy but it's very quiet, with a fire-eater for entertainment so we go home, pour a couple of drinks and sit on the balcony while the sun goes down.

Two of the insurance offices are closed on Saturdays at the moment and the other is closed in the afternoon. We try online and still can’t do it. A phone call is helpful but the phone service closes at 4pm, which means we can't insure the car until Monday.

This would not normally be any sort of problem: Wilf’s been to work on his bike the last couple of days and the weather’s good, his holidays start on Monday but he’ll still need to go in to finish off a few things. We have, though, have booked tickets for a local music festival on Sunday. It’s about fifteen miles away and we can get there easily by train but the only way of getting home is a very late special service train. I check the festival site, follow the link to BlaBlaCar and find one offer of transport back to town so jump in quick and we have a lift sorted for 2€ each. Perfect!

Le Quatorze Juillet

Mercredi, 13 juillet
La Fête commence

Our celebrations started as soon as Wilf got back from work, announcing that he had Friday off as well as 14th. There's a firework display later on the other side of town and something to do with flaming torches outside the Town Hall. These turn out to be paper lanterns with a candle inside. The person in front of me is asked if she deserves one, if she's been working hard. The helper jokes that I need to pay. I tell him that since the referendum, I've paid for it in tears and a broken heart and he gives me a very special spherical lantern. As I ask for a light, a small girl admires it and we swap. I am ridiculously pleased with mine, whatever shape it is.


There is a samba band. At 10.15 they start to move along the square and lead everyone gently across town, tricoloured lanterns swinging gently as we go, past the library, over the river and along the opposite bank. As we meander, I reflect on the difference between French and British Health and Safety. I'm not sure that we'd have seen burning candles, paper and small children in a crowd in the Uk. The band stops, we stop and the fireworks start: a fabulous display for half an hour.

Jeudi, 14 juillet
La Fête Nationale

 A quiet, lazy day. The shops are open Sunday hours (morning only) and people are starting to leave for holidays. There is a big concert in the square up the road but we go up too late and miss all the fun, though the bars are overflowing onto the closed road and everyone's having a good time. It's the following day when we hear about the attack in Nice: 85 people mown down by a lorry. 


Vendredi, 15 juillet
Nous avons des tickets pour un festival
Our "local" is having a promo event for a music festival close by at the end of the month. Free tickets can be won and I'm hoping to repeat last year's success. Unfortunately, the way to win is by a "Name that Tune" quiz so I don't even try. We do, though, have a good supper of bread, cheese, charcuterie with some good beers to wash it down. We admit defeat and buy tickets but at a good reduction. We're just going for the Sunday session but it'll do. My "sanity and wits they will all vanish, I promise.........."

 

La carte grise

11 juillet

Le quitus fiscal
It made sense to bring our car with us but we have to make it official soon so spent Sunday evening searching the internet for what we needed to do and finding the necessary papers.

Monday morning……………. I set off to the tax office to get a quitus fiscal, whatever that may be. I’m lucky: there is no queue and as soon as I sit down with my number ticket I’m called in. As I go, I see about ten people who’ve come in just after me. Good timing!

The woman is friendly and efficient and goes swiftly through the paperwork, completes a form, then gives it to me to sign as “read and understood.”  I’ve not done the “read” part but trust it’s all in order. As I put the papers away, she asks how I felt about Brexit. I tell her at length and five minutes later walk out to see a waiting room full of people who have probably all heard my views. Hey ho.

12 juillet
La carte grise
More papers assembled and after an early breakfast I go to the sous-prefecture for the next step in registering the car. I’m there fifteen minutes after it opens and am about twentieth in the queue outside the door. Another fifteen minutes and I’m at the desk and am told to sit and wait until called.  As I wait, there is a video playing: interesting pictures of the fine art in the museum, then public service items. One is about first aid and what to do if you find someone unconscious: call for help, do chest compressions, use a defibrillator, put on a carrot…..!” You do what??  Fortunately, I’ve misread it and it is “un garrot” which is presumably a tourniquet* and not something used to strangle someone.

