Chez Rigsby

Chestnuts at dawn

2011-11-21T11:27:00.001+01:00

I attended another annual event this weekend. A chestnut festival. Last year as well as munching on chestnuts there was a group of storytellers to provide the entertainment, this year it was a group of 9 French female "Country" dancers. Line dancers to you and me.
When I arrived the dancers were already ensconced at a table, kitted out in their cowboy hats, boots, scarves etc. They were keen.
Last year the venue was full, with kids running about all over the place. This year the crowd was at least halved, but the 3 children who did attend, ran about non-stop for the duration of their stay.
We started with the roasted chestnuts, which were nowhere near as nice as the ones that we ate last year. This year they were dry, some were bad, and some had dead bugs inside them. In addition to the roasted nuts, there were boiled chestnuts. These were difficult to open and even more difficult to eat. The flesh of the nut was reduced to a white paste. Yuck! not to my taste.
There were pancakes and various drinks that you could buy, and there was also a plastic cup of mulled wine for the adults.
The dancers were very keen and after dancing to several of their pre-recorded songs they invited people to join in. I managed to stay in my seat. Having been a "Square dancer" for a year in the mid 90's I know to look down on this inferior form of dancing.
I left at about 10 past midnight, but the dancers were still going strong to their selection of about 10 songs and some local ados had arrived to bulk up the dwindling numbers.
Here is a short video of the dancing, The teeny-tiny lady in the white trousers is the school and town hall cleaner and although she was struggling to keep up, she was having a whale of a time. Good on you Z!

The two marquises

2011-09-15T19:47:00.001+02:00

Nothing much to I have started at my new school and have done 2 stints of 3 hrs 20 mins each time. The little office that I work in is also the head teacher's office. Her admin day is Tuesday, but she was busy elsewhere for most of that afternoon. Unfortunately there is no internet access in the office, although a new pc workstation was installed the morning before I arrived. Hopefully the internet access will not be long, the town hall needs to do a bit of cabling work. The school staff, teachers and ALAE staff all seem pleased to have me there, but as the classrooms are on the first floor and I am on the ground floor next to the school's main doors I am rather out of the way of them and the life of the school, unless the phone rings and I have to go and find the relevant person. It is going to take me a while to get settled in.
Last Friday one of Madame's friends friends came to help me install two perspex porches over the two front doors. All was going well, and my side of the porch support for the "marquise" was safely screwed into the wall. Unfortunately things were not going well on the other side of the door, as two of the screws broke off in the wall as he tightened them.
We continued with the marquise over Madame's door, and that was installed without any problems. Of course Madame (who had pestered me for months to buy and install this object) immediately lost interest in the proceedings and had to go and lie down on her canapé. I offered to test the porch by getting her to stand under it whilst I poured a bucket of water out of an upper window onto it, but she declined. So the next morning I was at BricoDepot to try and buy or blagg replacement screws and raw plugs to restart the failed installation. I was passed from person to person and finally the 4th person indicated which bits and pieces I should buy.
I returned home, Madame phoned her pal, and the bloke returned. Fortunately all went well, but some of the screw covers have disappeared.
Do they stop Madame getting water into her flat when she opens the door when it is raining? I have no idea as it hasn't rained for about 2 weeks now and we have had to put up with temperatures in the 80s. At last summer has arrived!

Schooled

2011-09-09T16:48:00.001+02:00

Yesterday afternoon I received a phone call from the college that controls my school admin post contract. The lady told me that my contract was now ready to sign and gave me the name of the schools that I will be working at until my contract runs out at the end of March 2012.
I am staying at my current school for 10 of my hours, and the remaining 10 hours in a school in a village which joins on to the outskirts of my town, about 12 - 15 minutes drive away depending on the traffic. I could walk there in about 50 minutes.
So on Monday afternoon I will be going to visit my new school and the directrice, staff, kids etc. This school was built in 1994, so it will make an interesting contrast to the old school buildings where I have spent my time so far.
I am still waiting for confirmation of my 20 or so hours teaching English in a nursing college. I am due to start my first session of the teaching year in about 2 week's time......
So that is the way my working life is shaping up at the moment. Someone has asked me if I will give some English tuition to a lad of 14, who has been doing English for 3 years, but who for some reason during the last year attended hardly any English lessons. I met him briefly.
"What's you name?" I asked. He thought about it for about 30 seconds, during which I repeated the question slowly several times. In the end I had to ask him his name in French.
I then tried "How old are you?" "I'm fine" he eventually replied. The 7 year olds in my school can answer these two questions without any problem. I think that he will need to put in an awful lot of work if he wants to reach the required standard for his year...... I am not sure if I will do it or not.

Dancing Queen

2011-09-08T16:58:00.111+02:00

The fete was due to continue at 9pm with a procession with majorettes, old cars, marching bands etc but it had been raining almost all day. What to do? I put on my pac-a-mac, slung my camera round my neck and set off into town. Rigsby is not afraid of rain.
As I neared the centre of town I knew that something was wrong. There was traffic coming towards me. Usually the road is blocked off to allow the procession to take place.
It was raining quite heavily as I arrived at the Halle. I sat at a table and drank a couple of beers while some of the bands played under cover of the Halle's new roof.
Finally it was time for l'orchestre Mission to take the stage.
Yesterday there had been a little old lady dancing to the music with the whole floor to herself. She was back again. As the music began a shuffling figure complete with her shopping trolley and clutching a band publicity sheet. She was hot to trot once again.

Dancing with your shopping trolley can be tiring, luckily the wheels makes the transition turns quite smooth.
However she got tired of trundling it about and attempted to park it behind the security barrier, through a convenient gap, which was just not big enough for her to squeeze it through. The lead guitarist was watching her as she switched to plan B and started trying to lift the trolley over the barrier. He gave up playing and came to assist her.

She decided that her dance partner would be safer on the stage, so this is where it ended up.

Now unencumbered, she was able to shuffle about and wave her arms, she even shouted noises into the proffered microphone from time to time
Finally, just like a scene from Mama Mia she was hoisted up onto the stage to join in the band's final song.

So a very successful night for the dancing queen. Thankfully France is full of characters. (and I should know, I'm one!)

Meanwhile the rain was hammering down. The band stopped at 1.30am but the rain didn't so Rigsby paddled home in his new shoes.

What’s new pussycat?

2011-09-07T16:10:00.001+02:00

Since January a lot has changed. I still have my 2 tenants. Madame has erected a huge pergola on her terrace and had purchased chairs and an extremely heavy table (mosaic tiles on top of a concrete table top). There are strips of cloth, weighted at each end that can be draped over the pergola to provide shade. Due to the weather this summer though, a month of constant rain, followed by a month of rain or temperatures between 90 – 100 degrees F, here new ensemble has hardly been used. She recently acquired a bicycle, which is now kept in the hall cupboard inside the main part of my building. She has not used it as she is too fatigue, and as she recently fell over and injured her legs, it is likely that the bike will stay blocking up my cupboard. I doubt if she will purchase a storage box to keep it on her cluttered terrace. The Portuguese man arrived back from his holiday early on Friday morning. He too seems to have acquired a bicycle which he keeps in his studio on the first floor.
The French family that I used to go on outing with, or to their house for BBQ’s and for crepes etc have put their house on the market and moved to a small town 3.5 hours drive from here. After 2 years of unemployment Monsieur a short fixed term contract, which he hopes might be made permanent, so the family of 5 has all been uprooted to go and live in a small apartment with no garden.
I may have mentioned that I don’t intend to join the choir this year. I feel in need of a rest from it. I had not been enjoying it and as my move to France has been a life change, why do things that you are not enjoying if you can avoid it.
This past choral year was a nightmare as far as I was concerned. I cannot write too much here about the many reasons I have as there is always a chance that my blog will be stumbled upon, and there are French people who speak a fair bit of English. The last straw for me was when the choir’s public performances were announced about 5 weeks before the first concert. By that time I had already found other things to do on those dates. I must state that the choir members are lovely, friendly people and I will miss their company.
Now I have my guitar, choir time may be replaced by guitar lessons if my newly arrived CDrom course doesn’t move me along towards guitar god status.

Outdoor fireworks

2011-09-05T12:15:00.000+02:00

On Friday night at 22:10 I set off walking into town to claim my usual spot to watch the firework display from. The pavements on both sides of the roads had cars parked on them, leaving only the road to walk on. The French tend to park anywhere that there is, or isn't a space.
The display began a few minutes late, which is good for this part of the world, where usually at least a quarter of an hour Ariege lag is added.
It was a perfect evening and the thunder storm rumbling in the distance held off until the early hours of the morning.
We only have a population of 10,000 but no expense seems to be spared for the annual fete fireworks.
The display was 17 minutes long and it was made up of 14 or so different tableaux. The usual section of fire dripping down the castle walls was not included this year, but the display was as spectacular as ever, with hearts, arrows going through hearts, I am sure that I saw the letter J inside a heart or a circle. All very clever and greatly appreciated by the crowds, lots of "putain"s of admiration.
Here is a video of the finale.

After the display I wandered up to see the fun fair which has taken over all the parking areas in the centre of town. The crowd was too dense to make any progress, so I crossed the main road, weaving between the gridlocked cars, and went to watch the "orchestre" which had wisely been set up under the roofed Halle au Grains. As usual, the musicians and the various singers were very good.
Enough blogging for today. I must get my guitar out and play, or rather, practice. My finger tips are still burning and I am finding out that it is not going to be as easy to learn as I had hoped. Perhaps if I had a music stand....

The clear white light

2011-09-03T16:24:00.003+02:00

On Thursday morning I went along to my local College for my reunion. We sat at desks while a man, new in post, introduced himself and then commenced on a history of les handicapes in France and their integration into the national education system, which began in earnest in the 1970's. Then there was a section on what was and what was not the remit of someone assisting a enfant handicapes in the classroom. Fortunately the man spoke clearly so I could understand most of what was said. He was followed by a young lady who was something to do with the Psychologues who spoke very quietly and although I was in the front row, the constant chatting of the two women behind me made following what she said almost impossible.
The meeting finally drew to a close. Did anyone have any questions?
A lady asked, where am I supposed to go now? I do not know what schools I am working in. Lists were consulted. You are working with x at y school, but I don't know yet where else you will be working.
This opened the floodgates. Of the 60 or so staff in the room 70 to 80 % did not know where they were supposed to work. The panelists looked embarrassed and it was suggested that a queue be formed so that the admin staff could consult their lists. The majority of them, me included left the room none the wiser. So I just went to the one school tthat I did know. I am still an admin assistant, not an assistant to one or more enfants handicapes.
When I asked when I might find out where else I was working, the lady smiled and shrugged. It was not for her to say, it was the responsibility of M l'inspecteur....
The following day all the teachers and then the head teachers had an audience with M l'inspecteur.
My head teacher had M L'I on one side and the lady to whom I had posed my question the previous day.
"It is M L'I's" decision she said, "It's not anything to do with me" he said....
Personally I think that there might be a slight delay before I find out where my second school is.

Ticking away to the big bang

2011-08-29T21:49:00.000+02:00

My 2 month summer holiday is nearly over and on Thursday or Friday I will be going back to school, or rather schools. My directrice telephoned me this morning at 9.30am. She phoned the College at 9am and was lucky enough to have the phone answered.
She has found out that 10 of my admin assistant hours will be spent at her school until my contract ends 31 march 2011. My directrice told the lady about the letter that I had received from the college, inviting me to attend a meeting at the College on Thursday morning.
"Why did they send him that letter? This meeting doesn't concern him. But as he has received the letter, he had better attend."
So I am teed up to look a complete plonker on Thursday. My directrice asked which school I would be spending my other 10 hours in. However the Inspectors have not yet decided. Still 2 days is plenty of time, if they send out a letter first class today or tomorrow......
The weather has been good for the last few days, but rain clouds are on the horizon.
The town's annual fete starts on Friday evening with live music and of course the highlight of the year, the 17 minute firework display which is due to kick off at 20:30. and which is well worth coming to see.
I expect that all 4 of my readers will be dropping in to visit me for the weekend. Don't forget that the fig festival is on the first weekend in October in a town only 20 minutes away.
A bientot alors.

Night after night, who treats you right?

2011-08-28T11:06:00.000+02:00

Of course you all remembered this song by David Gates so you will probably guess what is coming next.
Before moving to France I made a list of things that I wanted to be, do and have within a certain timeframe. One of the items on the list was to learn to play the guitar and have or be in a band.
Last year I bought a blu-ray copy of Jeff Beck performing live at Ronnie Scotts. I had of course heard his name over the years, but I didn't know any of his music. Amazon reviews gave the DVD 5 stars, some hinting that he blew Eric Clapton out of the water (I disagree). It is a very good DVD and most interesting too. I also bought Rainbow live in Munich 1977, Queen rock Montreal and live Aid and Roger Hodgson's take the long way home live in Montreal.
Subconsciouly I was exploring guitar playing.
Having just returned from Ottawa's Bluesfest I had been subjected to many different types of guitar and styles of guitar music. Buddy Guy, Peter Frampton, Steve Miller, the Flaming Lips etc etc
Everyone has to start somewhere, so after some research I am now the owner of an electric Squier black and white fender style strat, practice amp, headphones, 2 picks, clip on tuner, bag, useless starter CD, an allen key, a spring and an enormous cardboard box.
I have bought the "learning guitar for dummies" DVD, Guitar all-in -one for dummies 8 books in one.
I have ordered a 2 year guitar course on cdrom, and I am investigating online course too, possibly www.jamplay.com as a future avenue to follow. There is a guitar teacher who lives a few miles away, so that is also a possibility.
For now though, the fingers on my left hand are too sore to "play" for more than 5 minutes or so at a time. It looks easy. People play without looking at their fingers don't they? I am still struggling with my first 3 chords..........
So there you are. You are one of the first to know about my latest venture and perhaps that knowlege will keep me practicing. Meanwhile I am available for parties who require "Frere Jaques" or "Row,row,row your boat", both requiring only the E chord, Baby it's the guitar man!
Even better news is that there are all kinds of guitar gadgets on the market....

Out to lunch

2011-08-27T16:25:00.002+02:00

Yesterday I went out to lunch with the head teacher, maternelle teacher and one of the school's EVS helpers. They all drove into town (market day so parking is scarce) but I walked in to meet them. Of course just before I set off it started raining. The French weather, like elsewhere in the world has been all over the place. The wettest July since records began and not much improvement in August, except that last weekend we had a canicule (heatwave) over most of France.
The temperaratures soared up to 40 degrees C, with only a small reduction during the night. I don't have air conditioning, except for the draught that prevail during the winter months. I did buy a fan on a stand 2 years ago, so after more than a year of being redundant, it was put into service for a few nights.
Back to the present, and the promised sunshine shyly peeks out from behind the mass of grey cloud after a night of heavy rain.
Back to lunch. We went to the town's Leo Legrange centre, where the choir usually have their practice days. I had chicken paella (very small portion with a rather dried out piece of chicken carcass on top) while the others had steak frites (steak and chips), so not very adventurous. In fact I find that the French are not very adventurous when it comes to food. For example they don't seem to like curries, mexican food, traditional chip shop fish and chips........ Normally steak frites is a small piece of very chewy meat with hard, stick thin chips. Of course this time the steak was big, the chips fresh and chunky and it came with salad.
During the meal the head teacher said that she doesn't think that I will be returning to her school, and that it is possible that I will be assigned to a pupil with some kind of disability in one of the schools. She said that she will do some phoning around on Monday to see if she can find out anything for me.
There is a meeting for all EVS on Thursday to which I have received an invitation to attend so I may have to wait until then to find out my fate.

