3 - 11 juin

Vendredi, 3 juin, 2016

Je trouve la piste

In a “let’s get things done” mood, I set off to find a sports centre and the Maison de Associations, “home” for several groups of interest from the list given to me by the sensible woman in the tourist office. 

The first sports centre seems to have an extremely relaxed approach to most things but the weights room is only for use by schools and a gym club. Judging from the noises coming from within, I will want to avoid school times.

The second centre, just across the road, has a track which, I’ve been told, can be used at any time. I check and yes, it can, apart from evenings when the athletics club uses it. There’s a bark-surfaced walking track so I test it with one lap. Excellent! 

Next to the Maison des Associations. It’s number 159 and is the first one I come to. It’s also completely shuttered up and looks as though it’s been that way for some time. Why am I not surprised?

I’ll go back to the tourist office when I can summon the courage to venture in again.

Samedi, 4 juin

Nous allons chez IKEA

We needed to leave some household items in Bristol so brought just the minimum and after three weeks we’re starting to feel the need for kitchen knives and some more seating so set off towards the nearest IKEA just outside Lille.

It’s bigger than the Bristol store and our bags are checked on the way in, a hangover from the attacks in Paris and Brussels in recent months, but it still has arrows so we don’t get lost. They don’t stop us diverting towards things we really don’t need (new kitchen, more cupboard space, children’s furniture) and we work our way round, a frying pan and plastic boxes clanking in the bag until we find a trolley so we can get in the way of even more people.

When we first got married, almost 42 years ago, most of our furniture was second-hand so having a “new” home, albeit temporary, to fill comes as a novelty and with a neutral colour scheme in the flat we settle on a subtle greyish colour scheme with dark reds and soft greens, a big change from our sunny yellows.

Have you ever noticed how little people speak in places like this? Because of the similarity of store layout and product names, it comes as quite a surprise when we hear someone speaking French. Billy, Fiskbo and Fniss come with us, as do a couple of Hedblomsters, an Upphetta and a Filbunke but we have to leave a Skanka (too much dancing) and a Tullsta (only twenty-four hours away). I hesitated over a Senior casserole in case I decide to join the over 60s fitness group but a Sensuell sounds more interesting, if a bit Nigella.

The larger items collected, we join the queue and half an hour later, the car is loaded and we’re on our way back to the flat, completely IKEA’d out, having made the most of our third French loyalty card.

 Wilf is now only allowed on the sofa if he matches.

Dimanche, 5 juin

L’Abreuvior, Acacias et Albert

Wilf wants me to say that he spent the whole morning screwing in front of the window in full view of whichever neighbours wanted to look. Perfectly true. A shame that one part broke off and will need glueing if it’s ever to work again.

I continued my “walk round every street in Valenciennes” mission this afternoon, with visits to Watertrough Street (no watertrough to be seen), Acacia Square (no acacias) and Albert 1^st Avenue (no Albert, as far as I’m aware). Part of my walk was along the canal towpath, where I was greeted by a very vocal Yorkshire terrier. The man with her (it turned out) and another Yorkie proceeded to tell me (I think) that she was a bit lively because it wasn’t long since she’d had puppies. Despite me telling him that I was English, he went into great detail on her gynaecological history, most of which I couldn’t catch as he was talking so fast. Anyway, it whiled away five minutes and could be useful if I ever take up dog-breeding.

Place dea Acacias

 

 Lundi, 6 juin

La machine à laver est reparée

We wake to the first blue sky and sunshine that we’ve had for a couple of weeks, when grey mornings have turned into grey afternoons, then grey evenings. The Seine has burst its banks in Paris and we’ve had drizzle and greyness. It’s lovely to have the warmth as a change from chilliness. 

Two men come after lunch to fix the leak behind the washing machine. after they've gone, I load the machine and start it. It’s impressively quiet and I go downstairs to see if we have any post (debit cards would be useful). No post and when I go back upstairs the machine is giving me rather a cheeky wink that says “you really thought you were going to do a load of washing, didn’t you? Well, I don’t like to tell you this, but….” I open the door and the clothes are dry. I move the machine out so I can look behind it. Both inflow taps are closed, though it’s cold fill only. I trace the pipes back from the washer to the lower pipe, turn it, and air and water sprays out.

I ring the plumbers. With luck they can come back tomorrow.

I go out shopping in the heat, now stifling. An hour after I get back, it grows cooler and the sky darkens. Half an hour later it sounds as though someone if showering the roof with stones, but it’s just heavy rain, with thunder and irony, as the background music is Muse’s “Perfect weather to fly.”