Equally fortunately, before my imagination runs even more riotously, my number’s called. I get out all the papers: passport, request for registration, proof of domicile, the current log book, the quitus fiscal.  All seems ok until we reach the “surname at birth” and “married name” part. After frowning and muttering, the woman tells me there is a problem because my birth name isn’t on my passport. I whip out the marriage certificate and hand it over. She takes it out of the envelope, opens it and gasps in horror. Ohh la la!  At this my brain goes into overdrive: it’s a very big certificate but surely it could be photocopied onto two pages if necessary? Why does she seem so completely aghast? She doesn’t know Wilf – she can’t be surprised that I’ve put up with him for so long? She does know me, though – is she surprised he’s put up with me?

Eventually she says the problem is that it dates from 1974. Have I anything more recent? I tell her it’s the only one I’ve got, having only been married the once. She is being very patient and I’m probably giving her a headache so we have a short chat then she asks me if I’ve brought a blank cheque. I haven’t. We didn’t get a cheque book because it costs to get one and to write a cheque. I have a bank card but that won’t do. The amount of tax paid varies considerably according to the age of the car (we might not pay anything as it’s over ten years old), how many horse power the engine is (because of pollution) and where we live (some local tax is payable).  She disappears, returns a minute later with a piece of paper and tells me to come back on the 27^th and go straight to counter 6. I think that means it’s all fine. Fingers crossed.

It’s not even 9.30. It's an area I like: there are two attractive squares, some interesting buildings and at this time of day, it's fairly quiet. I wander around for a while, find a café that’s open and decide to have a coffee in the sun. It comes with a mini pain au chocolat. A good morning’s work.

*tourniquet can also mean a turnstile, a revolving door or a court-martial. Could be confusing.

29 jui - 10 juillet

Mercredi, 29 juin

Un petit verre d’amitié

Last week Wilf went to the aid of one of our neighbours whose electricity had cut out the night before. She tells us she’s 90 years old and didn’t really want to go climbing up a ladder to have a look at the fuse box, etc. Two other neighbours helped as well and tonight we’re all (plus partners) invited to Mme 90’s flat for “un verre d’amitie,” (a glass of friendship) so she can thank those concerned.

Despite her age, being hard of hearing and using a walking frame, Madame has nevertheless organised drinks, nibbles and a man to open the three bottles of champagne which we managed to drink our way through while hearing tales of various terrible things that have happened over the years (the garage was never properly cleaned after the work was done), several small businesses across town twenty-odd years ago (we’re too late to enjoy the best patisserie in France) and the various changes made to the flats.

Two hours later, we totter home, feeling very friendly.

Jeudi, 30 juin
J’ecoute la radio

Without a tv, I’ve been listening to the radio. My original choice had seemed to have a lot of news about Brussels and, after hearing them say septante instead of soixante-dix and have seemingly incessant phone-ins about child-care, I gave up and found something that had less chat and more local interest.

It plays “music for all the generations” and as such, has a wide-ranging playlist: popular music from about the 1940s to the present day, dance music (ballroom and Latin through to house and ska) and ballads. There are even programmes of Italian and Polish music, thanks to an influx of miners from those countries after WW2.

Of course, a lot of songs are French versions, though it’s not always immediately obvious. Because I don’t know most of them, after a while they start to sound alike. This morning I was pleased to hear Bob Dylan’s “Lay, Lady, Lay” but it’s taken twelve hours to get another remotely ok one: Yesterday Once More.

Two in twelve hours doesn’t seem like a good enough rate. Tomorrow I’ll see what else I can find before I feel I need to start learning the accordion so I can get fully into the real life of France.

Vendredi, 1er juillet 2016
Je cherche des Bs
I decide to go a hunt for some roads beginning with B. There’s a cluster very close to home so it shouldn’t take me long. The first is “our” square, a minute away 

and the second is the Impasse des Brigittines, only a few houses on it but with a very French sign near the entrance.