The waiting game

2011-08-26T08:51:00.003+02:00

Hello to anyone still out there. A lot of things have happened since my last blog and perhaps I will get round to adding some of them to this blog. However as a blog is supposed to be an up to the minute account of one's life as it happens, perhaps it would just confuse folks and / or just be tooo boring. For example I have been on holiday to Canada, spent a few days in New York, visited Niagara Falls, been to the 2 weeks of music that is Bluesfest in Ottawa.
There, you are all nodding off already.
I am still alive and kicking and back in France again. Some of you may recall that I was working as an AVS (assistant vie scolaire) as an admin assistant. The French government continues to make big cuts to the education system. As well as closing schools, shutting down classrooms and thus getting rid of teachers, cutting the number of EVS posts (people who asist one or more children with disabilities in the classroom) the number of AVS posts have also been cut.
I am lucky because they are honouring the last 9 months of my 2 month contract, but I will have to split my 20 hours between two schools, instead of spending all my time at one. For the first 2 months of this final stint of my 2 year contract, the schools have been closed for the summer holidays. I therefore start work again for the last 7 months, on the 1st of September. The only question is WHERE???? I will not necessarily work 10 of the hours at the primary school where I have worked up until now. I could be put anywhere within the area covered by my regional school board from some small village up in the mountains, to one of the towns.
I am lucky as I have my own car, but there must be many others out there who have to rely of the almost non existent public transport system and who will now possibly have to double the number of journeys that they have to make per week. Travel costs are not paid by the state or by the education department.
Hopefully I will get some instructions as to where to go before I start next Thursday.... so I sit and wait.

Putting the clocks back in time.

2011-01-07T19:44:00.002+01:00

Many of you will be wondering whether the renovation of the clock tower in the village where I work was refurbished in time for Christmas. With a week and a half to go, the clock faces suddenly reappeared and the scaffolding came down and the bells began striking the hour and the half hour once again.
I didn’t have enough time to climb the hill to make a closer inspection of the works before the end of term, but perhaps I will get a chance soon this year.

Anyway it looks very nice from the main road with its new creamy coat of paint.

Not a rockery then.

2011-01-04T17:21:00.000+01:00

On the 8th of December I was sitting in Rigsby towers when I heard a loud “Beep! Beep!” reversing noise coming from the main road. Grabbing my trusty camera I looked out of my window.

Yes it was a load of earth in a big tipper lorry.
It was the most exciting thing that had happened all day so I felt that I had to monitor its progress.

The soil was tipped and a few days later some small bushed appeared. Lovely!

Surely this is the end? Don’t worry, as your reporter on the spot I will keep you posted.

I talk to the trees. Is it a dinosaur?

2011-01-01T15:04:00.004+01:00

Walking into town I noted that many of the trees lining one bank of the river had been chopped down. Looking more closely I saw an animal looking back at me.

Is it a horse? I asked myself, “or is it a dinosaur?”

Happy New Year!!!

All in all it’s just another brick (in the wall)

2010-12-28T18:55:00.001+01:00

Perhaps some of you will remember the saga of my neighbour’s wall, which has been ongoing for a few years now. Well I thought that it was all over and done with, but no.
A few months ago I was having a siesta when a loud rumbling noise disturbed my slumbers.
After a period of “surfacing” I made my way to the window.

There was now a number of large boulders in my neighbour’s garden.
Over the next few days a new trench was dug, foundations laid and two more walls and a gap appeared.

Where will it all end I asked myself?....

Merry Christmas

2010-12-25T15:23:00.001+01:00

Hello everyone. The castle and I would like to wish you all a Merry Christmas. Now stop reading blogs watch some festive television instead. Here is a recent photo of the castle to prove that it is still standing. It has been too cold in the evenings to go out and take photos of it bathed in blue light from numerous flood lights, golden lights at the windows and twinkly chasing lights on some of the turrets. The lighting will cost around fourteen and a half thousand euros this year.
Quite who is looking at the castle at night, I do not know. Everyone closes their shutters as soon as it starts getting dark, and there are no tourists around.....

This photo is unique. Someone had splashed the plant in the foreground with fluorescent green paint, loverly!

Tenants – Gawd bless ‘em

2010-12-21T18:02:00.001+01:00

Mason man still has no electricity in his flat. This does not really matter much as he seems to have vanished taking everything with him last Saturday afternoon. He has also removed his name from his post box. As far as I can tell he has not paid any rent since October. His next rent day is the 22nd of December so it will be interesting to see if any money comes in to my account then.
There is still a pair of his work boots under the steps outside. There used to be two pairs there.
I sent an email to the lettings agency about two weeks ago, after I saw him putting his television and various bits of furniture into an old car. The car battery was knackered so it wouldn’t start and he had to push it backwards onto the main road and then push it down the road to get the engine started.
I got an email back from the agency saying that they had not heard anything from him, but that they would let me know if they did hear from him. Nothing quite like having a proactive team looking after your lettings.
In France it is illegal to put tenants out into the street from some time in October until about spring the following year, so even if he doesn’t pay any rent I can do nothing about it.
The flat does not bring in much money per month, but a little is better than nothing at all....

Christmas is coming

2010-12-18T16:32:00.002+01:00

Excitement over Christmas has been mounting over the last month, but at a much reduced level to the excesses of TV and shop advertising seen in the UK. No Christmas tunes blaring out in the supermarkets is a blessed relief.

The school recently held a Christmas market which raised just over 1,000 euros. This means that all the children will be able to go on at least one outing next year, without the parents having to dip into their pockets for more cash.

On Thursday we had our special canteen Christmas meal. The venue was the community room under the town hall.

At ten to 12 a crocodile of around 90 adults and children set off on the 5 minute walk to the venue.

The staff of the CLAE (out of school hours support staff) were on duty to serve up the food and to clear up afterwards.

There was no music blaring out here either, just the excited chatter of children’s voices.

See the menu here if you want to know what we had to eat.

At twenty to two, coats, hats, scarves and gloves were put back on and we set off back to school for the penultimate afternoon.

The excitement was not over however. I had spent several hours wrapping up a book for each pupils as a present for Pere Noel to dish out during the afternoon.

When P.N. arrived he spoke fluent French with an thick Ariegeoise accent.. It had never crossed my mind that Santa would be able to speak foreign languages.

We started off in the Maternelle classroom and the awestruck children took it in turns to snatch their present from his hands.

The other three classrooms also received a visit with the coolest reception being received from the 10 -11 year olds.

Once Santa had gone, it was time to have cakes and juice to say goodbye to 3 pupils who are moving away from the area and who will therefore not be returning to us next term.

Occitan dancing

2010-12-14T18:34:00.000+01:00

Last Friday our local societe amicable for the local quartier held an evening of Occitan dance. It had been a beautifully warm day with temperatures around 17 degrees C, but by 8.30pm the temperature had plummeted to below freezing. Fortunately the event was being held in the local primary school in the next street.
The event was free for anyone to attend, so it seemed reasonable to expect a fair turnout.
There was a huge vat of vin chaude heating up on a gas ring, soft drinks, coffee and slices of cake, again at no charge.
At the height of the evening there were around 29 people there, including the 4 band members, adults and children. Of those, only 14 were from our society (2 of those were in the band). This was a very disappointing turn out, and once again the question will be asked, is it worth all the effort for such small numbers?

Occitan music all sounds the same to me, although I am sure that to the cognoscenti I expect that there us a huge difference between the different tunes.

I felt it my duty to help drink as much of the vin chaude as possible, but by the time that the evening fizzled out, there was still half a vat left.

The next event will be in January, when there will be a new year celebration with galettes and will also be the evening of the agm where the assembled throng will vote for the association’ next year’s President , secretary, committee etc.
In February we will have a visit from the region’s top storyteller. He has a huge following so there will be a lot of competition for the limited amount of tickets available to all, whether they are in the society or not. ...

Manifestation – even Rigsby is revolting

2010-12-11T12:27:00.001+01:00

It has been a difficult year for the French Government and for Mr Sarkozy in particular. The latest news is that he wanted small in stature body guards for a foreign visit to India and this bears out once again the fact that he is very conscious of his small stature. If he had lived even 50 years ago he would have been above the average height of 5 ft 3 inches, but now his 5 ft 5 inch height (1 inch shorter than Napoleon) leaves him 2 inches below average. This really should not matter as everyone knows that performance is more important than size.
The government’s performance regarding the primary education system has always been controversial. A few years ago the school week was reduced from 4 and a half days, to 4 days. This has lead to increasing discontent as the long school days are tiring the children out, and their performance is suffering as a result.
The schools appoint people to accompany children with disabilities during 20 (I believe) of their hours at school. These contracts used to be for 6 years, now the maximum contract is for 2 years, divided into parcels of 6 months, 9 months, and then a final 9 months. There is no job security and you can be made redundant at the end of any parcel of months.
There are also people like me as admin support, on similar contracts. The government decided to cut the admin posts and many disability support posts to save money.
Fortunately in my department they did not cancel any contracts, they just didn’t replace anyone whose contract had reached the end of their 6 or 2 year term.
The EVS, AVS and Directors/ Directrices of the region were invited to a meeting to discuss the situation, so you might expect that at least 180 people might turn up.
I was one of 19 people who attended. Of those at least 6 were Syndicat (union) officials. One was a directrice, and the rest were people coming to the end of a 6 year contract.
Part having your contract renewed (of course filling in forms, signing multiple copies of renewed contract in advance) is having taken part in training and having some kind of project. This is difficult for an admin assistant. It’s okay if you don’t know how to use a computer, there are courses. It seems that most of the courses on offer are deleted or cancelled, so it is difficult to meet any training requirement.
Even better is that no travelling expenses are paid to attend the training.
People complained about the chaos of their management and the rudeness of the staff managing their contracts.
The next part of the morning was a “march” to the Prefecture. People drifted off and only about 10 of us remained. We set off, impeding the traffic in the narrow streets. We then stood on the pavement and in the road outside the prefecture, while reporters poked their micros at the various union officials, someone took some video footage and two reporters took some photos. Our numbers had swelled again counting the 7 reporters, we must have been around 20 or so. I thought that we had demanded an audience with some educational bigwig, but after 30 minutes of standing around, I followed the example of several others and drifted off into the sunshine. Here is a link to the Depeche article with a photo containing Rigsby himself. If you click on the photo it will enlarge to see me better.

Getting back to the president, described in a recent Wiki leak as “thin skinned and authoritarian personal style” and “an emperor with no clothes” he does himself no favours by allegedly appearing drunk at a television conference during the recent G8 summit.

I think that he is just a bit out of breath myself.

Gordon Ramsey, Jamie Oliver are just cooks

2010-12-08T16:00:00.001+01:00

Compared to me. I have been thinking of expanding my culinary range for some time and accordingly I recently bought myself a flan circle which has a glass base with the intention of making my first quiche. After all, how hard could it be? I couldn’t be bothered looking up a recipe but I had heard rumours that a quiche Lorraine required the following ingredients.

Pastry

Lardons (bacon bits)

Crème fraiche

5 eggs

I also added some pepper and a desert spoonful of moutarde a l’ancien

I unwrapped my packet of pastry, delighted to find that it was already in the shape of a circle. No rolling necessary. I greased the inside of my ring and the glass base with margarine to stop the pastry from sticking, then I fitted the pastry into the flan case.

Into the oven at 190 for 10 minutes.

It was a bit of a shock when I opened the oven and retrieved my pastry, to find that the pastry had puffed up rather a lot.

I pushed it back down as much as I could without breaking it, then poured in my quiche mixture containing the other ingredients before popping it all back into the oven.

Twenty minutes later I retrieved a slightly crispy cooked quiche from the oven. The quiche mixture had risen to give a light, fluffy texture.

It was time to release this mouth-watering meal, so I removed the scalloped ring. I reached for a wooden spatula and marked out 6 slices. I then attempted to remove two of the slices onto a plate.
The quiche was welded to the glass. Those of you who have watched these cooks on the television will know just how important presentation is.

Well at least it tasted like a proper quiche and not like the runny shop bought ones.
I phoned up S and told her about my pastry balloon. You are supposed to put in greased proofed paper and pour in rice or pebbles to stop the pastry rising, she said. You never told me that, I said. “You never asked” came the reply.....

Snow motion

2010-12-01T16:32:00.000+01:00

The weather forecasts or “meteo” have been fairly grim recently and most of the staff at the school had begun talking about changing their tyres for winter ones “pneu neige”. Snow was forecast for the following weekend and the following week, so I decided to bite the bullet and buy my first ever winter tyres. I set off with F and J-M to the nearest branch of FeuVert (Green Light) which is some 25kms away. I opted for 2 front winter tyres which after fitting, balancing TVA (VAT) came to 176.78 euros. The report on the fitting warned that my front brake pads would need replacing very soon.
The promised snow never came, so I do not know how they will cope with a snowy trip to school. I am hoping that any snow that does fall will come during the Christmas holidays.
This week I went back to FeuVert to get my brake pads done and to replace the original car battery.
I now have a fidelity card, so future purchases will give me as yet unknown benefits.
The cost of this latest outing was 211.39 euros, so a costly week car-wise.
Whilst I was there I enquired how much it would be to have a tow bar fitted to my car, as most of the bike racks seem to require one to fit on to. Okay, so I don’t have a bike, but it could be my route to peak fitness. The quote was for 348.90 euros.......Cycling is a mug’s game anyway.
We still have not had any snow, although most of the rest of France is covered in the stuff. Hooray!

La cantine

2010-11-29T18:22:00.004+01:00

Exciting news! The menu for the end of November, through to the end of this year has just been published. Currently I am taking advantage of the school meals which are delivered to the school. The meals cost 2.85 euros per day (about £2.60). The proud boast is that all the food used is “Bio” but I have my doubts. Most days there is one or more small plastic pots of yoghurt or mashed-up fruit cocktail and when cheese is on the menu, it comes individually wrapped in a very small plastic packet. Rumour has it that most of the food is not sourced locally and I think that feelers have been put out to find an alternative caterer, so we could have canteen wars at some time in the coming year.
Not that I’m complaining. Okay, I have to eat it sitting in a classroom, sitting on chairs meant for 6 year olds and at a desk sized appropriately, but I don’t have to buy much food, do much cooking or for that matter washing up. Luxury indeed.
Here is the latest menu. Apologies for the small type, but it arrives in a font size which is probably around 5pt. It is hard for them to fit the starter, main course, cheese, sweet / fruit into one line of an A4 page otherwise.

Current affairs

2010-11-27T17:30:00.003+01:00

It was a Friday afternoon. I had worked my two hours for the day, eaten my lunch in the school cantine and returned home. It was a dry day, so I decided to hoover, was the floors in my flat, then sweep and wash the stairs and main corridor. Mason man had not been around when I had come home, and I had seen him heading off to work (about time) at around 7:40am.
I heard a noise in the corridor and looked out of my window. An unknown car was parked there. I started on my apartment and by the time that I had finished that, the unknown person was driving off.
I picked up the broom and started sweeping my way down the stairs. There was a notice on Mason mans door, telling him that unless he chose a power company to supply his electricity within the next 48 hours, his electricity would be cut off.
A nice present for someone to come home to on a Friday evening!
I continued sweeping the stairs, took the corridor carpet outside, then started washing the wooden staircase from the 2nd floor, down to the entrance door.
I then replaced and hoovered the carpet. What a star!
Mason man eventually returned home and shortly thereafter I could hear him talking loudly, presumably on the telephone trying to prevent the threatened execution of his electricity.
On Sunday I returned home after being out for lunch just as Madame was heading out. She scuttled after me and told me that the EDF had come and cut off my tenant’s electricity supply. She suggested that I talk to mason man and find out exactly what the situation was... I did not share my knowledge with her and she went off down the path towards her car, safe in the knowledge that she had done her good deed for the day.
I expect that during the French Revolution, her ancestors did a lot of knitting.
UPDATE: His electricity was cut off sometime on Monday. It is now Thursday evening and he is still living in the dark .

