27.11.2008 Thursday – Pas de pub

The day dawns bright and sunny with a clear blue, cloudless sky. Whereas, I don’t.
At around half 10 in the morning, I lever myself out of bed and start the washing machine. This could be the last good drying day for a while.
By half 12 I have pegged a load out in the sunshine and checked my post box. Once again the people have thrust the pub (short for publicite i.e. booklets, single sheets, small free newspapers i.e advertising that we have thrust upon us here in France, every week without fail.
You see the hopeful hand written notices taped to post boxes everywhere “pas de pub” they say. This is supposed to stop the posters from filling their post boxes with the deluge of special offers, papers, etc from the various big stores such as Bricomarche, Conforama, Lidl etc. I do not know if this approach works as I look forward to receiving it and looking through it for special bargain offers. Only one newspaper in today’s haul though.
This is a typical week’s worth.















As I bring in the washing a man crosses the road to ask me a question. Yet again it is someone looking for the medecin pedagagogique or some such. I tell him that is that building there and that there is parking. There is no sign, he tells me, Yes I know, I say.
He returns to his car as madam comes huffing down the steps in her pink pyjama style leggings and tee shirt. What is he looking for? She asks. I tell her and explain what I have told him. I am correct she says.
I tell her about the forthcoming crack filling and painting, and she invites me in to her apartment for a coffee. I explain that I have a cold or flu. It does not matter, she says.
I take my washing up and then return down the stairs to her apartment.
Her 12 year old, hugely hairy cat, with its face fur all matted, stalks around on the table top Yuck! She goes to fetch her other cat, an abandoned one which was a kitten last time I saw it. It is no longer small.
She did not notice that S had been to stay and I explain that we had been sorting out my flat. I take her upstairs for a look around. Her face is impassive, so it is impossible to tell what she is thinking.
Not having anticipated a visitor today, all the publicity is still all spread out on the floor, just as in the photo above. “Ah, this is exactly what I do” she says, “I spread mine out on the floor too” How much more French can I get?
After she has gone I reflect on how difficult I found finding French words to say was today. My brain is numb. Tomorrow a doctor’s visit?
In the words of Zebedee from "The magic roundabout" ""Time for bed""

26 November 2008 – Wednesday – peage-u-go

A dreadful night’s sleep. I wake up with my left eye glued shut with gunk. S tells me I have a black eye. I tell her it is just stuck. I have switched from hot to cold and also had earache all night in both ears. All these are things that I have never had before with a cold or flu.
Illness in France can be so special. I expect it is called Grippe d’homme (manflu). i.e. all in my imagination.
Still I am driving S back to Toulouse airport this morning, so I need both eyes and ears that don’t throb when I move my head.
Thank goodness for showers and ibuprophen. What did people do before over the counter drugs?
I am reasonably confident regarding my outward journey thanks to satnav, and having been on the trip only a few weeks ago I remember a bit near the Toulouse Hippodrome when I must keep left and then left. (Unfortunately after that bit it has become a blank, with many unremembered lane changes required) and it is a good job S is there to help me navigate.

All goes well until I reach the peage (toll) lanes at the Toulouse end.
We have prepared the right coinage to give to an attendant or to feed into the slot. I am in a bay which has no human or coin slot. There is a slot alongside the ticket in, slot which says carte. Does this mean you can put a credit card in? There is no numeric pad. There is a button that you can press to call for assistance. Tempting as it is to use it, it is red in colour and I have visions of an irate, sarcastic. tinny voice speaking very fast, incomprehensible French. Would “je suis malade” cover it?
Oh well, it’s only my carte bancaire, I undo my seatbelt to fish my wallet out of my trouser pocket. Stick it in the carte slot. I spits it back out, thanks me and the barrier opens. Thank goodness for that.