No washing machine, debit cards, lights, internet, tv, radio, the sun’s disappeared and some trees particularly rich in superlight seeds have undone all my sweeping this morning.  Just one of those days, then.

Mardi, 7 juin

Deux petits succès

This morning I walked across town to the Maison des Associations. I was mildly surprised to find it was a) there and b) open. The friendly receptionist could only help by telling me which associations met there and that I’d be unlikely to be able to join any clubs until September as it was almost holiday time. At least I had a chance to see this deconstructed church tower.

 

Later, across town buying bread, the stifling heat changes to rain and a persistent thunderstorm. The plumbers arrive to fix the leak, check the washing machine is working properly and then an hour or so later I hang up the clean washing.

Better day today.

Mercredi, 8 juin

Je lave les vêtements encore

We are making small steps forward: yesterday’s washing is almost dry, I’m greeted as an old friend by Monsieur Melons-Melons-Melons (his usual market-stall cry) and the landlord has been to check what needs doing about the lights. I check the post (two items, look like PINs for the cards), find I can’t access the library internet on my tablet because my username has a bizarre character only available on an AZERTY keyboard, come home, open letters from bank – glory be! The debit cards are at the bank. I nip down and get both by signing twice on a tablet. 

Life just got a bit easier.

Jeudi, 9 juin

Je vais à la bibliothèque

I go back to the library with my specs but without tablet (closed Thursday mornings – second visit in the afternoon) and try again on one of their computers. It doesn’t like my username. It doesn’t like something else so I ask at the desk. The “bizarre character” (which looked like this 8 and called, I now know, a tiré de huit) is just an underscore; the 8 is just for show. The other odd one, which I’d taken to be an ampersand (& - not showing off: I have a printing background and it’s a great word) is actually a 2. Try again, and again (all lower case) and it still doesn’t like me. The very patient librarian decides it’s easier to just sign me in and I can go ahead. Unfortunately, she’s moved me to a different machine which means that I need a different pair of glasses than the ones I’ve brought with me. 

There were a few emails I needed to write so I did my best and fortunately they were to people with enough patience to decipher things like “We~re fpne and we;;,” without thinking I’ve lost the plot completely. Maybe it’s just that they’re used to my typos.

Vendredi, 10 juin

Je vais encore à la bibliothèque 

Straight over to the library with tablet and two pairs of specs and have success at once. Emails and messages sent, I have a look round the place. I want to see the Jesuits’ Library, one of the notable places of the town and so go up to the first floor but have to walk through the children’ section first. I could have stopped right there. It’s huge, light and very exciting.

The Jesuits have a saying “Give me a child before he is five and I will have him for life.” 

Their library is through a door and is another sort of imposing – dark tiles, wood panelling, shelves lined with leather-bound books. I stay for a while but without more information it’s just a room full of books with some paintings

Samedi, 11 juin

La tragédie du poisson

Apparently, the French football team won their European Cup match last night. We had a sneaky suspicion that they might be playing when the local bars seemed to be very full and car horns were sounding more often than usual. We thought they'd won when the car horns and cheering continued for a couple of hours. I went to bed and had the sound of happy people as a rather loud lullaby.

We are late getting to the market. Our regular fishmongers are starting their holidays today and are sold out before we get there. I have been looking forward to having tuna again since we had it three weeks ago and am very disappointed, as well as annoyed with myself for the lack of foresight. 

Wilf wants to see the library so we wander that way, have a quick look but the door to the Jesuits’ library is locked. The librarian unlocks for us and a security guard comes to make sure we behave. I hadn’t realised yesterday that it wasn’t public access though I had been a bit surprised. He tells us some of the history of the building, the room, the paintings and why the shelves have the lovely arched tops (classification by subject, according to what the subject of the portrait above the shelves taught). He also tells us that there is a guided tour each Saturday morning which goes into more detail so we add it to our mental To Do list.

Back via the wine shop. We are working our way steadily through the Loire valley.

After our disappointment over the fish, we console ourselves with a lunch of bread and cheese. The bread was ordered on Tuesday and delivered today from Paris. It’s not available for direct sale in France, apart from the one bakery in Paris where it’s made. It was no doubt brought here by a man wearing a miller’s smock and a floppy white hat and the flour milled in moonlight between stones made from bones of giants mixed with fairy dust. Anyway, it tastes very nice and is surprisingly reasonably priced. We have it with a couple of glasses of Berrow Hill cider and spend the next part of the afternoon asleep.

That fairy dust is powerful stuff.