An English lesson for the English

2010-11-25T20:56:00.002+01:00

Amongst the songs that the choir is learning this year, is one in the German language. As you will know, German is a very precise language. Amongst our number is a retired French lady who taught German in schools. I learned German for about 4 years in secondary school. I too know a bit about German pronunciation.
I sit silently while the choir leader tells us how to pronounce the words. He then sings them. Instantly all of the words lose their endings, becoming meaningless.
I say nothing. I sing the words putting in all the endings.
Over the last 3 weeks we have also begun to learn “Deep River”. This is written in English. I listen to the choir leader mangle the words. He is certain that he is pronouncing the words correctly. The result is unintelligible to any English speaker.
I stop singing as it is too painful. Eventually I am asked for my pronunciation of the words. I go over the words “eez” becomes is, “Dee Reeverr” becomes “Deep River” etc etc.
There are two people in the choir who are French but 1 who still teaches English in schools (a bass) and one a retired lady. The retired lady was not there that evening.
The following Monday there was a “women only practice”. On the Wednesday there was the usual “full choir” practice.
We plough through our songs, finally reaching the Deep River. We sing a bit, then some pronunciation clarification is sought.
I go over the words again. The male teacher tells me that I am pronouncing “Land” wrongly, it should be “Lend”. I assure him that it is pronounced land. He is convinced that I am wrong. So we now have the bass section singing “lend”. Personally I don’t go around telling French people how to pronounce French words, but the French have always been noted for always being right, or in other words they are never wrong.
At the end of the practice the female ex-English teacher took me to one side and asked me what I had been teaching the choir the previous Wednesday. I went through what I had said. Apparently there had been some dispute at the women only practice over how I had pronounced some of the words. People are convinced that I am pronouncing some of them incorrectly and have put it down to being Scottish pronunciation.
Just don’t get me started. Thank goodness they can pronounce English better than me.
No wonder the French children listen to English spoken by native Eengleesh speakers with complete incomprehension. What a stranje lend thees eeze! Bearing in mind that it was now nearly 11pm at night, I could not be arsed arguing about English. I said C used to be a German teacher, why isn’t she telling our leader that he is not pronouncing the German words correctly. The reply was that C had tried and been told by him that he spoke German and knew exactly how the words were pronounced...

Moi, à la fin de la journée, Je m’en fiche!!!!

Raclette grill

2010-11-23T17:23:00.001+01:00

After the success of buying a cheap yoghurt maker earlier in the year (still safely tucked up in its box n the spare room, thank you very much for asking), I have been hankering after a raclette grill as per one of my posts last year. Yes it is that raclette time of year again. I had been watching the prices in the shops and in the shop advertising which arrives in my letter box each week.
Finally there was a Tefal machine on special offer in a nearby town for 29.99 euros.
I started twitching. If I went out and bought one, when would I use it. It was for 6 people, when would I ever have six people over for a meal?
I procrastinated and managed to not jump into the car for a 50 or so kilometre round trip to buy one.
I happened to look at the Foire Fouille web site and there, on the front page of their online advertising, for 14.75 euros (about £13) was a Tristar raclette grill.
The very next day I made a 7 kilometer round trip and for once I managed to find something that was advertised.
I got it home and undressed it, admiring its oval shape. It has little cooking shovels for 8 people, there is an area on the top surface for cooking bits of meat etc and also a shallow round area where you can make crepes!!!
The instructions suggested washing the metal cooking surface, drying it and then switching it on for 10 minutes to burn off any remaining grease from the manufacturing process. I did this and was treated to my own little black mushroom cloud.
The cooking surface is advertised as non-stick but it looks more like black paint to me. Still what can you expect for the price?
Now safely back in its box, it is getting to know the yoghurt maker. Far be it from me to disturb them.
The strange thing is that looking back at my raclette blog from last year, the one that I have bought looks exactly the same as the image I used on that very blog.....
Last week I saw an electric cheesemaking machine in LeClerc ...........

Snow White and the 8 contes – Castagnade

2010-11-21T17:01:00.001+01:00

I missed the apple festival because of the choir weekend but now it is the turn of the châtaigne, or chestnut. At one time this small brown nut was a very important staple. Preserved, added to cakes, fed to cattle. Below is a part of a French Wikipedia article. "The term castagnade itself evokes the action of "chestnut" that is to say "pick up chestnuts, "in Occitan acampar las Chastanha. The practice of eating with family or neighbours of roasted chestnuts was called Roustide in Occitan rostida and French "toast." Thirty years ago the term "castagnade" appeared, gradually replacing that of Roustide. Synonym tasting Chestnut, the castagnade is a celebration related to chestnuts
The cultural history of the "bread tree" is centred on the chestnut and its shaft. Indeed, this fruit was the staple diet of men and beasts. Preserved in various forms (dried, flour ...), it allowed for a supply of food for the year.The fallen tree provided lumber, carpentry and cooperage. Its essence is rich in tannin, is deemed to be unalterable and defy time. Its hollow trunk closed with a door is still used to accommodate swarms of bees, this piece is called "Berle. "The chestnut is also an economic resource. During the Industrial Revolution (1882) Clement Faugier revolutionized the transformation of the chestnut by designing products like cream and chestnut puree."

When I arrived at the village mairie, two metal cylinders full of chestnuts were being rotated by hand over a blazing fire. I went inside and paid my 2 euro entrance fee.
The room was set out with chairs facing a small stage area in one corner of the room. The storytellers (conteurs) were already in situ. One was whittling a stick, one was hacking away at a branch, one was crocheting and one was peeling chestnuts.
The leaflet indicated that the event would start at 9pm, so at roughly 9:30pm after people had completed the greeting ritual, the show began.
There were roughly 60 people present, including a baby, a toddler and about 9 of the children from the school.
Each of the 4 storytellers took a turn at telling a tale, while the one working stage light, flickered rapidly on and off throughout.

The storytellers stopped. That was the first half of 25 minutes over. It was time for the castagnade.

Three long rows of tables and chairs had been set out in the adjoining room. Fortunately I was joined by the headmistress and her husband and the maire, so I had people that knew me, to talk to.

Big whicker trays of roasted chestnuts were brought to the table and decanted onto dishes for us to eat.

2 large jam making sized vessels containing the vin chaud, (hot wine / mulled wine) were brought in and ladled into our plastic cups. It was much to hot to drink, so I continued to peel my nuts and eat them, my fingers rapidly getting blackened from the soot.

The headmistress asked if there was anything else to drink, as she didn’t fancy the vin chaud and so it was that her, her husband and the mayor got given white wine. The mayor then had a beer for his next drink.
While the adults sat eating and drinking, the children ran riot amongst the tables and chairs in both rooms.
An hour later we had to go back to our seats for the part 2 of the contes. This time the children were sitting or lying on the bits of carpet which were laid on the floor between the first row of seats and the stage.

The tales in the first half had all been about nature, chestnuts, leaves etc and I had understood most of them.

For the second half they each told one story each, but I found it difficult to concentrate. The baby and the toddlers were making lots of noises and / or wandering round the room. Only one of the sets of parents tried to keep their toddler under control but they were fighting a losing battle.

Somewhere in the second last tale Blanche Neige (Snow White) and her dwarves came into the plot. I have no idea why. By the 8th and final conte, kids were wandering about on the stage, falling over, talking to themselves.... I have no idea how the man kept his concentration going. Perhaps it is often like this and therefore “normale.”

one of the activists just before he / she fell over onstage

Many of the French children are kept up very late at night by their parents and I have often heard the teachers discussing how completely knackered the children are them finding out how late they went to bed.
(It seems certain that the school hours / days will be changed once again, and Wednesday or Saturday morning schooling re-introduced, as child fatigue and the beefing up of the curriculum has left pupils and teachers struggling. If only the parents would put their kids to bed at 7:30pm like the English parents of a child at the school do .......)
Anyway, I digress. So that was my first celebration of the chestnut so I suppose you could say that I have lost my chestnut.
I wonder if they do a cherry festival anywhere nearby?

All along the watch tower - All tock and no action!

2010-11-19T17:35:00.026+01:00

After the visit to the graveyard during my recent lunchtime walk in the sunshine I continued on my tour of the village. The main feature of the village is a tower perched on a hill above it. It’s been covered in scaffolding for the last few months while the walls are repaired and re- crepied, so it was time for your roving reporter to see just what is going on up there.

I don’t know if it was one of the network of signal towers used to transmit messages across France in Napoleonic times. The neighbouring big town also has a similar tower, but there is no line of sight between the two as far as I can see.

The tower has always been closed when I have climbed up to it in the past. There are now 4 round holes in the walls, where the clock faces used to be.

What have they done with the clock bits? I hear you ask with genuine concern.

Well, I don’t know where the hands and other bits are, but the clock faces are stacked on top of each other on the grass.

clocked off

Will the work be completed before the end of the year? We will have to wait and see.
I stood on the hill with white butterflies fluttering around and bees buzzing by. The recent sunny November weather must be confusing the insect life. Certainly the flies are back in number in the classrooms.
From the hill you get a good view of the village and the surrounding hills. Here is one of the views, looking back towards the cemetery with its two plane trees? Still standing up straight like 2 sentries, with their green foliage still intact amidst the autumnal colours.

Oops! Is that the time? Work starts again in 10 minutes. Still, it’s downhill all the way.

Grave matters - Toussaint

2010-11-17T17:35:00.000+01:00

“During this bank holiday, French people traditionally pay tribute to their relatives but La Toussaint (French All Saints) is also today a good opportunity to get together and spend time with the family. Visiting cemeteries and bringing flowers to the graves of their loved ones is now part of French people's All Saints traditions. November the 1st is indeed a national Jour Férié in France, meaning that most of the shops, restaurants, schools and companies are closed. La Toussaint (All Saints Day), although deeply rooted in the Catholic religion, is actually widely respected in France and has given rise to a few customs. Generally speaking, French people like to attend the All Saints Mass to remember the Catholic Saints as well as honour their late relatives. Then they usually take the advantage of this bank day to visit some cemetery and lay down a symbolic bunch of flowers at gravesites as sign of honour. On November 1st it is a common sight to see French people laying chrysanthemums or wreaths of immortelles (everlasting flowers) on the graves of loved ones. Chrysanthemums are indeed so closely linked to La Toussaint that the French never give them as a gift.” (Thanks to http://www.french-property.com for the information). So what does this mean? Well some of the supermarkets are selling arrangements of plastic flowers, small plaques with appropriate messages on and bouquets of real flowers. Everything in fact, that the grave visitor might need.
The local cemetery in the commune in which I work has been tidying up over the last few months.

The interior cemetery walls have jet washed, the gravel on the ground has been topped up, and people have been tidying up the graves of their loved ones. Even the Jesuses have been given a lick of paint.

Of course some of the older graves remain uncared for, the plastic flowers faded to a dirty off-white colour, or with no flowers or ornaments left at all. Little white notices on these graves inform us that unless someone claims responsibility for the upkeep of the grave soon, the plot will be cleared to make room for a new occupant.

Here then are a selection of graves for you to admire.

The graveyard has magnificent views of the surrounding hills and the snow-capped Pyrenees some 40 kms. away, can be seen in the distance.

Moving experiences

2010-11-15T17:05:00.002+01:00

They live in a modern apartment block with nice wide tiled stairs, so quite why the numpties across the road chose to remove their two settees though the window of their 1st floor flat remains a mystery to me. Being geniuses they also didn’t ask any of the other residents if they would mover their cars so that they could hurling their furniture around with no chance of damaging occurring. Of course two of their mates chose to park in my garden and carry boxes across the road from the flat and load up their cars. Once again, not even a “Excuse me, I know that you have all these signs up saying private property and No parking, but can we park in your car park for a couple of hours so that we can help our mates move house...

I wonder how much it would cost to install an electricity supply down there and install those big posts that can rise up out of the ground?
A few days later I was taking advantage of another summer-like day, minding my own business, cutting my lawn, when an unknown van with a slatted double mattress frame pulls into my parking.
Fortunately I noticed that Madame was in the front passenger seat, so I kept mowing.
“We will need your help, she said. I want to install a sonnette at my bedroom window, so I will need to put a cord round the metal of the railings outside your bedroom window” she says.
The woman is mad, I think to myself. I ask her where exactly the sonnet will end up as I don’t want to have a doorbell right outside my bedroom window.
“He doesn’t understand a word that I am saying” she say to the man driving the van.
Eventually I understand. She doesn’t want to install a doorbell, she wants to hoist the mattress frame up in through her bedroom window using a block and tackle and rope looped round the railings outside my bedroom window.....
You see, if only the French would speak clearly....
A sweaty hour later, we had forced the bed through the window shutter frame and into her bedroom.
Her old bed mattress was still in situ, including the bedclothes, so the bed had to be stripped, the mattress manoeuvred to one side. The old mattress frame was covered in material and was thicker than the old one.
After attempting to saw it up so that it would go through the window, and finding that due to the wire frame and bedsprings inside that this was impossible, a hole was made so that the rope could be attached more securely for lowering it down, should we manage to fit it through the window.
We manoeuvred it almost completely through the window. Madame was supposed to take the weight of the frame on the block and tackle / rope combination.
The bed is over the sill and I am taking pretty much the whole weight myself. The man goes downstairs and thankfully I am no longer taking all the weight.. My arms are a few inches longer and my ribs feel as though they have popped out and back in again.
There is also the lawn to finish.
We put her bed back together complete with mattress and bedding, and I returned to my role as gardener, wringing with sweat.
Before you ask, the stairs in Madam’s apartment are very small and narrow, so the stairs were not an option.
Quite how one man and a woman with numerous disabilities including a bad back were intending to do this bit of sommeiller shifting on their own is beyond me.....

Boat

2010-11-13T18:04:00.001+01:00

Did I ever mention that I had a boat? S bought it for me about 7 years ago, while I was investigating the viability of buying a small narrow boat. The result of my investigations had been that the upkeep of a boat (maintenance, bottom scraping etc), mooring fees, fuel, emptying the sludge tank, insurances, licences, mariner training recommended etc, meant that only rich people could comfortably afford to own a boat.
Then there was the speed of the thing. Travelling at under 5 miles an hour (or was it kilometers) would mean that you would never get very far on a weekend before having to turn round and chug back. It would be like Groundhog Day, always reliving the same 15 miles of river ad infinitum. Yes I know that a few years ago you took 8 months off Christine, to travel the length and breadth of England, and yes the shots of your boat cruising down the Thames past Tower Bridge and the Housed of Parliament were impressive, but for me, it was not to be.
Whilst I had been round to the French family’s house for crepes I mentioned that I had a boat, which I had never used.
C looked sceptical, so I explained that it was still in its box and that I had never used it.
C and her youngest started hunting for batteries and I was despatched to get the boat and my car. They knew of a pond nearby where the boat could be sailed.
So it was that I unexpectedly found myself pulling into a small car park behind the nautical centre.
The boat was de-boxed and batteried up and for the next 30 minutes the two younger girls splished about in the muddy water manoeuvring the boat with the remote control.

look at that baby go!

The two big ducks were not impressed and stayed standing motionless on the bank of the pond.
After the boat had been tired of, we then played table tennis on a concrete table tennis table. C had brought along 3 bats and 3 balls knowing that the table existed. Unfortunately there was a large, deep puddle at my end of the table, so I had to play maintaining a motionless leys, straddle position.
This reminded me that I always wanted my own table tennis table, so I have mentally added it to my professional sized babby-foot table on my list of sporting items to acquire.

Mellow velo

2010-11-11T17:22:00.003+01:00

Two weeks ago, during the Toussaint holidays I climbed into my car and set off to follow C from the French family and the three girls to the nearest voie verte. Just as in the U.K., many local railway lines were closed down with quite a few now gaining a second lease of life as cycleways / walking paths. Unfortunately although the nearest cycle path is only a few kilometres away, much of the route follows a narrow, twisty, uphill route which has wire fences along one side to stop landslide rocks from hitting passing traffic (not always doing the job successfully).The plan is to eventually extend the cycleway to my town, but how they will manage that is a mystery to me.

