29 mai - 2 juin

Dimanche, 29 mai, 2016

Nous changeons les lits

We swapped the beds over because we thought they’d look better that way. They do.

By chance, I saw Monsieur le President. Not M le President de France but the person who reports problems with the flats to the management company. I mentioned the water feature which is developing in the living room. From a gentle drip it’s turned into a rather soothing trickle of a background noise, all safely contained within the radiator. I’m not too worried, I say, but he tells me that a year ago there was a leak in our flat, which ruined most of the flat below and some of the one below that, and I start to feel mildly panic-stricken.

Lundi, 30 mai, 2016

Nos sentiments distingués

I finally manage to speak to someone and arrange for a technician to ring about the internet and phone connection. Half success as I’ve not yet been called back.

As I was fixing that up, there was a knock at the door: M le President with instructions of what to do about the leaks. My “listening to two different conversations at the same time” skills need some practice in English and are way beyond hope in French so when I’ve finished he giives me detailed instructions about what to say in a firmly-worded letter which I will then send via recorded delivery. 

I used to have a book which gave options for correct forms of address and signings-off for letters in French but of course I gave it away a few years ago as I couldn’t see me ever having any use for it. I’m hoping that, by addressing the landlord as Monsieur and signing off with the French for “I beg of you, sir, to believe in the expression of my distinguished sentiments” I’m not going to insult him by being over-familiar.

Mardi, 31 mai, 2016.

Nous avons des poubelles très propres.

As I go out to post the letter, Chantal is outside, busy washing the dustbins. She finishes one and stands back to admire her work, smiling at the finished result. Maybe when I get back to Bristol, I’ll do the same.

The letter’s been posted. I am now waiting with trepidation to see if we will be asked to leave. I suspect that one day someone will prove a link between a feeling of persecution and a sudden change of diet to one including a lot more bread. Gluten seems to get blamed for a lot of things so it seems like a good place to start.

Mercredi, 1er juin, 2016

J’achète des chiffons*

Those of you who know me well will not be surprised to hear that I forgot to bring any dusters or cleaning cloths with me. You will therefore be surprised to learn that I have now got ten and even more astonished that I used one within an hour of purchase. It is not, sadly, an item of frivolous transparency that I can waft around while singing a cheerful 1960s ditty with a lot of “Doo lang, doo lang, doo lang” going on in the background, followed by me standing back, admiring my handiwork and commenting “That’s so fine” but a solid, unyielding piece of slightly felted stuff that does not apply polish very well, though that may be because the polish seems to have got stuck slightly in the can.

Those of you who know me well will not be surprised to hear that.

*chiffons = dusters

 Jeudi, 2 juin, 2016

Je vais à l’Office de Tourisme

Despite having no internet, no usable washing machine, half the lights not working and having left most of the kitchen knives at home, I am starting to feel settled and decide to find something more sociable to fill my days so go to the tourist office.

After the usual courtesies, I ask if they can tell me of any classes or clubs which I could attend during the day maybe “yoga, dance or something like that.” One of the ladies asks me if I know about the dustbins.
Yes.
That one is for recycling and the other is for rubbish?
Yes.
And if you have bottles do you know that you don’t put them in the bin but you can put them in a bottle bank near you?
Yes, I know that as well. 

Is she really suggesting that sorting the waste could be a worthwhile activity to counteract boredom with the implication that I might enjoy doing it for half a day a week or even that I might have so much rubbish to throw away? A high-pitched squeak starts to form in my throat. I keep my mouth tightly shut before it escapes. She offers me several leaflets about days out in the area and further afield, as well as one very useful one about recycling the household waste, in case I wasn’t sure what to do with it. She drifts around the room, finding items about restaurants, concerts, none available during the day. Finally she manages to find a few activities which fit the bill more closely, in that they are daytime activities.

Seriously?

While I fully accept that I fit into the age category, do I really want to be in the same room as men wearing kit like this??