La cantine

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

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

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

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

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!

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

“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.