The good thing about these cycle paths is that they are flat and mostly travel in a straight line. The bad thing is that this can be a bit monotonous.

The weather was warm and sunny as we set out to join the path, crossing over a viaduct with its intricate wrought iron balustrades still in good order.

The girls disappeared, returned, disappeared as we walked at an unnecessarily brisk pace along the path.

There was not much to see, trees, more trees, but I did find ripe chestnuts lying at the side of the path and there was also a tree with tiny plums, perhaps they were damsons.

We passed behind the centre for the underground river that I visited earlier this year and kept going, maintaining our fast pace.

Unfortunately I was wearing my ordinary shoes, so my feet began to hurt. I was sure to have some blisters the next day. The path was very hard and unyielding.
After about an hour and a half we stopped for a rest. I had been tasked with bringing my thermos containing hot water and a jar of hot chocolate powder for our half-time drink. The girls just love chocolat chaud.
We had been passed by two lycra-clad cyclists on the outward journey. On the way back it was rush hour. Cyclists, people, dogs.
The pace was still relentless and my left hip now joined my protesting feet but being a man I didn’t complain and kept smiling through the pain. All this exercise would be good for my regime is the thought that kept me from hopping over the fence, crossing a few fields and employing “le stop”, hitchhiking. I explained to C that I had been looking at the Decathlon website and that there was a promotion on that if you chose from a certain selection of bikes, they would deliver it to your house free of charge. C told me that this was not a good idea. They had recently bought the middle daughter a bike from Decathlon for her birthday. The assistant had spent half an hour making adjustments to the bike. What adjustments? I asked.I had the oldest daughter in my car as a passenger on the way back. “How did you manage to switch from driving on the left (in the U.K.) to driving on the right? Was it not very difficult?”

C listed the many essential adjustments most of which I cannot remember, even if I understood them at the time. They included saddle height (reasonable, and adjusting the wheel spokes with a special key..........???
If you buy a bike online you will not get all these adjustments C said, obviously thinking, just how mad foreigners are.

I shrugged modestly in Gallic fashion and thought “Yes, I am a frickin' genius.”

Little town squirt

2010-11-09T18:09:00.014+01:00

I was mooning around in Rigsby Towers recently when I heard the sound of running water outside. Earlier I had noticed Madame’s Portuguese friend examining Madame’s motley collection of plants that she keeps outside on her terrace during the warmer months. This must be the day to take all the plants inside her apartment, I thought. No room for her to move around inside until next May or June.
Madame had my hose out and was standing in her doorway dressed in her dressing gown, directing the jet of water at all the mud and crap that had accumulated over the year.

She was not making a very convincing job of it. so her pal took over the hosing.

The result of this cleaning spray, was that my paths and steps were covered in dirt, grit and mud.
All the rest of her crap, old sink, bits of wooden box, broken plant pots, breeze blocks, red bricks, broken wooden chair etc remained in situ. Some people might think that she is a lazy wotsit. Surely not...... She does possess a broom, but it was not woken from its slumber against the wall. Despite her often telling me that the twig brush is the best, I have only seen her use it once in over 2 years.
She has been hard “at work” over the past weeks, going to demonstrations with her banner and loudhailer. She must be exhausted poor thing ......
Miaowww!

Shelf-ish - School library

2010-11-07T09:40:00.056+01:00

Just why is the maire standing in a room, talking to a gathering of people?

Well this was the recent official opening of the little library at the school where I work.

To get to it, you have to climb a rickety old wooden spiral staircase, through 2 doors and then you are in a small room with 3 bookcases, some rugs, cushions, a table and chairs and a small sofa. Not forgetting the large blue ball which lives on top of the non-fiction bookcase.
At 6pm we were all gathered together in the school canteen waiting for him to arrive. After 10 minutes there was a consulting of mobile phones to see if anyone had his mobile number. Luckily the teeny-weeny lady who cleans the maire and the school had his number. He was sure that the headmistress had told him to be there at 6.30pm. he would be there directly.
The assembled throng was not convinced by his story as the written invitations clearly said 6pm, and he had already been similarly late for a meeting the week before.
They are very proud of their library. Instead of all the books being scattered throughout the 5 classrooms, they are now gathered together in the one place. Oh, alright then, just for the anoraks.
Fiction is arranged a-z by first letter of the author's surname and the non-fiction clumped into broad dewey decimal system bands of 000's, 100's 200's etc.
Yes I know, I know. The systems were already in place before I got there. I have however put the fiction into A-Z order as it was just anywhere on the shelf before I got involved..

Speeches made, everybody set off downstairs, only the children having troubled the books on the shelves.

There were various cakes and eats on the tables and two bowls of planters punch.
There was coca-cola and orange juice for the non- drinkers.

I hope that the cleaner wasn’t driving, because she was really enjoying the punch, which was quite strong.

No one disgraced themselves. All the food which had been prepared by two of the teachers was eaten up.
The maire (mayor) is by far the most powerful person in any French community, so it does no harm at all to invite him along to things. Most, if not all school expenditure is controlled by the mayor and we may even get a decent bookcase for the non-fiction books as a result.
I am currently processing 69 new books for the library and we need something more safe and stable than we have at the moment. I don’t know where the big blue ball will move to though.......
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the mayor. What a nice man!

No U F O

2010-11-05T17:30:00.002+01:00

At around 9.30pm one evening, I happened to glance out of my window. There was a strange blue light moving between my path and the grass.

I switched off my room light and went to get my camera to record the event. Perhaps the papers would pay handsomely for photos of a U.F.O., especially after recent sightings over various cities throughout the world.

It was dark outside, and despite setting my camera to 800ASA, its fastest setting, I wasn’t having much success.
I realised quite quickly that it must be mason man, hanging his washing on the line under cover of darkness.

It had been a sunny and he had been in all day, so it remains a mystery as to why he chose that time of night to do his washing.

He is Portuguese, so perhaps it is there equivalent of the Germans booking all the sun beds in advance with their towels ....
Or perhaps he just wanted to try out a new headband torch. It rained all day on the Sunday and he was working away all week so the washing stayed on the line until late the following Friday.

Still on the job 3.11.2010

2010-11-03T16:52:00.002+01:00

Well have finally received a copy of the contract renewal paperwork, so I will be in employment until at least the end of June 2011, with the possibility of a final renewal of 6 months after that. So good news on the financial front. Especially as the French government has had about 4 thousand euros off me recently in income tax, social charges and other taxes. I did get my promised tax rebate on the 3 new double glazed windows that I had installed last September, so that clawed a bit back.
Next years tax demand will cover my first period of employment, so I dread to think how much they will want from me next year.
I should be grateful that I don’t have to pay rent as that would seriously damage my wealth.
Just don’t get me started about the UK Government dicking about and raising my pension age to 66 (thanks for that, you well paid, gold-plated “I’m alright so what’s the big problem?” tax evading bastards). Allegedly.

Weather report

2010-11-01T18:24:00.000+01:00

You may be interested to know that if you have been reading my blog since it recommenced in August this year, (after a break of about 3 months), you have read over 26,500 words. So to give you all a rest and me too, I will try to make the next few posts as brief as possible. The rain has been coming down non-stop for around the last 24 hours and looks set to continue for at least the next two days.
This is not such good news as a few weeks ago we had continuous torrential rain for 3 days and this was the result in my living room, with water trickling down the wall.

I believe that the roof is still under its 10 year guarantee, so I must do something about getting this and the other two stained areas, one of which is in the small bedroom at the back, sorted out before the snow and ice come.......

Randautomne the 2nd walk

2010-10-30T17:21:00.003+02:00

Tradition dictates that in the Sunday evening, the weary revellers adjourn to R and J’s house to eat up all the leftover food and drink what remains of the liquid refreshments. It was still only mid afternoon, so there was time to fit in another walk. There was a choice of visiting a church (uphill walk), or visiting a spring which has very iron-rich water (level walk). Our official walk organiser obviously wanted to do the uphill walk, but the majority did not. So he disappeared for the rest of the afternoon.

J, having the local knowledge led the way along the metalled road. A minute or two later, we were in open countryside, with a river running nearby to our right.

Like most communities, this one still has its public wash house, with its 2 large rectangular basins full of water.

This one was in very good condition but I doubt that it is used at all today.
A bit further on the river branched. The smaller of the two branches flowed at a brisk pace towards us, and lead to an “old” mill house which is still occupied either as a summer holiday home or full time. The water roared down two sloping channels, disappearing right under the house.

The gradient of the road had started to increase ever so slightly.This lead to complaints from some of the walkers who had been promised a level walk, but with nowhere else to go we all continued onwards.

The next building of note was a small electricity generating station, taking advantage of the fast flowing river nearby.

There was a strong temptation to ask “are we nearly there yet?” as we trudged on in the sunshine, admiring the mountains in the distance.

The cows are back down from the mountains, and we witnessed 50+ white cattle trooping into a field.

Eventually we reached a house by the side of the road with the information we were waiting for.

A car had whizzed past us earlier at speed, and it was parked up waiting for us. Yes the 80 and 88 year old tearaways had arrived.

Unfortunately lulled into a false sense of security, I had taken off my walking boots and put on my trainers for the advertised “short walk”.
We sploshed along a boggy river bank path, before coming to a bridge made from rotting railway sleepers which enabled us to cross to the other side.
Then it was across a muddy field, a 4 foot wide muddy stream, a bit more muddy field, through a gate and there it was in all it’s glory. The fontaine ferrugineuse.
I had expected some kind of ornate fountain, similar to those seen in most French communities.
This fountain is just water trickling out along a piece of stone or metal which jutted out from a stone wall, and thence wound its way along the ground in a reddish brown smear.

The lack of a formal fountain did not seem to bother my fellow choristers. They had brought along a few empty plastic bottles and proceeded to fill them from the fountain. Most of us ventured a few mouthfuls. It tasted faintly metallic, but not unpleasantly so. As I write this we are all still alive.

We retraced our route, back to the village and eventually there were 18 of us at J and R’s house for the onion soup that she had made and the leftovers.
We all crammed into the kitchen whilst the onion soup was cooked or gratained in the oven. The cooking was delayed while J waited for the dishwasher to finish. If she switched on the cooker at the same time it would have blown the electrics.
We had had a whip round for J and R and she was presented with a big bouquet of flowers and I think that R received some bottles of wine.
J was outraged, she would never invite us back again, she was not expecting anything from us. The president told her that this was tough, as we would not be taking the presents back. J burst into floods of tears...... Ooh la la!

I had always thought that onion soup was a thin liquid with bits of onion in it. This soup looked like bread and butter pudding. As well as onions etc it also had lots of quartered slices of bread in it, it had almost no juice at all. It was very tasty though.

one of the soups

I could only manage one ladle full, still being completely full after the lunch. I did manage a half glass of real champagne of course. I have been trying to lose weight by eating smaller portions and I just can’t eat much at a time these days.

The rest of the choir members had no such problems, ate their soup and then started on the pizzas, apple tarts, etc etc.

Where do they put it all?

Randoautomne – le repas

2010-10-28T16:05:00.002+02:00

We arrived at a small village and parked where we could. Heading for the village hall I spied our 80 year old member, who had not been on the walk. He seemed to be climbing up a shrub, growing on the front of a house. Unfortunately I was carrying bags of food so I missed taking that shot, but as I waited for my camera to power up, he spotted me and moved rapidly towards me. I pressed the shutter and thought “my camera won’t cope with this” Mais voila here he is clutching his grapes, or I should say, clutching someone else’s grapes.

Tables had been laid and various foodstuffs were laid out on tables at each end of the room. The sweet things were in one area, the salty things in another. Outside, under a makeshift awning, and leaving about 16 inches between the bbq and the toilet door, meat was beginning to sizzle.
Now it was time to get serious and the apero drinks and nibbles were consumed. We were supposed to all bring our couverts, no not blankets, but knife, fork, plate, glass etc.
It became obvious that many had forgotten to follow this instruction, so J who has a house in the village, set off in her car to source 15 couverts. I had my set, just in case you were wondering.

The meal passed off well, and as well as meat in various states of cookedness, I ate quiche, pizza, rice, etc as well as things that were a mystery to me. Then there were the various deserts......
During the meal there were various speeches and toasts. One of the speakers congratulated M for organising the choir’s first annual walk in the rain and snow. M became a bit defensive and miffed at this point. Here is my friend Rene, saying a few words, still going strong at 88. He later gave me details for hiring the hall. 36 euros for the whole day, including heating and everything, he said.

The meal dragged on a bit, as meals do over here, but eventually people started to pack up their stuff and drift away into the now sunny afternoon.

I remained behind because once we had put the chairs away, removed the paper table cloths, killed the bbq etc there was more entertainment to come.

Randautomne – Sunday morning muddy waters

2010-10-26T17:36:00.005+02:00

On Sunday morning I had difficulty focusing on breakfast. My head hurt a bit too. I thought that it might be the change in the weather, but the majority seemed to think that it was due to the prune spirit. We don’t touch it they said, it’s bad stuff and it makes you feel ill. Now they tell me!
The view out of the window was not promising. It had snowed on the mountains across the valley from us overnight. It was drizzling and misty.

“I’m not walking in this weather” said Ctte. “I once joined a walking group and we carried on walking even when a snow blizzard came, and we even stopped to eat our food while it snowed.” This is the third year in a row that she has told me this story.

We set off in our cars descending down the single track zig-zagging road, like a long metal centipede.
I had switched on my GPS, but shortly after setting off, it mooed like a cow twice and stopped giving me instructions.
I just followed everyone else. We had been given permission to use a forestry road which was not generally accessible to the public.
We turned off the little road and onto a bumpy, lumpy track, eventually coming to a halt on a flat bit that was suitable for parking about 12 cars.
“But where is M who is leading the walk?” someone asked.

Lost in France

Where was he indeed. People tried his mobile, no reply. Eventually they managed to contact a couple who had gone to buy bread for the midday meal. We gave them directions so that they could come and share our pain. They were in a Landrover discovery, so the terrain was no trouble to them. When they arrived, Mr Landrover managed to raise the husband of the Choir president.
New directions were transmitted and we bumped back down the track to the road and then into a car park, we then transferred into fewer cars and set off again, this time 5.8km off up another forestry track nearby.
It was raining now, and we passed Ctte’s car sitting all alone by the side of the track. So she had decided to do the walk after all.
We finally arrived to join the others. N went off into the undergrowth for a pee and came back with a large mushroom.

We already had one satisfied customer. Once suited and booted we set off up the track. This is easy I thought, just like the details said, suitable for everyone.
Twenty paces into the walk and we left the track and headed off up a 60 degree incline path into the trees.
It was not easy going at all. It was uphill all the way, following a twisty single file track through the trees. We sploshed through mud, small streams, twisting back on ourselves but ever upwards. Talking was not an option as we huffed and puffed.
We passed these old animal bones fixed to a tree.

We were in hunter territory. Then it started to snow. 5 minutes later a meeting was held and a number of people turned back, not wanting to get stuck on the mountain if it got worse.
We carried on up the hill passing 2 groups of hunters, complete with camouflage gear and rifles coming down.” When the weather is bad like this”, said one “we stop and head for home”. We carried on up into the thickening skies.

About 15 minutes later we reached our destination. A mountain refuge.

We ate some cakes and explored the WC that had been constructed, complete with a plastic chair as a throne, located a short distance behind the refuge.

no one on the French throne

I wonder where all the waste goes, or perhaps doesn’t go at all.
We then set off back down, honour having been satisfied. It took an hour to get back to the cars. On the way down I passed this little arrangement nestling between two rocks.

A way of sharing hunting information perhaps?

