A Strife on the Ocean Wave

Posted on July 15, 2011 by emmacalin

Home – yes home and re-toothed. Another fabulous Breakfast at Brittany’s aboard Le Normandie. The restaurant staff are just a delight of friendliness and efficiency. The trip began badly with hundreds of kids running wild on the ferry. Seemingly several coach loads of them were on their way to see historic battlefields in Normandy in order to civilise and pacify them. Let’s hope it works. Looks like a mountain to climb. At least their keepers didn’t seem bothered if I can judge by their absence. A wonderfully politically incorrect broadcast was pushed out by the ship’s staff.

“Children who are travelling in groups. Go now to your cabins and stay there until you come out for breakfast!” A further broadcast asked the would be pacifist historians to “Respect other passengers.”

It’d been centuries since anyone in England spoke thus to brats. Several of them will live their lives as emotional cripples as their creative externalisation of personality expressed in charging downstairs knocking others aside was thwarted.

As I left the UK the phone hacking frenzy appeared to be spreading to the USA. A comforting note was that British politicians have found someone to blame at last. It is of course the police. Why didn’t the Metropolitan Police take all their officers away from suicide bombers and drug cartels and investigate the newspapers, the editors of which dined as courted mates with the prime minster? That’s one tough question. And who should answer it?

Regular readers- (by the way I love you all) must have begun to think that I am obsessed with baguettes. Once I had offloaded my father’s old desk and the tandem bicycle I went to the local Intermarché. I bought une baguette at the cost of 50 cents and gave the Monsieur a one Euro coin. Now, at the time a family of shoppers had arrived with a new baby and there was a kiss-kiss-hand-shaking fest being held over the counter. Le Monsieur gave me change of 50 cents AND my original one Euro which he kept in his hand and not put in the till. I pointed out his kind error.

“You gave me 2 Euros!” He informed me with a flat dismissive finality.

I hackled and argued back. “Non- You gave me too much change – I did not have any 2 Euro coins.”

A shrug of surly wounded pride accompanied the coin as it was tossed into the till. I had hurt him. I felt ashamed.

Emma thinx: Being right is just as likely to land you in the wrong

Oh Oh Seven!

Posted on July 12, 2011 by emmacalin

In a few minutes time I will be at the wheel of my 14 year old car and taking the do or die auto route to the coast. Luckily the cruise out of control system still works. I set it at 80 mph and point it North. When I first arrived here I was worried about having a right hand drive UK car. My neighbours shrugged and said “Well – here we drive in the middle of the road, so it doesn’t matter”. I keep the vehicle taxed, insured and tested in the UK. I had hoped that Gilles would be able to come with me but he has to work poor soul. Do you think I feel any disquiet that several French ladies have offered to look after him while I am away? OF COURSE I DO NOT! At least none of them cook rabbit.

Look – I live in France and sometimes I don’t always catch what they say on the radio. I thought I heard that the Beckhams have called their child Harper Seven. The French don’t seem sure how to pronounce it. I must be hearing things.

At last a Buddhist hero. The cyclist Johnny Hoogerland was knocked off his bike by a car driven by journalists in the Tour de France.This bike race has always seemed to me like a bike rally that somehow got caught up in a car race. This poor guy hit a barbed wire fence at 40 mph. When interviewed he said “Well, these things happen – no one meant it to be this way – I feel sorry for the guys who did it because they will feel very bad.” Now – these remarks left me feeling utterly inadequate. He has acceptance, mercy and wisdom. He went off to receive 30 stitches weighed down with absolute respect of millions. I just hope that the ambulance chasing lawyers are careful not to knock him off again.

Remember I advised you to keep an eye on the Steroid-EPO team in the Tour. The cats pounced on a minor mouse today – well, sadly no surprise. Look all you Mr Gogetitnows- what sporting world do you want for your OWN kids? Write to me in confidence. I really want to know.

Emma thinx: What name would your child give to you?

