Of course- it is the holidays at last and it is pouring with rain. Gilles and I went to Saintes to see le monument historique of the Carrefour hypermarché. One day these places will need guided tours and tourists will send by mind mails to their 10,000 friends on brain book by just swivelling their eyes. Remember where you heard it first. However, no shortage of tourists today. I reckon about a quarter of the shoppage was being done by peeved Brits. I spot them and then saunter up to check see if my detectors are correct. I loiter like a dispossessed store detective to catch a snatch of their conversation. I’m rarely wrong. I always wondered how waiters in Paris restaurants knew you were a Brit before you spoke. I still don’t know but it’s something to do with a kinda pressed clothing and over casual formality. The French are casually formal since they are shrugging people living out a book of etiquette. The Brits are formally casual since they are stiff people living without etiquette. You may need to read this twice – but it is true. Today in Carrefour we spotted 2 guys who live quite nearby. In the UK we might have waved or just given a nod. To a Frenchman this is impossible. They came over to us at the check-out since we were in mid conveyor panic mode and could not meet half way. People waited behind us while kissings and hand shakings were carried out. An exchange of news between Gilles and the lads had me glancing at the till operator and the waiting queue. In Peckham or Bermondsey (proletarian parts of London) there would have been uneasy shuffling and even some verbals. Everyone shrugged. Some things are necessary and have to be done. It is expected.
Category Archives: Cooking
X Certificate Trailer
The French love construction work. Ownership of a trailer containing some sand and a few ubiquitous planks is almost de rigeur. This does not mean that one actually does any construction. It means that one is the type who can. Generally trailers are used to take horticultural waste to the municipal tip. Now – if there is one reason to live here it is La Déchetterie. All of us Brits will have queued for the Municipal tip in the UK. Once you park, you climb some high metal steps, dragging some massive item such a mattress. Once you have scaled the North face of Mont-bin there is last push for the summit. The edge of the metal bin is about neck height. With superhuman force you heave in the load and stumble exhausted back to your car. Here, there is a simple solution. The car park is raised and the bins are below you. Now, there is of course the possibility of all manner of vehicle careering into the bin. I guess it has happened somewhere. I’ll chance it. There’s always an old tractor close by to pull you out.
Going back to the genetic love of construction, a pile of stone or sand acts as a magnet. It signifies Les Travaux. It’s like having a dog. With it comes all manner of guidance. “Oh yes – you ave to be certain of the foundations – zees sand will compress.” Yesterday a well wisher stopped to look at the stones but decided to address the matter of window frames instead, “You will have to very careful – there is plomb in the paint.” Knowing that I am English the term plomb had to be magnified in a kind of English. “Metal you know – so heavy in zee blood. You need masks to stop breathing” I agreed to stop breathing if I went too close. He seemed happy. “The man who had this house who sold it to some people before – some years ago – he rendered that wall and he just had three young men who were not builders and it was not a good job.” Oh dear. “And then you have to sure of the termites and do not forget the capricorns. You must always be sure of your infestation certificate. Sometimes things just collapse.” I began to feel that way myself. He is a kind guy. He has a really big trailer. He does a lot of inspecting.
Gonna fix a nice curry for tomorrow. Bet you I can’t find any lime pickle or papads. Perhaps you know different? (Don’t tell me how to make them! I have tried it. I think they are using them as discus in the London Olympics.)
Emma thinx: Tired of those old fantasies? Ask your lover if they’ll do a swap.
Something fishy down at Intermarché