We had asked Ctte why she had left her car in the middle of nowhere. She told us that she had very little petrol left and that if she ran out on the way down, the emergency services would not have so far to go to find her.
In the end, she refused to drive her car and the president’s husband had to do it.

The choir randautomne - Saturday

2010-10-24T16:17:00.004+02:00

The choir has been back at work since the beginning of September. Many of the old stalwarts have left but a few new members have drifted in and out and are still deciding whether they will pay the annual membership fee, which has gone up to nearly 80 euros plus an extra 10 – 20 euros for music scores. The new committee members have been voted on and are now in their roles of treasurer, secretary etc I must admit that I have not paid yet. I was waiting to see if I would be unemployed as that would have been a much cheaper membership fee. I will have to get my chequebook out after the Toussaint holiday break.
Every year the committee organises a weekend away, so that we can all bond and get some extra choir practice in.
Since I joined in 2008, accommodation has been at a mountain centre about 40 minutes drive from where I live. This year was no exception and just like last year the number of people attending was not high, especially when you consider that kids and partners can come along too.
For the Saturday afternoon practice we had 23 people, plus the chef de choeur. We have about 60 members.
The number of people staying for the evening meal, bed and breakfast, dropped even further.
This did not deter those remaining behind from enjoying themselves however, and there was the added bonus that it was no problem to get a room all to oneself.
The main official entertainment of the evening was to be a showing of the DVD made from one of our performances of the fisherman and his wife, earlier this year.
Here (out of sequence), they are watching as the big paper fish rises from the depths to make the fisherman’s wife’s latest request come true.

Before this could take place however, there was singing to be done and there were new members present so an initiation ceremony would be needed.

Here is a video of part of a song which was led by J, who seems to be the official entertainment officer, a sort of redcoat with a blackberry on top.

In 2008 I had been the new member, so now it was my turn to enjoy watching it all from a distance. Basically it is like the minister’s cat game, only here an item is added to the shopping list each time and has to be accompanied by the appropriate actions. The sound quality is not good as the audience was enjoying itself too much.

All thoughts of the rain forecast for the walk on Sunday seemed to be forgotten. Helped of course by the whisky, wine, prune spirit, rikiki etc.

“Jumpers” = 1er RCP – Régiment Chasseur Parachutiste – Pamiers

2010-10-22T22:09:00.001+02:00

Directions on how to find the camp were not good at all and it was not where I had found it on google map. We asked directions and the second person sent us in the right direction. Although it was an open weekend, there were no posters up to point the way.

After the rain of the previous day (too windy for the helicopters to fly), the sun was shining. It looked like being a nice afternoon.

We parked in the car park just outside the camps boundary fence and walked through the gates, past smartly dressed soldiers from the regiment, who were handing out leaflets about the event.

There was a plane parked on the grass and we strolled around it watching as a boy of around 10 posed in the doorway of the plane, wearing a helmet and a small parachute pack, having his photo taken by one of the soldiers.

There were tents advertising various goods and services, cars, hot tubs, solar panels, bicycles, etc Further on there were stalls selling wines and spirits and the usual farmers market staples such as cheese, james and honey, sweets etc

In the distance small helicopters were taking people up for short rides at around 35 euros a trip. F liked the soldiers uniform trousers, so she asked one of the parachutists if there was somewhere that she could buy a pair. I could see that it was going to be a long afternoon. She was directed to the building housing the stores, I suppose that it would be the equivalent of a NAFFI store. You could buy bottles of regimental wine, a book about the history of the parachute regiments, a book of songs that the regiment sings. There were clothes and although they were in plain view, F accosted the biggest soldier she could find to aid her in her quest for trousers. Alas there were none in her size, they were too long for her she said. The soldier politely told her that his trousers were not for sale.

She had to content herself with a regimental badge key ring.

Back out in the sunshine, she stopped another soldier and asked him what the time was....

Spotting a blonde female parachutiste, F said loudly, Look, there are even women soldiers. Since we had already passed one or two other female soldiers I don’t quite know what her point was.

It took us no time at all to visit all the stalls twice and for F to inform the female soldier manning the territorial army truck, which had all the raffle prizes on display, that the scooter was soon going to be won by her (she had bought 2 tickets during the week). The soldier explained that when F won it, she would not be able to take it away as it would need to be licensed first.

We watched as a string of parachutists jumped out of a helicopter. The first soldier came down very fast, but the others seemed able to zig-zag about the sky at will, even gaining height. Their chutes were very small, presumably as they were not jumping with full kit.
Next came the display and soldiers armed with machine guns and other weapons started to assemble, as did a line of army vehicles, including a tank, a big artillery piece, a military JCB, armoured cars etc,

Throughout the display, American rock music belted out, Eye of the tiger, the theme from Top Gun are two that I remember.

The regiment is now in training prior to going to Afghanistan in May next year. It will be one of the last regiments to go out and will hand over to Afghan troops at the end of their tour of duty, in December 2011.

Raptor group was on display. About 90 men and associated vehicles and hardware including dogs and their handlers. After their demonstration the public could enter the parade ground and ask the soldiers questions.

It was getting cold but the raffle draw was not for another hour, so we hung about waiting. There were a lot of soldiers there, many from other French parachute regiments and strangely enough the place was crawling with lots of blonde young ladies in very tight jeans. How did they know that I would be there?

There were also lots of soldiers with their wives or girlfriends, pushing tots in baby buggies.
At long last it was 5:15 and the crowd had assembled ready for the draw. It was announced that there would be a 10 minute delay and the crowd murmured its discontent.
I was trying to stave off hypothermia while watching F accost 2 different couples, each of whom were pushing 2 push chairs “Are they twins?”
She also managed to walk backwards into a kerb and I managed to grab hold of her before she hit the ground. Would the bloody draw ever happen?
There must have been about 100 prizes. It was going to take some time, as after 10 minutes we had still only reached the 15 euro off a hair cut prizes.

Gradually, very gradually, the value of the prizes mounted, and we reached the 200 euro mark. This was a box of money off vouchers, and guess what, they read out every last one of the vouchers,. who had donated them, and what they were for. It’s no wonder that people lose it and run amok.

Next prize was also 200 euros worth of vouchers, these vouchers were not all the same as the vouchers in the first box, so guess what........

As the draw progressed, it became obvious that the soldiers had bought a lot of tickets. Quatrieme Companie was winning a lot of prizes. F was not contente, and each time one of them won a prize, her voice got slightly louder as she voiced her opinion that this should not be allowed.

I slowly edged my way backwards and to the side, in case anyone thought that I was with her. J-C had already disappeared off to the loo several times and was having a cigarette in the background somewhere.

Yes it was amazing that with her two tickets, F did not win the scooter, the washing machine, the bike, the large flat screen TV, the 1000 euro oven, or even 10 euros off a hairdo..

It was interesting to see the regiment and to learn a bit about them. They seemed very young, I hope that they all return safely from Afghanistan next year.

France is a striking country

2010-10-20T22:12:00.000+02:00

Demonstrations and strikes have been going on for some weeks now here in France and the action is becoming more sustained and violence has started breaking out. As I write this on Wednesday evening (yes I know I should be at choir practice), tomorrow will be another day of strikes and demos, it is also the day that Sarko will finalise the raising of the pension age from 60 to 62. Being British and a child of the late -50’s this is all pretty tame stuff to me. I remember the miners strikes, selective electricity blackouts sitting huddled round candles in the living room, bin strikes, strikes for higher pay, firemen strikes... the list of strikes was endless. May Day rallies were also attended. I particularly remember a shambling Michael Foot making a speech one year.
While working in Glasgow, I went on strike pretty much every year to protest about pay, cuts in services etc. I was once suspended indefinitely without pay for following union instructions and opening a library which the management had decreed should be shut.
There were about 8 or so of us suspended that day.
Yes it was a bit worrying, but after a bit, the Union decided to pay us the equivalent of our wages from a levy from union members.
It was all very interesting and we had to go to lots of meetings and pubs as part of it all.
Other council departments came out in support from time to time. In between meetings .I decorated the hall to pass the time. At least 2 of the others who had been suspended had break-downs and were never the same again.
The climax of it all came after a month at a meeting held in a theatre of library staff. This meeting changed my life and my outlook on my fellow workers.
The motion was that because management had not budged and had also refused to say that we would get our jobs back, that it should be further strike action to support those in suspension.
Then a weasely librarian, one T. J. stood up, and swayed the gathering with how he couldn’t afford to go on strike, he had children etc etc etc. If they went on strike they could all lose their jobs......
A vote was taken and the result was effectively that those of us who had been suspended would not be supported and no further strike action would be taken. So we were royally shafted.
Fair enough you might think, democracy and all that, however I later learned that T.J. also sold double glazing on the side and was sending his kids to a posh boarding school. I had barely spoken to the man before, but I never spoke to, or acknowledged his presence again.
Fortunately, shortly afterwards, management did give us our jobs back, but, as I said earlier, several of the suspendees were left with lasting mental and emotional problems.
It remains to be seen if the strike will continue into next week and the Toussaint holidays and even beyond.
My only comments on events are:
It is time that the EU governments did something about those robbing bastard bankers
Members of Parliament should live in their constitiencies and pay their taxes in the country that employs them. Just like the electorate that they claim to represent have to do.

Café society

2010-10-18T18:28:00.001+02:00

I was pottering about at home on the Saturday afternoon, when my phone rang. It was F. She was in a café waiting for the J-M to arrive back from his bus trip to Pas de la Casm to buy their cigarettes and perfume and she was bored.
It was about 3pm, so I put on a jacket and headed off into town. I found her sitting outside the cafém puffing away on a fag.
We went inside where it was warmer and I had a succession of beers, whilst we waited for J-M. His bus was due at 5:30p; she said. At 5:30 she phoned him up to find out where he was. The customs officers had stopped all vehicles and inspected everyone’s papersm but now the bus was stopped at Ax due to a road traffic accident involving a motorcyclist, who appeared to be dead at the scene.
He eventually arrived at about 6.30 pm.
We had 2 more beers and them headed off for a pizza. I declined the offer of coming back to their flat for a drink, and made it home for 9.30pm Quite a long outing for a cup of coffee.
During my coffee break I learned that Madame and the two of them were no longer friends and that there was no chance of them ever being friends again. They were sorry they said, but they would not ever be coming to my flat for drinks as they did not wish to even see Madame in passing again.
There were many slights imagined or not, which had been building up. The last straw had been when they saw her at the demonstration in town on the Tuesday after the roast beef. The invalid who had been too tired to stay for supper, too tired to make the trip to see the parachutists, had been stomping about shouting into a megaphone, and when she had spotted J-:M, she had just turned her back on him.
This time it is over for good, They had had words on the phone, airing their respective grievances and had both said that this was the END!
Always remember boys and girls, that hell hath no fury like a French woman scorned. mind you there are a lot of nutters of other nationalities out there too.....

Have you heard the one about le Rosbif and le rosbif

2010-10-16T17:54:00.004+02:00

At 11:25 I went downstairs to wait for Madame as I knew that she would be going to F and J-M’s flat for the roast beef lunch.

An yes of course the fact that the French refer to the English as les rosbifs is just as funny the 300th time that you hear about it as on the first occasion.
Eventually she shuffled out of her apartment clutching a plastic bag with bottles in it, and sporting a strap on leg brace on one calf, She was exhausted after her Paris trip. 5 hours standing in the Louvre, 5 hours standing in the gardens of the Palace of Versailles etc etc.
Was I going to F’s house for lunch? She enquired (as if she didn’t know). Yes I said.
Off we went down the steps, her dog dancing excitedly round us. I had thought that we would walk down together, but as we reached her car she said that she was too worn out to walk. She was taking her car. There was a long pause. Did I want a lift?
We arrived in one piece and gained entry through the various security gates.
We listened once again to Madame’s tales of self inflicted woes.
Le apero nibbles arrived to take her mind off things, and she dug in.
F told her how fantastic her birthday had been the previous weekend. 15 all.
The roast beef arrived on the table. The British are used to a well done piece of uniformly grey meat, with perhaps a slight pink blush spreading from the centre.
The French prefer to heat up the oven. put the joint of meat in for 3 minutes or so, or until the very outside of the meat goes grey, then whip it out again.
The result is a piece of meat just as raw as before it entered the oven.
Being debonair and cosmolopitan and once having ordered steak tartare in a restaurant in France in the ‘80s ,(thinking that it must be steak with tartare sauce) I am prepared to munch my way through most things with my sang froide in tact.
After the meal, F wanted to watch the DVD of birthday photos that I had made for her, complete with soundtrack (Thin Lizzy’s “Parisienne walkways”).
F just loved her DVD and played it over and over and over and over.......
I had arranged to take F and J-M to the parachute regiment open day the following weekend, did Madame want to come too? No, she was far too tired and would need to rest.
Madame decided that she was now even more tired. You understand 5 hours in the Louvre, 5 hours at the Palace of Versaille, the hard Parisian pavements.....
F and J-M wanted us to stay to supper. I thought that it was best if I left at the same time as Madame so we thanked our hosts and off we went.

The decisive moment

2010-10-14T16:10:00.000+02:00

One of my photographer heros has always been Henri Cartier-Bresson. He was born in 1908 and he championed the idea of “the decisive moment”. That is to say, taking the photo at exactly the right time, not a second before, not a second after, capturing the “perfect shot”. I particularly admire his street photography as I enjoy taking photos of people in the street as well. Here is a famous example of his work, taken in the Rue Mouffetard, Paris 1954.

Here, quite unintentionally, is my modern version, taken in Ax-les-Thermes recently.

I think you will agree that the only differences are that mine is in colour and has a rather large bird and her mother plus some cars in it........ Who's the daddy?

School la Rentree

2010-10-12T15:06:00.001+02:00

I am still working at the school. My contract ran out on the 30th of Sept and so my head teacher rang up one of her pals to see if there was any news about my future. After some research, it was reported that my contract had been renewed for a further 9 months, and that someone should have phoned me to that effect. Nobody had of course. There was no news as to whether I would be staying at the same school though. So no immediate return to my Gaye Pole emploi days.
Some days later it was reported that 14 admin staff had lost their jobs in the Departement. Their contracts had run out and they were not going to be renewed or replaced.
Nationally, some 14 – 16,000 AVS posts have been axed, as the government attempts to save cash,
As I write this blog, on the 9th of October, I await written confirmation and a new contract, or any official confirmation of same, or where I will be working.
Still, my situation is nothing in the greater scheme of things as the French continue to voice their displeasure at Sarkosy’s plans to raise the retirement age from 60 to 62,
I have lost count of the number of demonstrations and stike days so far. There is to be another day of action on Tuesday 12 October, so I wouldn’t advise making travel plans to or from France on that date. Plus, rain is forecast.
I believe that things will escalate thereafter, with a series of selective strikes every couple of days.

F’s birthday

2010-10-10T16:52:00.001+02:00

At 11:55 am I headed back down the road clutching flowers and a birthday card. It was to be a small gathering< None of her children were coming down from Paris Madame was in Paris, and someone else who was due to turn up didn’t come and didn’t phone to cancel. Their next door neighbour, a blonde ex-model who was very, very shy might appear later for a piece of birthday cake if she could be coaxed out of her flat. That left me, F, her bloke J-M and a couple who had driven down from Toulouse.
We had the usual aperitif and then our main course.

It took some time for the Toulouse couple to believe that we would be able to communicate in French, but eventually they relaxed.

F asked casually if I had a headache when I had woken up in the morning. I replied that I hadn’t. They were both suffering after the apero the previous evening. (light-weights)

F loves Michel Sardou, so the television had to be on as there was a special programme on about him. She is even going all the way to Toulouse to see him in concert, early next year.

F with the lovely Michel Sardou

Every so often we had to sing “Appy-Burfdae” just to remind us why we were all there I suppose. F had asked me to record the event for posterity, so I had taken my camera along.