O Brave New World

Posted on July 10, 2011 by emmacalin

So, a star in the heavens slips beneath the horizon. The News of the Screws is no more. A pillar of certainty and tradition crumbles and I must confess to a genuine sadness. And I suspect that around the UK it is a shared sadness far more profound that a lot of the puffed up (Oh just look how moral I am) band wagoneering. I am a romantic novelist and I have been a thoroughly wicked woman. At least I know something juicy to write about. They would never have had to spy on me. I would just love to have told them! The decision to close a “toxic” brand is probably correct ……but if you think they won’t be back I wouldn’t get down to the bookies just yet.
Poor Rosina had to get to the Newsagents in England at 6am this morning in order to get my final souvenir copy. She’s a bit posh and probably felt a bit sullied by asking for it. I love her though – she’s a star yah. So, this morning after my portion of baguette I ventured to the tabac for a copy of the French Sunday paper “Le Journal de Dimanche”. The lead story was about a socialist politician. The headline translated roughly as “XXXXXXX – faces rumours about her private life” Wow – did you feel the heat and explosion? Many column inches talked seriously about the Dominic Strauss-Kahn case in New York. Now, this is a sensational story with ambitious prosecutors facing utter humiliation as they come under fire for a botched case driven by what I call “big case boogie”. Meanwhile a French accusatrice alleges a sexual attack some eight years ago. The headline blares out “We have material facts says lawyer” Wow! The problem is that while in the UK they have both the gutter and the cerebral press, few countries have such a fantastic mix. Come on Ozzie tycoons- buy your way into France and give us some Dent de Lion and Murdoch.

All of a sudden copies of my short story “Sub Prime” are ripping up the download statistics (Well, my statistics). We did a free audio download with it on Smashwords.com. If anyone out there reading this knows what’s going on please please let me know.

A day of horrible crashes and heroism in the Tour de France. But a Frenchman Tommy Voeckler has won the yellow jersey as leader of the Tour de France. Mon Dieu merci!

Emma thinx: Your life is the bus ride – not some maybe stop round the bend.

Boys Toys

Posted on July 9, 2011 by emmacalin

What is it about bridges? I suppose that on any given road, a bridge is a place as opposed to just another anonymous portion of distance. How often we stop on bridges to take in the view or to watch a river flowing underneath. I’m sure you will all have seen spectators on bridges over the autoroute. I must confess I have done this myself – watching all those unknowns pursuing their private destinies. You may wonder what got me onto this. Well, in St Savinien we have two bridges – one that is on the road in and out of town and the other which is a pontoon bridge connecting us to La Grenouillette – which is a park with a boating lake with a circuit of canals. The boats are fantastic and are scale models of real vessels such as tugs, cross channel ferries and Mississippi steamers. These are real boys toys! Kids need adults to accompany them and Adults need kids so Gilles has to wait for some grandchildren to turn up so that he can play on the boats. Won’t be long and he’s getting excited. At least it takes his mind off the cycling. Every year the French scan the horizon for a home-grown winner. Oh dear, a Brit won again yesterday. Best not mention it.

How do you feel about wasps? I mean, would you go out looking for them? In France we have a species called les frelons asiatiques which Anglos would call hornets. They are huge and kill lovely little pollinating bees. Citizens are asked to trap them using a bottle containing beer and grenadine. I’ve always found that beer attracts most Northern European males and the grenadine certainly attracts me in a suitable cocktail with lemonade, vodka and ice. I’ve got to be a good citizen so I’m giving it a go. There might be a bit left for the hornets. Santé!

Emma thinx: Build a bridge. Kiss someone you love.

RWPC8WZSWANW

Just the Ticket

Posted on July 6, 2011 by emmacalin

Dem Bones

Posted on July 4, 2011 by emmacalin

“Oh yes”, my neighbour began, “there are many regulations about the guttering.” Now, if this sounds like it’s gonna be boring just think how I felt. One can discuss les gouttières between rain here and that can be months. Without boring you with zinc, copper and iron possibilities, let me simplify the regulations into a single expression. “NO PLASTIC” If you have ever lived in neatened gentrified development with plastic cladding and double glazing you will know what everyone is trying to avoid. Dilapidation topped by the crowing cockerel is the ambience of France. This is why people come here! One of the avowed intentions of my little town is to attract tourism. Much work is being undertaken to make us more attractive to visitors. Cables are being buried, cobbles quainted and façades painted. The town needs the work and without it the place will die. Anyone old enough to recall the cargo cults of post war Pacific will see the sadness and dilemma of it all. Check out cargo cults here. One thing for sure is that the zeal of converts such as I should be ignored.

Part of the cable burying project unearthed many human bones around the church. Just imagine the scene in England. The whole thing would be closed down. The Secretary of State in the department of Bones n’ Stones would be interviewed for TV, conservationists would chain themselves to railings and would be politicos would outrage themselves with – well – OUTRAGE. Here, a guy dabs away with a brush while diggers and pile drivers carry on. I saunter up and ask about the bones. “It is a mother and child – probably from the Fourteen Hundreds”. Explains an obviously experienced, competent and worryingly brainy university guy. I opine that they will have to stop while matters are catalogued and analysed. “I have the rest of the day – then the cables come in.” He replied. The reconstruction of the past needs a very modern present.

I’m worried about the lizard in my drainpipe. I haven’t seen him for days. I thought we were friends.Do you think he’s blocked me on lizard-book?