After the quiet roads and autoroute the Toulouse ring road is a joy, with people jockeying for position to use the bit of road that you are on.
We arrive in one piece and I leave S in the departures lounge Easyjet queue.
If that was the easy part of my journey, Lord knows what the trip back will be like.
Fortunately the little Toulousians must have reached home and be having lunch, as the road is much less busy.
I make it back home in 1 hour ten minutes, without any wrong turnings.
The sun even comes out as I approach the snow covered Pyrenees.
S texts me at about 7.30pm French time to say she has arrived back at home in the UK. When I speak to her later on the phone, she is coughing and has a splitting headache. Sounds as though she has taken my flu back with her.
I cook a pizza for tea but cannot taste it. I leave it half eaten, or should that be half uneaten?
Time for an early night. Choir practice tonight is just not an option. Hopefully I will be well enough to attend the special, compulsory whole day practice near the town on Sunday. I know the village name, but I do not know the location of the practice as, as ever, it is assumed that everyone knows the arrangements.
I listen to part 3 of the Labyrinth audio book, but as I drift in and out of consciousness, I am missing chunks of the plot so I switch it off and cough and sweat through the rest of the night. Ah the glamour of foreign living!
The flat is very quiet now that S has gone and I will have to readjust myself to the lifestyle of Rigsby, hermit.

25 November 2008 Tuesday – Closet Clog

Snow settles on roofs of the houses opposite and is visible on the hills that I can see from the windows of the flat.
I am feeling rough so I am glad that I paid extra for the wardrobe to be delivered and built on site for me.
As the day progresses it starts to snow properly (i.e in a continuous downward direction with real visible flakes). This is something that the Fuxiens told me rarely happens in their town.

Once the wardrobe has been built and in position. We quickly fill it with clothes etc.
I am now knackered so I go to bed for a couple of hours, to try and get some sleep time back. If I lie down during the day I experience minimal coughing, but at night I become an automatic cough machine,
S puts in her earplugs.
Writing a blog when half your brain is on holiday and you are coughing and knackered is difficult. It becomes a clog.

24 November 2008 Monday – Portuguese evening

The rain stops for a while at 10.30am after hammering down on the roof for most of the night. It was windy again too.
The Portuguese painter is due this evening so we do not have to wait in.
We go to Casa first, where, amongst other things, I buy an essential oyster opener, which comes complete with a small V shaped wooden board to hold the oyster and protect you from stabbing yourself in the holding hand.
I have not had an oyster since our holiday in Albi in March this year, but now I can buy some if I feel like it.
Next stop was Intermarche for food supplies.
When we came out of CASA it is sleeting but by the time we get home the sun is shining.
S bought me two table top candelabras which prove difficult to keep the candles in place as the holders are at wonky angles.
At two o’clock a small white van parks in my parking area. It is of course the painter, who is due this evening or soir as the French called it. I will have to revise my timescale bracketing.
We measure the front and side of the building so that he can prepare an estimate for the work. I should hear from him in 8 to 10 days, or perhaps he will start the work in 8 to 10 days, or perhaps this means that he will start tomorrow. Who knows.
Unlike the builders implied, he speaks perfect French, having lived in France for the last 42 of his 44 years! Naughty builders!

Shortly after he leaves the rain is hammering down again.

At around 5pm the builders arrive, they are expecting to meet up with the painter to view the walls together. It is not just me who does not know when evening begins.
We go on a tour of the non-working ventilation systems in the studios. I also explain that the fuse board on the bedroom corridor wall makes multiple loud clicking noises at random intervals all night.
The ground floor studio needs the bathroom floor tiling, the damp wood paneling removed and made good (depending upon what they find). The feeling is that that part of the building might be under the level of next door’s garden. (Does anyone want to buy a French building?)
I explain to the builders that the painter will fill in the cracks soonish, and return to paint the side wall with plastic paint from the roof to approx 1 meter above the ground level, which will be painted with normal masonry paint. The front elevation will be painted with masonry paint also.
The young builder will return later this week to disassemble the ventilation housing outside my flat. This works 24/7 and is rather noisy but it works and should be driving all the other vents in the building.
At least the side of the house to be painted with plastic does not catch the sun, so my house should not melt during the summer months…..