The time for cake arrived and the timide neighbour was fetched. Now I’m no expert on shy people, but she did not seem to be shy at all. In fact she took charge of lighting the sparklers on the cake. She makes a living online, selling potions for slimmers. She had at least one tattoo on show too.

The neighbour didn’t stay long, but took a plate of cous-cous away with her to eat later. I noticed that she ate hardly any of her cake.
As is often the case when people of a certain age get together, various medical conditions were discussed. F has a bit of diabetes, Mrs Toulouse has a lot of diabetes, heart operations, knee problems, feet problems, the list was endless. It became obvious that Mrs T was going to win hands down in the debilitating illness stakes even if it was F's birthday. F had only one escape route. "Appy-Burfdae 2 YOO”

F was looking after Madame’s dog (as Madame was away). Lou-loo had made a futile bid for freedom by escaping under the fence, but she had not realised that the long lead that she was on, would prevent her from getting farm. Getting back was also not going to be easy.

I cannot remember what time I set off back home. The Toulouse couple had gone. There was talk that I must stay for an evening meal, but I could not have eaten another thing.
So F enjoyed her birthday. Just before I left, F said that as Madame had missed the birthday, there was to be another meal the following weekend. Le rosbif, and that I was to come along to that too.....

A second pair a teef

2010-10-08T15:30:00.001+02:00

I had been invited to F’s birthday lunch the following day but I had not written down what time I was supposed to turn up. F is a pal of Madame’s in her mid 60’s and lives in flats somewhere just beyond the end of my road. It is something of a love / distain relationship, but they look after each others’ animal/ s in time of emergency / holidays etc.

Madame was going to Paris to attend a Humanitarian conference and would not be attending the birthday bash.
F was not impressed and was even less impressed when Madame’s weekend became extended to a week. Madame was going to stay at a friend’s appartement for free. One should profit from such an offer, she said.
So back to the plot. I found F’s phone number. “Hello F, I said “ It’s Rigsby here, what time am I supposed to come over for your birthday lunch tomorrow.
Of course F is rubbish at understanding French and there was some confusion. Howerer then I heard “Ah, the landlord of :Madame, you are outside and wanting an aperitif? I will come to the gate to let you in right away”.
“No, you misunderstand” I said, “I just want to know what time to arrive tomorrow”
“I’ll be there directly” Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I was talking to thin air.
I was hot and tired, so I dusted off a few rusty English swear words, grabbed my mobile and the notebook with F’s phone number and address and headed back into the sunshine and down the road at a brisk trot.
I arrived only slightly out of breath and paced up and down outside the gates of the apartment complex. Nothing happened. Perhaps I had misunderstood that she had misunderstood.
A car turned in from the main road and stopped at the big gates. The big gates slid sideways and the car progressed. I was just turning for home at this point, when I heard, oh, I thought you were someone else that I am waiting for.
I was spotted and stepped into the compound as the gates slid shut behind me.
As we made our way to her flat, I learned that she hadn’t known who I was, she thought that I was one of the mad Arabs who keep phoning their number at all hours, asking to speak to X Y or Z. Then the penny had dropped.
I ended up staying with her and her bloke, until 11pm, drinking more Ricard and having a petit salad, Both of them are originally from Paris. :With most people I can understand at least 1 word in 8, but with her bloke J-P it is one in 20 and therefore hard going.
As I left F said, “We’ll see you tomorrow at midi et demi (12:30)”.......

Forum des Associations

2010-10-06T10:46:00.051+02:00

Every year as previously reported, the town associations take over the centre of town car parks to man stalls in attempt to get new recruits. The associations range from “Esperanto” and photography, to trout fishing, cycling, board games, martial arts, majorettes, festival committee, electricians without frontiers, Croix Rouge, etc
This year we had a traditional game, courtesy of the Foyer Rural going on in the space in front of our stand. It was hot and C and I watched the two men unload their small blue car, speculating, as experts do, on what they were going to be doing.
“That’s a bag of potatoes” I said authoritatively.
“What are they going to do with them?” says C
“I expect that they are going to throw them at something” I said, “Look at those skittles (I didn’t know the French for skittles).
A heavy, square mat was placed on the tarmac, and 6 tall wooden skittles were placed thereon.
Out came the measuring tape, and bits of metal were placed at the appropriate distances from the pins / skittles.
The bearded one picked up one of the potatoes, which turned out to be a piece of wood shaped like one half of a rolling pin. He then threw this underhand, upwards and towards the skittles. His rolling pin knocked some of the skittles down.
He repeated this twice more. That was his turn over.
“Come on” I said, “let’s have a go”.
We learnt that this game was so popular with the populace in medieval times farmers were gambling away their land, and no work was being done, so it was banned.
Here is C chancing her arm.

There are different variations of the game, some regional. We were looking at “Quilles au maillet” with a 6 pin layout. The aim of the game is not to knock down all 6 pins, but to knock them all down but one. I was given a leaflet www.euroquilles.com should exixt but it doesn’t see; to work, but this other site does. You can use the Google translate button if you want to know more.
http://www.quilles-au-maillet.com/boutique/defaut.php?PAGE=1&TEMPLATE=1
You can buy a set of 6 skittles and 3 maillets (the half rolling pins) for 100 euros plus about 30 euros postage. The square of black steel reinforced rubber to stand the skittles on is another 30 or so euros and around 25 euros postage. I am sorely tempted to buy a set, as one of the two places that you can buy them is about 40 minutes drive away.
The afternoon got hotter and hotter and there were not may people coming anywhere near our stand and poster boards, not even me.
We wandered off to watch the trout fishing. It was getting late in the afternoon, so the men in charge released their remaining 50 or so trout into the tank. The aim was for children to get hooked (gettit?) on fishing and it was free to have a go. Once caught, the fish was lightly killed with a short stick and placed into a blue plastic bag for the lucky parent to take home, gut and cook.

It's the reel thing

not too sure about it now, eh?

The afternoon dragged on as I watched demos of American line dancing. Jazz dancing, martial arts etc.

the gentlemen just loved themselves

All too slowly it was time to dismantle the stands and carry the tables and chairs away to the storage area.Then it was time to cross the road for the free aperitif in the courtyard of the Mairie.
C and I got there early as you can see.

As others started to arrive, a duo started playing the guitar and singing to a backing track.
“Zummertime an the liviniz easy”...... The singer wiggled her hips continuously. I suggested to C that the singer might normally wear a hula skirt, perhaps they were cruise liner entertainers .....

People started to edge towards the tables where the meagre supply of booze and nibbles equivalent to 5 loaves and 2 fishes beckoned.

It was ages before someone’s nerve finally broke and snacking and drinking began with a sudden rush.
Yes there were speeches, the mayor and someone else couldn’t make it, someone was given a medal, two people spoke about cutbacks or somesuch.

Not Speechless

Triple Ricard and water (with ice) and nibbles duly consumed, because I pay my taxes, I wended my way homewards.
It wasn’t until I was back in the flat that I made my first mistake of the day......

Visitors 7 – The last supper at Gaia

2010-10-04T19:26:00.002+02:00

On the evening of their last day, J and I were kind enough to treat me to a meal out. We ate at Gaia, a very small restaurant in the old part of town. Unlike all the other restaurants which offer cassoulet, steak and chips, pizza, crepes, frozen moules frites (Yes “Café Gros” can’t even be arsed to cook them in the microwave long enough to defrost the mussels), this restaurant, run by an Australian / English couple, have a decent menu, with their own specialities which change according to what is freshly available. A novel concept here in this part of the France.

There were only two other diners inside the restaurant and three outside for the whole time that we were there.
I thought that I had taken some photos in the restaurant, but can find no trace of them if I did. Perhaps I used I's camera.
Because I know the owners it was all very relaxed. Mind you I ate too much for my little “on a diet” tummy to hold.
Meal over we tottered towards the Halle au Grains where the orchestra for the evening were due to play.
When we reached the centre ville, we found that the procession flambeaux was still trundling slowly round the circuit, so we watched this year’s novelty participants namely the vintage cars, majorettes, a brass band, etc complete their last lap.
Then it was back across the road to watch the orchestra. This was a much reduced band compared with the previous evening, and was a tighter combo as a consequence. i.e. there was no time for them to chat to each other when it wasn’t their turn to sing.
We didn’t stay for very long though as J and I had to be up early to get to the airport and onwards to Paris for part 2 of their trip to France.

VIsitors 6 Summer festival

2010-10-02T16:25:00.009+02:00

My visitors returned from the coast in time for the start of the town’s summer festival.

We set off into town and watched the start of the Paul orchestra on the stage in the town centre, before heading off into the medieval centre to watch the firework display.

The Canadians were thinking, small town, probably a few Catherine wheels and a couple of rockets.....
The display went on for 20-25 minutes and was in 3 sections. It was much more ambitious than the previous 3 years and there was a new pattern firework in addition to the heart shape pattern of the previous year. There were also fireworks that exploded much higher than previous years.
My favourite vantage point is quite close to the castle which is perched on the rocky hill.
The trajectory of some of the fireworks meant that they must surely fall on top of us, but we were unscathed by the end of the display. We could see sparks bounding off the roofs of the buildings next to us, but none of the bits of shell casing that we found on our way back into town along our route hit us.
J and I were impressed.
We went to the square to watch the Paul Selmer band. They weren’t as tight as they had been last year. I disappeared (that’s not I as in me) to take photos and once he returned we headed homeward.

The evening ended on a sad note. At 2.30am a couple in their late 50’ early 60’s and who were walking home along the pavement (house next to the light blue one, J and I will know the one I mean), when a 25 year old coming into town too fast, as most drivers seem to do, lost control of his car on the bend and ploughed into them, killing them instantly. The young gentleman (from Toulouse) concerned had had a row with his girlfriend who had told him that he was too drunk to drive. He had set off in the car with a mate (who was asleep on the back seat at the time of the accident), and misjudged the bend versus his speed........

This was not the first time that the young man had been caught for drunk driving. Rumour has it that he had no valid licence, probably not even insured.

The papers were expecting him to get at least 10 years. He was tried very quickly, given five years, reduced to 3 years.. You have to understand that he was in a fragile state at the time of the accident, his girlfriend is expecting their child etc..... I believe that the victim’s family are to appeal against the lightness of the sentence.

The youth is said to be upset that he caused the two deaths the poor wee lamb.... Go figure! It’s not just British justice that is barking mad.

Visitors 5 Time for a hot bath - updated

2010-09-30T16:23:00.006+02:00

After our visit the underground we backtracked and headed off to the ski-resort town of Ax-les-Thermes. S and I were here a few years ago, and I was here earlier this year with the French family.
We pottered about the town before having lunch outside a restaurant in one of the side streets.
The French family had told me that water runs down the road in Ax, but I had not tracked it down.
Here then, in the Road of the Steps, is one such stream. We were disappointed to find that the water was cold.

One of the earliest surviving buildings is also to be found here, having survived the numerous fires which swept through the medieval town.

survived the great fire fire of 1615

Then it was off to show them the hot spring water gushing out of the spigots and the open air basin where people can sit and soak their feet.
Our main purpose here however was to visit the hot spring baths housed in a new building in the centre of town. It took some finding though. It is on the same side of the road as the Casino (roulette, not supermarket). It opened for business last year and the main pool area is modelled to look like a Roman bath house, complete with red floor to ceiling columns.

You give them money and they give you a plastic key card which will give you 2 hours in the baths. For every extra 30 minutes or part thereof that you spend inside the baths, you have to pay another 3 euros. You can find leaflets that will give you 2 euros off the 15 euro entrance charge.
Card into the turnstile and through into the changing area. A lady handed us a blue plastic hangar and explained what to do. You go into a changing cubicle on the dry side, lock your door behind you, change into your costume, then leave you cubicle using the door on the wet side. Clothes into a locker using your plastic card, take the key out of the locker door, then off to the showers before splashing through the foot pool and into the main room of the bath house.
I went cautiously down the steps into the sulphurous water. It was warm, but not overly so. The sides of the pool was divided into alcoves which had different kinds of jets. There were usually neck/ shoulder jets, Jacuzzi style jets, powerful jets which buffeted your sides or buffeted your buttocks.
There was a tropical rain shower at one end, and in the middle of the pool were foot grilles complete with railings for you to walk into. (couldn’t understand the point of the latter).
Not all parts of the baths had active jets at the same time.
A new law of physics was noted, i.e. that the size of the speedos decreases inversely to the folds of the paunch.
Tired of the jets and the bubbles, we went through watery passageway and out into the sunshine. There were more neck jets, bubbly bits , a volcano of water bubbles, a whirlpool whizzy bit etc. There were also loungers where you could soak up the sun’s rays. There was a bit of a breeze, so not an option in my opinion. The outer 2 levels explored, we headed back inside. The ice cold showers were ignored, the hot steam room never found, but the hot water bath was tried out. Here at last was the hot water. Not boiling hot but really nice and relaxing.
The two hours were nearly up, so it was back to the showers, changing cubicles, card into the turnstile and out to freedom. Still now I know the ropes I will definitely be back there soon.
There is only one downside to the experience. You, your costume and your towel come out reeking of sulphur. The next day I could still taste it. and smell it, despite having a proper shower.
I went back in to the Baths with his camera before drying off. Here are two of his shots. One in the main baths and the other of one of the 2 roof terrace baths.

Indeed as you walk along the banks of the river which runs through Ax, there is a strong smell of rotten eggs.
One of the many delelict hotels in the town and which backs onto the river, is currently for sale at 160,000 euros. Not bad for a hotel with over 50 bedrooms, It must need a hell of a lot of work.
Another abandoned hotel has a plaque on the wall for the famous composer born there. One Gaiten Marcailhou d'Aymeric 1807 - 1855. Didn't you always just wonder what happened to him? Well he died in Paris and was one of the teachers of Foix's very own showstopper tunesmith Gabriel Fauré.

I found this quote which unravels some of the mystery. "Marcailhou was the true creator of the modern French waltz. Famous throughout eternity, Marcailhou's waltzes remain a reflection of their time like the white or pale pink camelias which our grandmothers were so fond of during the Second Empire". (Maurice Ravel, 1933)
The town must have been quite something in its heyday. You might even have been able to have a go on their own waltzer?? Any of you who skipped the last bit won't know what the hell I'm talking about. STOP PRESS this hotel was in the papers today1st October due to its parlous state. After being lived in and wrecked a bit, by squatters, the building is in danger of falling down. The owners don't seem keen to spend any money to make it safe, so it looks like the town hall will have to step in and do some emergency work. The town hall is not happy, as there are numerous other buildings in town that are in a dangerous condition and it is not their remit to step in when crap owners don't maintain the properties they own. They hope that someone with a lot of money will appear from nowhere and turn the building into something useful....... If this was Weston-super-mare, there would be an inexplicable fire, thus enabling redevelopment of prime real estate (allegedly).
Here is another run-down hotel. As many of you linguists will know, the French drop, or rather don’t pronounce their “H” s. Here is a perfect illustration of this practice.

The sun was still shining, so it was time to take more photos.
Next to the baths there was a smaller open air basin in which the weary traveller could dip their feet for free. This young lady has not quite got the hang of it, she will have to take her shoes off first.

Across the road, in a small park, a game of petanque was in progress. I like to be where the action is, and there was an article in the Depeche all about them a few days later.

Visitors 4 – Caving in

2010-09-28T16:22:00.002+02:00

On the Wednesday I had booked for us to go the Grotte de Niaux. This is one of the most famous prehistoric caves in the region. It has cave paintings from 12 -13,000 years ago and is one of the few such caves which people can still visit. The humidity / carbon dioxide levels are carefully monitored and the number of visitors per day is limited, with a maximum of 20 visitors per group. This is why booking ahead is usually necessary.

