12 - 17 juin

 Dimanche, 12 juin

Je cherche mon vélo

Wilf goes out for the second time on his bike. I haven’t yet. One of the problems is that the zapper for the garage door is, during the week, in the car and five miles away. Without that, my means of getting out and back in are the lift and a spiral flight of narrow stairs. My bike isn’t big and just squeezes into the lift by tipping it upright on its back wheel and putting it corner to corner, then squeezing myself in next to it. That’s certainly the easier of the two options, but not ideal, as it wouldn’t be long before we managed to get oil or dirt on the wall of the lift, no matter how careful we were.  I do need to pluck up courage to get out on it though: it’s as much the usual problem of feeling self-conscious as anything else but I won’t be beaten.

Lundi, 13 juin

Je l’aime……….. je l’aime
Moi non plus
Je suis vague, irresolue.
Y’a une baguette bien cuite……..

Je vais, je vais et je viens
Chercher du pain
Je vais et je viens
Chercher du pain
Mais je trouve enfin

Out in the morning to get some bread for my lunch. Being Monday, most of the shops are closed but the smaller ones take it in turns to have their days off and today the one that’s open is the one across town that cooks bread in a wood-fired oven. The bread’s lovely so the walk balances out the large amounts of it I eat. On the way back I call in the supermarket for oats (out of stock) and a few other things. I’ll go to our "new" butcher after I’ve called at the other supermarket to get my oats.

That butcher is closed. This means we’ll have a chorizo and chick pea concoction for tea tonight. 

This would be much better if we had any chick peas. Back to the first supermarket, stock up and I can stop shopping. I’ve spent a good part of the day buying some oats, bread and two tins of chick peas and probably walked about three miles doing it. That deserves another slice of bread……….

Mardi, 14 juin
Bisous

In the evening I go over to the sports ground to join the Nordic walking group. I’m there early and wait, feeling increasingly out of place, with some members of the athletic club. A couple of men turn up, greet people and it’s bisous, the double air-kiss, all round. I’m included even though they’ve never seen me before. Maybe it’s part of the warm-up.

No walkers have turned up by the appointed time and I’m on the point of giving up when a woman strides purposefully through the gate and is also waiting for the group. Three others arrive, including the instructor and we set off around the bark track with me trying to remember all the things I’ve forgotten about technique. It’s a nice, friendly group and everyone's concerned to make sure that I’m ok and have understood. The instructor speaks to me in fairly hesitant English, checking I know the words she’s using (feet, shoulders, toes, knees – I almost burst into song, complete with actions). A session on various techniques, stretches and we finish. The session has lasted over an hour and my brain is full. Janine gives me a lift home so we can arrange for her to take me next week, when we’ll be meeting further away. I give her instructions to find my flat and after weaving through the one-way system, I tell her the flat is ahead. We stop at the junction and she points across to the little road she lives on: the same road as mine, five doors away. We agree I will just knock on the door when I’m ready and don’t need to ring.

Mercredi, 15 juin
La joie du chou

Market day again. The local producer is there, the table almost bare and it’s only ten o’clock. He has plenty of lettuces, which we don’t need, some potatoes and a couple of cabbages. He is solemn-faced, talks quietly and the queue moves slowly. I pick up bits of the conversations: he won’t have much for a couple of weeks because of the weather, which has been much colder and wetter than usual. The chat doesn’t stop. Most of it is jokes and gentle teasing, some of which I can follow: he doesn’t really mean that the 5kg potatoes, 4 lettuce and kilo of rhubarb cost 645 euros. Sorry, he meant 6 euros 45 cents and his customer should give me a tip because I held her bag open while she put her potatoes away. You get the picture. 