23 November 2008 Sunday - Blogsville

The sun shines for a while this afternoon. I am still sorting out belongings into storage. Today it is rearranging a bookcase and a small buffet unit in the bedroom, then stacking photos and negatives into the buffet cupboards.
I discover that I have a couple of undeveloped rolls of XP1 film from the late 1980’s and a packet which seems to contain the necessary chemicals to process the film into negatives. I have no idea what is on the films. I wonder how many years it will take me to get round to it? Will the chemicals still work?
The flat is now as tidy as it is ever going to be.
All that remains is clothing and some linen and towels to be housed in the wardrobe which should arrive on Tuesday morning next week.
I don’t read many blogs although I do follow about 6 unofficially. I am not at all sure about the reports of some bloggers being instructed to list a certain number of favourite e.g. albums, blogs etc. It smacks a bit of bullying to me.
I am also unsure about what all the “rewards” are about. Do bloggers blog in order to collect kudos? Or do some bloggers have kudos thrust upon them? I don't know enough about blog land, but I thought I would just stick my thoughts down. Feel free to tell me what it is all about.
I have followed Wreckless Eric’s activities online for many years. Way back when he had a yahoo group. I don’t know whether it still exists. He writes so seldom though that I don’t feel that I can officially follow it. Since he got wed to Amy Rigby (not a Rigsby unfortunately) I have read her blog too. I know they have been touring hard, but her blog output is also small. Still though what they do output is small it is of course perfectly formed.

22 November 2008 Saturday – Cold beginnings

During a break in the rain, we walk into town to buy some bread. The streets are deserted as usual.
Here is a photo that I took yesterday looking along the River L’Ariege yesterday. Looking towards the nearest snowy mountain.

We also passed a garden which had a leafless tree in it, but which was laden with orange fruit. It was too far away to see if the fruit was oranges or Kuku (Sharon) fruit.

Back at the ranch tidying up stuff continued apace.
I have had a sore throat since after Monday’s extra choir practice, this is now developing nicely into a cold again. I think choir must be a really unhealthy place to go. All that shaking hands, bisses, the coughing, sneezing, it must be a virus hotspot.
Fortunately S brought 20 flu strength Lem-sips over with her for me. I didn’t think that I would need them this soon though.

21 November 2008 Friday – New boots but no panties - 100 not out

The sun peeps out again. The forecast says that it is raining.
It is market day again, so we trawl round the stalls once again, looking for bargains. On one of the jumble stalls, S spots a brown, soft leather jacket for only 5 euros, tries it on on buys it after getting a passing American tourist to model it for us as the stall had no mirror.

There is not a mark on the jacket, nor on the lining. No visible wear and tear at all.
Despite advice from a fellow blogger re the 30 euro fleece lined bootees, I buy some fleece lined slippers for 7 euros. Just think I could buy 4 pairs and still have change out of 30 euros. I was not brought up in Scotland without learning a thing or two about value for money :-)

The market has so few customers, it amazes me that the stall holders bother to come every week.
Returning to my maison, we tackle the tiny back bedroom and get that almost straightened out. We then hang a curtain over one of the two doors into the flat to keep some of the draught out. We use the other door for coming in and out as it can be locked from outside. Brilliant thinking if I do say so myself.

This is my 100th post on this blog, so here is / are some philosophical bollocks to deliberate over.

I used to spend hours / days in the darkroom from 2nd year at University right up until the late 1990’s. I brought one of my two enlargers to France with me (one that I had never used) and threw out the other one. I also brought my developing trays, photographic paper, focusing scope, film developing tank etc etc. Well you never know when you might take up a hobby again.
Damn (useful) digital cameras!
Unfortunately I will not be able to suck the air out of these items to make them smaller for storage.
Likewise I used to practice Iaido and Jodo in the late 80’s to mid nineties. So I have swords, bokken, jos, hakama and gi’s etc. Will I ever take these martial arts up again?
I very much doubt it. I even got a British Kendo coaching award, ran a dojo with a friend and taught these arts one night per week. I have forgotten it all. Was it a waste of X years? I like to think of it as character building. I met some very interesting people as a result, both from Europe and from Japan.
Downside, I also had an ache in my right shoulder for many years which made it very difficult to get to sleep.
How many of us hang on to stuff that may be useful one day, or stuff that we know will never be useful or used again?
Do for example, people who like me have sold up in our country of birth, take everything, or do they leave it all behind them to start afresh?
I also have many thousands of photos, slides, negatives to house. I could not leave those behind. They are historical documents. Are they? Of use to whom?
What happens when the owners of photos die? Unless you happen to have been Cartier Bresson or some such, I suspect they just get put in the rubbish bin.
Who else would be interested in someone else’s photographic memories. Just who are those people, where are those places?
Welcome to my fourth follower. She is from Australia so will be used to the laid back, good life….