I had got us on to a tour with an English speaking guide. although J and I both speak some French.
We arrived early so that we could take some photos of the entrance to the cave and of the village of Niaux, nestling below us in the valley.
Halfway up the twisty road to the caves, we found the road blocked by a locked gate.
We hung around as did the occupants of the VW camper van behind us.
I soon got bored and started to walk up the road. Of course as soon as I did this, a staff member drove up in her car.
We drove up to the car park, the car dwarfed by the height of the cliff. The village was shrouded with whisps of mist, which the sun had not yet burned off, despite being 10am.

Before setting off we were issued with flashlights and footwear was checked. All the notices said that due to the nature of the terrain, sensible, enclosed shoes should be worn. Of course there always has to be someone who turns up in flip=flops (thongs for any USA or Aussie readers (ah those were the days)).
“Do you have any proper shoes to put on?” asked our guide. No, she had lived in flip-flops for the whole of the year and would be perfectly okay. If I had been the guide, I would have told her to piss off, but, she was allowed to continue. Lord knows what would have happened if she had slipped and injured herself.
We set off down a manmade tunnel and through a door, into the first bit of our cave trip.
The floor of the cave was very smooth and in places wet and slippery, with small stumps of rock beginning their ascent towards the cave roof (give them 100,000 years).
As we walked along, following as near as possible the path taken by the guide, we passed lots of names and initials daubed onto the rocks. Most of these were dated from the mid 1600’s.
We slipped and slid our way through caverns and eventually came to the black chamber. Before entering we all had to switch off our lights. The guide kept hers on and we followed her into a large chamber and over to the beginning of the metal railing. The maximum time of our visit in this part of the cave system was 25 minutes and we could see the electrical monitoring equipment flickering away.When we were all assembled, she trained her light on the cave wall in front of us and there was a collective “Ooh!” as we got our first look at an animal that was painted over 12,000 years ago.
As we moved from one part of the wall to the next, we saw bison, horses, antelope?.
It is thought that this chamber was used for special ceremonies, with dancing. Only one portion of the wall of the chamber was painted on, as was often the case in caves with paintings.
There were other paintings in a long gallery that was not accessible to us, but the greater percentage of the drawings in the caves was there for us to see.
Like the underground river that I visited recently, the caves are a no photography zone Niaux cave art taken from the internet.

We were told that the bison always had the same short spear like marks painted on them, but that they were not spears or arrows.
Over the years, some of the drawings have been all but destroyed by moisture seeping into the cave, numpties had also graffitied some of the paintings (probably those 17th century vandals.
We were surprised to learn that the caves, although vast, were never lived in. They probably lived in the entrance of the main cave. This cave was obviously a very important site, as the artwork was added over a period of at least 1,000 years, before being abandoned. Some of the drawings were done using charcoal and this has enabled carbon dating to be carried out. The other paintings were made using specially prepared paints. The only colour that I saw apart from black, was red.
Our guide also told us about the drawing of a weasel that had been found elsewhere in the cave system, of which they were very proud as no other cave in the area had a picture of such an animal. We did not see the weasel, nor was there a picture of the drawing anywhere to be found, so again, thanks to the internet, here is the famous weasel.

Our time was up and we left the chamber, switched on our lights and headed back the way that we had come. There was a pit which had been excavated showing how much the floor level of the cave had risen since the drawings were done.
Definitely somewhere to visit, before it too is closed to the public, as will surely happen someday.
The whole visit took about an hour and a half, so you can work out that we had to walk quite some way to get to the main cave. We were not allowed to dawdle en route either, and our guide kept up a very brisk pace.
Since our visit, I have learned that the school project, being prehistoric man, means that classes will be visiting Niaux and the Parc de le prehistoire. Looking back at the speed of our walk and the slipperiness of the route, I wondered to the headmistress just how the children would manage it. “Yes one must walk very fast, but we have taken a class of 4 to 5 year olds there a few years ago.....”
One more out in the sunshine, we handed in our lamps and wandered about, taking more photos of the views out over the valley, and anything else moving or not. Here are some of them.

early Canadian troglodytes

smokeless zone

Visitors 3 - Another fine Mas

2010-09-26T16:50:00.003+02:00

For our next trip out together, we headed westwards. The weather was still glorious and we explored the entrance to the cave system and descended to the river bed itself. I am sure that when I was there before, there had been a lot more water.
Our first photo stop was at the Eglise de chemin decroix de Raynaude, which has a cross path with 14 chapels perched on the side of the hill behind the church.

I have spoken of the caves at Mas D’azil before, but have still never shelled out the coin to visit the cave itself.
The larger hole on the left is where we went exploring, the smaller hole on the right is the road which runs through the mountain and pops out in the village of Mas D’azil itself.

The village was our next stop, and we wandered about the streets.
I found this corner of the village, which I had not seen before.
It has a bridge across the river, a fully air conditioned public toilet, and an old mill.

There was a family enjoying their midday meal outside in the square next to their house, sitting at a table, with their washing on driers around them.
Time was ticking, so following my GPS instructions, we headed off in the wrong direction.
I turned round at the first opportunity and the GPS eventually got with the program.
We arrived in St Lizier and parked in the car park near the Palace of the Bishops. St Lizier is listed as one of the 2 “most beautiful villages in France” in our region. There are 300 in France. I have visited it before and the choir performed in the Cathedral here 2 summers ago.
When S and I first visited, two years ago the Bishops’ Palace was being refurbished as a major tourist attraction. Indeed it is a world heritage site! It was supposed to re-open last year. We found out that it was still not open. It is not scheduled to open until February 2011. Part of it has opened as an apartment hotel.
We wandered around again. J and I went into the Palace grounds and I followed a fingerpost sign and found this.

A few bits of masonry a cross on a stone plinth and 2 park benches.
We regrouped and ate our picnic at a stone table. I was able to put my pocket knife to good use for a second day, slicing sausage. Could anything else costing £70 be more useful???
Putting our rubbish in the bin (other visitors had not been so courteous), we walked down the road into the village with the Couserain hills on our left and ahead of us. This is hot air balloon country, but I can’t remember if we saw any floating on high in the distance.
There are lots of details to photograph, both in and around the Cathedral and its cloister and in the little twisty streets.

Me photographing J and I, I photographing J and me

I spotted a sign for the library, so went to investigate. The door was open so I walked in.
It was a very small room, with bookshelves round the wall, fair enough. However today appeared to be Scrabble day (French version) and two games were in progress with 5 ladies participating. I had a little chat with them before leaving. They wished me a happy holiday. How could they mistake me for a tourist? It was probably my sister and her hat.
There was a passion fruit plant complete with small orange coloured fruit, and there was also a kiwi plant growing in the same small street. I have not seen kiwis growing before, although I know that there are kiwi farms in the Ariege.

is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's a kiwi

Tour of the village completed, we had a drink on a terrace overlooking the main square and the Cathedral. The restaurant seemed to be packing things away, despite it not being very late. When I went off to enquire about the bill, he found out that the waitress had gone home and forgotten all about writing down out order. Doh!!

Visitors 2 Lazing on a Sunny afternoon

2010-09-24T15:29:00.003+02:00

Having ironed out some of the kinks from the long hours of travel, it was time to hit the road. The first stop was the small village of Alzen about 30 minutes drive away. We wandered around looking for white cows. There weren’t any, they must all be up on the hill pastures for the summer.

busy bees

The Eco Rural museum was open as advertised but we did not go in. We just explored the surroundings. There was a selection of farm objects outside, presumably to tempt the weary traveller to part with 5 euros or so and see what the tiny museum had to offer.

There were some animals in byres. The farm is also a place for school trips, with a classroom and presumably they get to see the goats, sheep, calves, duck, horses and big fat sow.that we discovered snoring peacefully in her stall.

After exhausting that area of the village, we headed back to the car and had a picnic on the park bench.

Then it was back on the road, towards the Col de Peguere with its panoramic, but hazy, view of the Pyrenees and the nearby Tour Laffont.
We arrived at the col and got out of the car. There were some vehicles parked and a few people about. Music was blasting out from a parked cat for the benefit of the elderly lady sitting across the road in her camping chair, reading. Very annoying, but what was funny was that the Countin Crows tune that we had just been listening to in my car, came on her radio.
We headed back homewards but stopped off at a roadside hotel / café which had a shaded garden and a superb view out over the valley. Drinks were overpriced, but it was a nice spot to relax. They had a swimming pool hidden below where we were sitting, and a sign on a tree warned to beware of Archery. Upon returning home, my sister found that “Auberge les Myrtilles” at Col des Marrous is listed in my Michelin guide. Does that make me a posh traveller or what?

Visitors 1 Janes, planes and automobiles

2010-09-22T16:24:00.001+02:00

A few weeks ago I had a couple of visitors. J and I from Canada. J is one of my sisters. They stayed for a week and tried to fit in as much as time and jet lag would allow. They even made it to the coast for 2 days. It also happened to be my first week back at work after the 8 week summer break, so I only managed a couple of days of outings with them.
They were due to arrive on the Saturday having flown in from Ottawa to Frankfurt and then from Frankfurt to Toulouse. I had worked it out that they would probably reach my house at around 2pm.
The phone rang, and I learned that they had missed their connecting flight from Frankfurt to Toulouse. They were now on standby for the 14:30 flight. I re-did my calculations and reckoned that they would be with me by about 6pm if everything went well.
I decided to walk into town and get some cash, buying a baguette on my way back and still be home before they made it to mine.
As I strolled along through a car park under the dappled shade of the trees, a small red car lurched in my direction. I am used to erratic driving so it was not too noteworthy,
Of course it was J and I. I had spotted me crossing a road and he had circled round to try and find me. He must have the eyes of an eagle as I was in disguise.
Anyway, money dispensed and baguette purchased we managed to meet up again at my house.
I had been out into town the previous weekend to take some photos to help guide them to my house. I learned that I had given the wrong instructions for the first roundabout off the dual carriageway, oops! (I have amended my instructions as a result).
At some point we strolled into town and they got a chance to see parts of the medieval architecture and to marvel at how quiet a town can be despite it being the tourist season

Underground river - Taking the splish

2010-09-20T15:15:00.005+02:00

Last year Madame (my rentee from downstairs) told me how she was going to visit the underground river La riviere souterraine de Labouiche, as it was the only local attraction that she had never visited. Her cousin had worked there for many, many years, and still she had never visited. How he would laugh, she said, when he heard that she had visited it at last.
I happened to have picked up a leaflet on the river in the local tourist office, so I loaned it to her, saying that if she did visit it I would like to come too, as S is not keen on visiting caves.
Fast forward to three months ago this year. I was sitting outside, looking at the free guide to local events and attractions published by La Depeche. Madame started telling me all about her cousin, and never having visited the attraction and that she must visit it this year. She would have to find out its opening hours.
I flicked through my guide and showed her their advert.
To cut a long story short. About 3 weeks ago we set off in my car to experience what is billed as the longest publically available underground river, boat ride in Europe.
We parked in the shady, wooded car park and entered the welcome point building.
We were in luck, the next trip was in ten minutes. We spent the time looking at the odd bits and pieces that they had for sale in the glass cases, the old photos, the model of the river etc.
More people trickled in, 4 of them speaking English.
Tickets were checked by a young lady, and we followed her to the entrance. Of course the entrance was nowhere near the building. We crossed the main road, walked alongside the main road, walked down a crumbly, zig-zaggy path and steps, and eventually came to the entrance. Madame having had tendon surgery earlier this year on one leg, I wondered how she was going to manage the reverse trip. I would certainly be struggling in the heat.
Our party was 13 in number. We were left in the hands of our boatman. He was probably a summer student and spoke a few words of English.
One by one we climbed into our metal boat, sitting on the wet metal plank seats.
There was no photography allowed, so I will borrow some photos from their website.
In the UK the wearing of miner’s helmets would have been compulsory. Often we all had to duck low to avoid the low roof, and also lean in to the centre of the boat to avoid the overhanging rocky sides.

The river was quite narrow, and we often had to park up to let returning boats pass. There were 18 boats on the river at a time, being the high season.

The rock formations were spectacular, with the usual stalactites and stalagmites. There were also stone pillars formed by the twain meeting. There were also formations of wafer thin stone, which looked like sheets of smooth chamois leather. Another feature was lots of little drinking straw sized tubes of stone hanging from the roof, which we were told were hollow down the middle.

There were also names for some of the stone formations, e.g. the mushroom.

The boatman propelled the boat by using rubber coated steel ropes to pull us along. It was far from a silent experience. The metal boats frequently banged into the side and into other passing boats, with eerie sounding bangs and each impact resulted in quite a jarr to the body.
It was far from a comfortable 1.5 km ride and we also had to change boats 3 times as the river is on different levels. Each time climbing or descending slippery steps to reach our new boat. The furthest point of our voyage before turning round was a small cavern which had a waterfall jetting out of the rock into the pool. I suspect some human help due to the shape of the water jet, but who knows.

There are no fish in the river, and in most places the water is about a meter deep or less. In the light of the lamps along the side of the river, the water had a light green / blue tint.

We were told that there was a species of salamander that lived in the caves but they must have been sleeping off the excesses of the night before, and we didn’t spot any.

The whole trip probably took about 45 mins to an hour.

To exit the river, we had to climb a few hundred steep steps, It was here that Madame ground to a halt, and we sat on a convenient bench whilst she got her breath back.

We spiralled up into the light and popped up very near to the entrance building.

Madame was tres hot and fatigue, so we sat in the sunshine and had a drink at the conveniently placed café. A pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

So that’s grotte 1 marked off my long list of “caves to visit in the region”.

Contract or no contract

2010-09-18T16:30:00.002+02:00

Time is running out. The contract for my school admin post runs out on the 31st of September. Friday 3rd I received the paperwork to fill in to try and get myself renewed. Headed “To be returned no later than July 27th”, and having heard that Sarkosy was axing lots of school admin posts to save money, also does not fill me with much hope. However we will see.
The following Monday I took the form to school to get it signed by the headmistress ready to hand in at the College in town on my day off on Wednesday.
Of course there was a strike on Tuesday by around 2 million public and private sector workers about the Government’s proposals to raise the retirement age from 60 to 62. There is a follow up strike later this month.
On the Wednesday I duly handed in my form, wrote “lu et approuve” and signed my name 4 times and now I just have to wait.
Hopefully I will hear soon, and not on the 1st of October. Fingers crossed for me please folks. taxe fonciere (income tax bill) arrived today....

Auzat – not a cricket tale

2010-09-16T16:11:00.003+02:00

We drove onwards to Auzat. Of course the visitor centre was closed for lunch, so we wandered round the streets. We had wondered about the super-huge sports ground that we had seen from up on the hill. We found out that the village had once had a thriving Aluminium smelting plant, employing many people. There was even a short walk along the Chemain de L’Alum complete with information boards and sculptures / bits of machines.
We found a small café by the river and sat and had a drink, waiting for the centre to open.
Not a lot was going on, and it was very peaceful. Even the unhappy child cheered up as her bottle of coke arrived at the table.
Here is a photo of the river.

We finally managed to pay our money and have a look at items excavated from Montreal de Sos. There was not much evidence of 13 thousand items. There was only one glass case with some rusty objects, including nails, bits of blade etc. There were enlargements of some pictures which had been scratched onto bits of slate, and ditto an old board game. I don’t expect that the children or adults who made these marks sometime between 500 and 700 years ago, would have dreamed that their work would be seen in the 21st century.
If only I’d scratched my blog on slates......... Perhaps it’s not to late to start now?
Most of the exhibits related to the way of life of the shepherds, farmers and other ways of life in this hilly region of France. It’s a different world, things just ain’t the same.