 

Further on I find the Rue du Beguinage, a former convent, but try as I might I can’t find the Enclos du Beguinage, shown on the map as being a side road. Up and down the road a few times, then I give up.

Samedi, 2 juillet
Je trouve l'Enclos

The weather’s lovely and I set out for a quick walk before the market with no plan in mind. Almost straight away I see the sign for the Enclos du Beguinage and follow the path. How I managed to miss it I don’t know as it has four entrances from three different roads. It’s almost like a little village: narrow streets with doors opening onto them, tucked away into a corner of a quiet part of town.

My success needs celebrating so I take Wilf out to show him and we decide that it’s a good day for lunch out and end at our “local” restaurant for a lovely meal a lot cheaper than in the UK.

Dimanche, 3 juillet
Je fais un instrument musicale

My target for July is to walk at least two miles a day, as I feel I’ve been getting lazy. There’s a “country fair” event across town and though I’m not that keen on the idea, I go because it’s far enough away. 

On my way I check that there isn’t an elusive water-trough on the Rue de l’Abreuvoir and go to the park, passing people in seventeenth-century costume dealing with horses as I go in. There’s lots going on: theatre, games, crafts and sales tables of various crafts. There are four stalls connected with local history and more where you can make things. I decide not to make a version of a seventeenth-century fascinator and instead try the stall that involves pieces of wood and a metal rasp. I have to report that I am the creator and proud owner of a very fine kazoo which, to date, has only played the first two lines of La Marseillaise. 

As I set off late morning and have taken longer than anticipated, I’m starting to get hungry, so feel it’s only right that I should make the most of the produce on offer and queue for a waffle. It’s very good, so I rejoin the queue and have another. The monk taking the cash comments on the fact that I’m on my second in five minutes and is pleased that I like it but judging by the people working on the stall, it’s not news to them.

Jeudi, 7 juillet
Je fais du yoga

Late afternoon, and I hear the sound of a brass band playing in the park. The weather’s lovely so I wander up to listen. It’s the Oxford University brass band on tour and they have a wide repertoire, from Handel's Water Music (including "I love to go to work upon a bus"), to Nelly the Elephant, finishing with Rule Britannia. I wonder if it’s a political statement. 

I can’t stay too long as there’s a trial yoga session on offer. Wonderful! It’s given in English by an Indian man then translated into French. Not only can I understand, but I learn some new French vocabulary. I am, though, as inflexible as I suspected. Work to be done.

The French are playing Germany. We know they’ve scored a goal, then another, which means they’ll be in the final on Sunday. Car horns (but no 1-2, 1-2-3 rhythm), cheering, La Marseillaise, rockets, fireworks, all over the town.  Sunday should be interesting if they win. We won’t get much sleep.

Samedi 9 juillet
Je vois deux mariagesMarket day again. You've heard of Where's Wally? This is Where's Wilfy?

Out on my walk, finidng the last of the Bs, and I hear car horns so go and see why the traffic's at a standstill: two wedding parties having photographs taken in the park. I don't like to intrude but it's lovely seeing everyone dressed up in their best so take a sneaky photo from a distance.

Dimanche, 10 juillet
Il fait beau

I'm on my way for the bread and see two motorcyclists in hi-viz, then hear another motorbike, and another. I start counting but we're all going the same way and it's making me dizzy so I stand still and watch. Because I'm watching, a few wave and sound their horns. I carry on counting: about a hundred in all. Perfect day for their ride.

My walk is a big loop. I'm looking for places beginning with C and one of the first ones is Place Weenston Churcheell, which is a traffic island.  The building on Rue Comtesse has lovely tile and brick decorations but one third of it is derelict.

This is Rue Cabot and has no dwellings on it. Our flat is one of the block you can see in the background but round the other side.

France lost to Portugal in the final. It was still noisy but didn't last as long.