Because of my English reticence, the woman behind me in the queue has picked up Supercabbage so I’m left with the smaller one, though it’s hardly the runt of the patch. There follows a four person conversation about how to use that particular variety: any leftovers can be chopped, then fried in a little butter with onion, garlic and tomato. They tell me it’s a good way of using cabbage, a problem which you never have with haricots, and the butter gives you part of your recommended daily allowance of fat. Some contrast from the UK, where cries of horror would have been heard in some places at the mention of the word butter.

Another quiet evening at home, no tv, no internet but another good sunset to watch.

At about 8.30 we hear a huge bang but no sirens follow so we assume we don’t need to worry. Later we hear the sound of car horns doing “1-2, 1-2-3, 1-2-3-4, let’s go.” France are playing again and we have an idea of the score (quite low) from the noise coming from the bars in the square. We guess there is a last-minute win and then are certain of it as the horns start again. It’s surprising how well-orchestrated it is: probably almost a hundred cars all in time: crescendo, diminuendo and then in comes a new member of the orchestra: Pierre on playground whistle, slightly out of breath. Marcel joins him on the blowy-thing-with-a-feather-on from the Christmas cracker sent by his English penfriend and last but not least comes François, aged 7, who started to learn the recorder today at school and is not going to be left out. He has no rhythm, no skill and can only play one note (C flat) but he joins in with the rest with enthusiasm, sure that his support will help Les Bleus to go on to win the trophy. I fall asleep and when I wake later, they’ve gone, save one lonely car which toots a few one-two, one-two-threes then drives off into the night.

Jeudi, 16 juin

Je reçois des appels par téléphone

I can’t remember the last time I was this excited before 8am, apart from maybe on 10^th May, though excitement then was somewhat limited by the four hours’ sleep.  I got an early text, saying that the courier would be delivering our Freebox today between 11 and 2. Woohoo – internet connection and we'll be back into the land of the living.

An hour or so later the phone rings: it’s the landlord asking if he can bring a workman round this evening to look at the various small jobs that need doing. Of course he can. With luck there’ll be a few long-standing items ticked off my To Do list soon.

Another phone call an hour later: a man who’s seen my ad in the baker’s. I’d put it there because I wasn’t speaking much French, apart from the usual pleasantries when out shopping and passing the time of day with the neighbours. I’d suggested an exchange of French-English conversation or some charity work and he wants to improve his English so we arrange to meet in the café in my local square tomorrow morning.

The landlord comes later with his workman, who’s intrigued by the bread-maker and also by our UK plugs, stuck into adaptors. Appointment made for him to come next Tuesday to do the work.

After we’ve eaten, Wilf unpacks the Freebox: lots of electrical stuff and a list to check them off. Tick, tick, tick, lift up box, not there, look in other box, not there either. The DSL cable, the very first thing we plug into the wall, isn’t there. Why are we even the slightest bit surprised?

Vendredi, 17 juin

Je vais au café

We open the blinds to an unusual view of rain. The rain itself isn’t unusual, just the fact that it’s there in the morning. It’s usually been much later in the day when it pours.

I’m at the café over the road just before the appointed time and sit facing the door, pretty sure that B isn’t there yet. A man comes in, looks around, looks around again, then orders his drink. Another comes in, does the same. Is either of them B? I don’t think so, but short of going over and asking there’s not much I can do. My phone rings – problem solved as I chat to the man walking through the door. We have a coffee each (so strong I’m surprised I don’t immediately start ricochetig off walls and ceiling) and a chat. He wants to improve his English for his business so he drops off his English language text books later. 

Over to the library after lunch. I struggle to get wifi on my tablet, manage some on the phone, but it’s following links to the French official site about residency and after a while I decide it’s easier to go to the mairie and ask. The afternoon downpour has started but I can’t be bothered waiting so I go to the town hall and ask. It seems I need to go to the sous-prefecture “but it’s probably closed this afternoon.” She seems adamant that it will be closed, despite the “probably” so I head for home and test my fairly new jacket in the process. It seems to do the job.

I’ve invited Wilf for a meal out tonight. It’s a different sort of restaurant but looks good.