Olbier and Montreal de Sos (updated)

2010-09-14T14:22:00.005+02:00

“There is a green hill far away, without a city wall” used to by one of my favourite hymns. “Jesus bids us shine” was another one. Of course now I believe there are lots of new, happy, clappy hymns. Not that this has anything to do with anything. A few months back, the phone rang. It was the French family. Are you doing anything tomorrow? Would you like to come with us to visit £^$&&* ?
And so it came to pass that I set off once again into the unknown. As usual, the unknown was to be found up a steep hill, in blistering heat.
We parked the car in a small village called Olbier. There were only four of us, as the father and the eldest daughter stayed a la maison.
We scouted about for the path. Well they scouted, as I didn’t know what I was looking for. The word fouilles was mentioned a lot, and sounding similar to feuilles (leaves), I assumed that I was facing the exciting prospect of looking for leaves, up a hill.
We wound our way up a steep, narrow zig-zag path, which seemed to be made of du;ped rubble. Our first encounter with wildlife was to meet 3 dung beetles who were busy rolling dung balls. This was a first for me, hence the photo.

We continued up the hill and on a plateau, we found a string of horses or ponies with strange metal hoppers on their backs, and another horse which was tethered to a tree by a long rope.

A short distance in front of us were 2 groups of people. One group with little trowels and small paint brushes were, prodding at the ground, whilst another group were sieving soil.
Having watched “Time Team” I now realised that I was witnessing an archaeological dig.
This particular site is where the remains of a small chateau is being excavated, using volunteer labour. This has been happening every summer for the past several years. Stone walls have been exposed where there was once only soil.

scratching the surface

As we stood watching the slow work taking place before us, the string of ponies with their shepherd, set off down the hill with their hoppers full of rubble.

If you are going to work outside, it is always a bonus to have Impressive views like this to look at.

We wandered around the site, reading the information panels. The castle had been there from the end of the 12th to the beginning of the 15th century and in it’s day was one of the most important castles belonging to the Counts of Foix.

There are also some small caves in the hillside, which allegedly have paintings (we couldn’t see anything) of what could be the Grail, or sheep....
We had a picnic looking out over a valley with the small village of Auzat sparkling below us.

There was little tranquillity though, as two helicopters constantly buzzed along the valley, collecting and depositing building materials to a site in the distance.
Auzat's tannoy system also started up and details of the forthcoming festival, with couscous and dancing, inscriptions to be made by the ?th of July.
After the picnic we had a chat with one of the archaeologists, who showed us items that they had found so far that day. A few bits of pottery and some large rusty square-headed nails. They had recently found a dagger or sword blade. In just a few years, over 13,000 items had been uncovered, some of which could be viewed in the small visitor centre / museum at Auzat.
The eldest of the two girls got very tearful as she wanted to stay and help the archaeologists. It didn’t seem to matter that she knew that she knew that she was a year below the minimum age, to help and that you had to arrange to assist at the dig in advance by letter and perhaps a follow up interview.
She really dawdled down the mountain.
We decided to explore the small village at the foot of the hill. It seemed that many of the houses were not inhabited all year round. :any of them still had the snow boards blocking their entrance doors, and this was July! No wonder villages die out with all these absentee owners.
Here are a few photos of the place.

place de l'apero

the village houses have very thick walls

several houses still had their original bread ovens

Some of you might be interested to know that this was my 300th post on this blog. No? Oh well, suit yourselves.

The frogs’ chorus (not)

2010-09-12T20:00:00.002+02:00

Yes, after all too short a time away from the rehearsal room, we returned this Wednesday evening. There were many empty seats but 4 new people showed up. Only the first 40 minutes were taken up with bisses and chatting. Then it was into the stretching, breathing and vocal exercises. Our 80 year old member shuffled I very late, without his wife and not looking at all well.
After 2 years slogging away at one long piece per year, with one or two short songs thrown in for good measure, we will be tackling more short pieces.
We began learning “So ben mi ch'à bon tempo”, de Orazio Vecchi
Here is the list for this year, it is not definitive and more songs may be added along the way.

nouveaux chants (New songs)

So ben mi ch'à bon tempo, de Orazio Vecchi

Belle qui tiens ma vie, de Toinot Arbeau

Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern, choral de Bach

And the glory of the Lord, de Händel

Alleluja, de Stephens

Shenandoah, traditionnel américain

Deep River, spiritual

Siyahamba, chant africain

Dalakopen, chant norvégien

Radhalaïla, chant israélien

valse de Bizet

Locus Iste de Bruckner

Trois petites notes de musique

chants repris: (ones wot we in keeping from last year)

a bicoque (le pêcheur et sa femme)

le château royal (le pêcheur et sa femme)

la fanfare du printemps

Signore delle cime

"Cantique de Racine", de Fauré (G. Fauré, local boy made God)

No Beatles or Muppet tunes appear in the list, and will therefore not be harmed in the coming year. I am ‘artbrokenne.

Coume’stock part 3 – Pancakes and screams

2010-09-10T16:51:00.001+02:00

I slept well, and awoke to the sound of....... nothing. There was the occasional snore from the neighbouring tent. I got out my little stove and boiled up some water for a hot chocolate. It was going to be a long day. In fact, apart from going for a walk in the afternoon, I slept for most of the day. There was a bit of excitement when a goat who was on an upturned tin bath, found that it was not so easy to get down from it. However help was at hand and another goat leapt onto the bath and tossed him off.

The site was like a ghost town. In the early afternoon, I had a few beers, then I watched the two girls who were going to be turning the cellophane sheet into print. One of the girls had had a former boyfriend who worked for a big Fanzine publisher and who was an expert in this printing process. The girl’s friend had done a course in it, and as the expert, she was in charge. The sun was hiding behind clouds, and they needed light for the process to work.

expert at work

They managed to borrow a couple of lights that were attached to motion sensors and they rigged them up to point up at the printing frame from below.
They turned on the power. Nothing happened.
Those are motion sensors, I said helpfully, you will need to wave in front of them to turn them on.
Waving took place.
Nothing happened.Also, I said helpfully, they might be light sensitive and only come on when dusk falls.....
They reverted to plan A. The sun peeped out and they carried their apparatus into the light, before the next cloud could spoil their fun. They Needed to time it, so they waited until the big hand reached the top of the dial on their watch. They also counted.

They forgot what they were doing and neither the watch nor their counting figured in the exposure time.
How long do you think it’s been? Said one. I haven’t a clue, said the other.
So they waited another 30 seconds and proceeded to the next phase.
When the swearing started, I could tell that things were not going well.
How’s it going? I asked cheerily.
It hasn’t worked said the expert.
Why’s that? I asked.
Dunno, said the expert. By now her mate had wandered off and was eating pizza.
She eventually decided that it hadn’t worked because the expiry date was passed on the special paint that the process used.
So no print to take back to A.
During the weekend I had been introduced to various people. One of them was a small singer, dancer, musician, clown, acrobat. She was a friend of Bee-Boy’s family. Her family own a creperie in Brittany and she was there with her little red caravan, which had been customised for her by her father. I think that she must have got a grant to have it modified, and that the grant had also paid for her p.a. system and microphone.
She had been rehearsing the previous day when I took this photo. Her small audience were Bee-boys parents and sister, the farmer’s son, and another friend. Bee-boy’s dad had been kept busy helping her to prepare the caravan and props, ready for the apero concert on the second evening.

She may be small, but you are constantly aware that she is around. She squeaks in a voice that would make a cartoon character proud, does excercises, stretches, rehearses,,,, She must run on special fuel. C from the French family, cannot stand the screechy voice.
Talking of fuel, I know that you are worrying about how you get electricity in the middle of nowhere. Well, you use 6 portable petrol generators, and when smoke starts to billow from behind the straw bales hiding them from public view, the farmer runs towards them very, very fast.

petrol generators make light work

Food was only available in the evening from 19:30 H or after the bands had eaten, whichever was the later event.
The meat was cooked over a barbecue. The first night I had the grillade and chips. This cost 10 euros. It consisted of chips and two small shrivelled bits of meat. Of course my new knife enabled me to cut through the meat with ease.
The second night I tried the couscous with meat 8 euros (Couscous with vegetables was 5 euros). There were two tiny blobs of meat in my meal, probably worth about 50 cents.
Everyone was responsible for washing their own plate and cutlery. There was a big tank of brownish water to wash in, then an adjacent tank of water to rinse in. A bag for bones for the dog, and a bin for scraps for the pigs. There was also a draining rack for the washed items.
The time came for the apero concert, and Mathilde appeard in her costume to be made up by one of her pals.

We then sat on a big carpet facing her caravan and the performance of "Ham Gigourbi" began.
Despite her earlier rehearsals, she seemed to make a lot of it up as she went along.
This was a cut down version of her one hour show.

The tall, fall guy

Once the performance ended, she proceeded to serve crepes from her caravan. People were expected to put a few coins into her collecting box. Her show would probably do well at the Edinburgh festival. I suspect that the caravan would get clamped, stolen or both within the first few days though. For me, her performance was the highlight of the festival.

Can you spot bee-boy in this photo?

Eventually the music began. The musical standard of the acts that I watched was higher than the previous evening’s offerings, but they do love to be pretentious and clever, rather than concentrating on a strong tune.
The expected big crowd failed to materialise, and their were less people than the previous evening. This was a shame after all the hard work that had gone into organising the event.
Watching the bands, you were standing on a slope leading up to the stage. This can be amusing for the first hour or so, but after a while of leaning forward its novelty wanes and the legs start to ache.
I have no idea what the last band was like. Once again things were running so late, that I was too knackered to remain leaning, so I headed up the hill to bed. Once again torchless and in the pitch black.
I can report however that the band stopped at around 2am and that records/ cds were played until 5.30am.
At 5.45am, the couple with a child of about 4 who were staying in the tent next to mine, arrived.
Je ne veux pas dormer” said a small voice. This was repeated many, many times, and eventually became a constant scream for the next two hours.........

The t-shirt slogan shoud read "I'm a spoilt, noisy, little ba"""d"

Why one of the f****ng hippy b””””””d parents couldn’t just walk the child around until it dropped from exhaustion (the child, not the parent) I do not know. They just let it scream on and on and on and on.......... They were presumably too right on and cool to give the brat a good clonk to shut it up.
I don’t think that anyone could have slept through the noise.
At around Noon, after a hot chocolate, I packed my tent away into its little bag, and lugged all my stuff back to my car.
So that was my first overnight camping stay at a music festival. I expect that you will all want to come with me next year. Wait, come back, I haven't finished yet. Hello?
Oh well, pausing only to say goodbye to Bee-boys parents, I sat navved my way home, only losing my way once......

Coume’stock part 2 – The erection

2010-09-08T15:08:00.104+02:00

Semi inflated mattress, sleeping bag, change of clothing, check. My car’s small boot and back seat were soon full of campenalia. Amazing how much stuff you need for 2 nights camping. I drove round to the family’s house and we were soon in convoy, following my faithful GPS’s instructions to the Farm Bio located in the middle of nowhere, 50 minutes from home.
I was a bit surprised when the GPS decided to take me off the main road onto twisty, narrow roads quite so soon, but I went with the flow, family car in tow.
We continued our sinuous route, through tiny hamlets, passed fields of sunflowers and lavender.
Eventually we saw the magic word Coume-stock written on a torn off piece of cardboard box, attached in a casual lop-sided manner to a fence post, so we knew we were still on track. Another 10 minutes and we branched off onto more pot holes than road road and then a left turn into a field.

Official reception point (unpersonned)

We parked up next to a row of 3 vehicles.
Silence reigned except for the ticking of cooling engines. Behind us was what looked like a large derelict shell of a wooden structure with loads of empty beer bottles scattered around. Was this it? Was this what a mosh pit looked like? How bohemian!
Further up the hill we could see a couple of tents, so we wandered towards them as they were not going anywhere soon. There were about about 12 tents pitched, but nobody in sight. There was also a wooden sentry box type shed with Toilette written on a sign in black paint. There was a long piece of wood propping the door shut..

We wandered back to the cars and the children had a snack, whilst I pondered upon the meaning of life.
Eventually we walked in a southerly direction to look over the brow of the hill. Finally we had located the event. Now I can understand how the knights of old felt when they caught their first glimpse of Camelot or when the BBC discovered Eldorado.
To everyone else it looked like 3 tents in a field with a small red caravan parked at the edge of the field and some vans.

We set off to investigate.
There was a small circle (okay not a perfect circle geometrically speaking) of people being addressed by Bee-Boy, who seemed to be in charge.
The sheep byre of the week before was now a stage and lounge area, complete with straw bales draped with rugs.
There was a bar, a kitchen area and another canopy which had some rickety tables and chairs assembled.
We caught Bee-Boy’s eye and he told us where to pitch the tent etc.So we trekked back up the hill to move my car closer to the tents and we started to put up my tent. Of course I was in charge of directing operations.
The children were very impressed with the grandeur of my tent. Most of the other tents were small pop – ups, but mine had guy ropes and a small porch.
The two youngest girls wanted to try the workshops, while the eldest, being too cool for school, went back to the car to read.

The workshops were scheduled to start at 16:00H, but of course it was nearer 17:00 hours before something happened.
The gravure was first, mainly because she was the one who turned up first.
The girls were given a square block about 4 inches square by 2 inches of plaster and a one inch nail. The idea was to draw your pattern or picture on a scrap of paper, then scrape away with your nail on the plaster to make a printing block. This took quite some time, The next step was to use a rubber roller to spread paint over your etching, then to print your design onto a piece of cloth.

preparing to print

printed cloth

The other workshop that seemed imminent was effectively pin hole photography. You would make your camera using a small cardboard box, presumably stick a pin hole in it, put a piece of light sensitive paper into the box, then point your camera at something for X seconds, before going into the blacked out van to develop the paper.

Alas we will never know. The van was there and the bloke was trying to make it light proof, unfortunately his mate who was supposed to be coming along with the vital chemicals, chemical trays, paper etc, did not appear at all, and was not answering his phone.

The other workshop, was even more bizarre. You had to use a black felt-tip pen to draw your design onto a sheet of plastic. Once people had filled up the page with their little designs, the two animatrices would carry out the printing process. This would not however happen until the following day, so I was tasked with making sure that A’s little doodle made it’s way into my hands on the morrow.

Finally at around 20:15, a mere 45 minutes later than advertised, the Apero theatre got underway in the barn. We perched on straw bales and watched La Cie, perform their 2 woman play “Trois dans la poele”. A tale of a mature woman who wanted to have another baby and who believed that stuffing a cabbage down her knickers would do the job, with no man needed. Before you all rush off to your nearest supermarket, I must warn you that this method is doomed to failure. She got her daughter to have a baby instead. Job done.

The first band were just starting to eat when the time came for their scheduled appearance, so the family headed off into the sunset, leaving me to lose myself in the crowd, which had now swelled to at least 60.

The French love a musical loop machine. All of the groups used it to excess.

The first act was too bizarre to describe, so here is a video snippet. She had trouble with the loop system. I don’t think that constantly kicking it helped. After 7 false starts, she eventually fought her way through to the end using only her voice to lay down the accompanying loops. From the clip you would never guess that it turned into a tale about a toy rabbit who had no legs. Marvellous!

Siann Lofhai,the girl who had done the gravure workshop was next and she sang whilst playing her electric guitar and adding more loops as she went along. .

The third group was also one person. He improved upon the loop usage by a factor of 10, As well as “playing ” his electric guitar, he had some sort of keyboard, plinky plink machine in an old pram. I could not be arsed going round to the front of the stage so here is a video of him from the side, where I was resting on the straw bales. Gregaldur, a name to look out for in the future....... People were applauding and bouncing up and down. He either has very supportive parents or was chucked out of the house long ago.

The final act of the evening was actually a band. Les Play-Mobiles were there with their mothers, brothers and grannies in tow. They were appearing fresh from their triumphant performance in another local festival, which had taken place the night before.
I stayed for a few numbers. They were rock, punky. All this fresh French air, it was time to hit the matélas gonflable, leaving the 150 strong throng to party on. I struggled up the hill in the dark. If only I had remembered to take my torch when I had left my tent...