Emma thinx: All time, all history led to you in this moment.

Live Parrot Sketch

Posted on July 1, 2011 by emmacalin

You know that feeling when you come round the corner of your street and find the whole place full of police and fire engines? Maybe you didn’t turn the gas off? OK – no smoke in the air, perhaps it’s merely an escaped amazon parrot. Normally such an event would not come to mind – unless you live where I do.

The cat lady, who I explained is also the dove lady, is actually above all the parrot lady. In 2010 a number of violent storms swept across France around Bastille Day (July 14th). Somehow an aviary was damaged and Cookie, a red amazonian parrot, escaped. Seemingly, Madame had reared the bird after it had been born with a beak defect and could not feed normally. For a couple of days I had heard the occasional sound of what I thought was a parrot. I knew that feral parakeets had taken up residence in Southern England and I always imagined that they had been introduced in order to combat the feral children that colonised much of the UK tabloid press.

As I rounded the corner I came across a knot of sapeurs-pompiers with a couple of Gendarmes. Various ladders led into trees. The cat/dove/parrot lady was going through her normal range “My little man, my flea – oh please – oh-my little flea”. Regular readers will begin to recognise the pattern. A chief fireman was briefing the men “The suspect is wearing a red beret. He answers to the name Cookie.” He said drily. The Gendarmes nodded wisely. Radios echoed from inside vehicles. Squawks filled the air as a parrot rose gracefully from a conifer tree and flapped off across the rooftops. Personnel emerged from the tree. Madame set off in the same direction whilst ladders were retracted and replaced on fire engines.

I expected that Cookie’s career as a fugitive would not end well. Everyday Madame roamed the town with binoculars calling the bird. Several hundred cigarettes were smoked. All hope had faded as a fisherman on the banks of La Charente spotted the bird and threw a net over it. News reached the local radio station France Bleu La Rochelle and the miracle was complete. I have told you before that she is almost certainly some kind of angel although I’ve lost my Observers book of angels.

Just a note on the DSK situation. I do detect that in France there is a feeling that the humiliation of such a French figure is a blow at the National pride – a kinda cultural swipe at the Gallic gonad. I guess that many travelling world controllers are making their own beds just in case.

Emma thinx: NYPD? Bof! – blow that job.

Monarch-Oh!

Posted on June 30, 2011 by emmacalin

Did you wait at traffic lights set up around a hole in the road on your way to work this morning? Have the cable TV guys dug up your footway or is there a spot of resurfacing going on? Well, the French have a concept called “le grand projet”. In essence it is a philosophical idea whereby the imagination of sometimes a visionary individual overrides the mundane everyday drudge of life and of course, all non visionaries. This is why one has the Eiffel tower and the high speed train (Le TGV). Once you have submitted to a grand projet such as the Haussmann creation of Paris, you enter a long period of stasis where the grand projet becomes a battle with counter visionaries. Until 2008 Building height in Paris was restricted to 37 metres (122 feet) and has left us with – well – Paris and HOW LOVELY SHE IS. Maybe I’d go to the barricades to save both Paris and Radio 4. Good job Prince Charles isn’t French! There would be no “monstrous carbuncles” on his watch.(My non UK readers may not know that this was his description of an extension to the National Gallery in London).

Anyway, if I return to the hole in the road, please spare a thought for the folks of a village near me called “Port D’Envaux.” The picture above has an eloquence that I could not hope to beat. Le grand projet is to transform the whole place in one go. Well – no way back now.

Since I mentioned Prince Charles, you may wonder how the French see The British royal family. Having dealt with their own royal issue and robbed themselves of the greatest soap opera on Earth, they have had to content themselves with the tales of Monaco. (They are seldom disappointed). The wedding of the sovereign is now a couple of days away and there is a frenzy of stories, law suits and, shock horror, allegations of a third illegitimate child. (His Serene Highness admits to two). As the British Royal wedding approached I encountered all manner of French folk congratulating me on the happy event. “You will be waving your flags I expect.” said my neighbour seriously. Since they don’t sell union jacks anywhere in France and I don’t carry one I just had to watch the show beamed in on the BBC. Now beat that Monaco!

Yesterday’s attack on President Sarkozy did not give him the chance to respond with his famous “Casse toi pauv’con”. If you want a bleep(ing) translation, get in touch… Now if only John Prescott had been there. See Prezza land a blow for socialism here. Not quite what I had in mind when I wrote “Knockout!”

Emma thinx: Love your lover. Sighs matter.

Stand up Comedienne

Posted on June 29, 2011 by emmacalin

https://i0.wp.com/www.dougpile.com/turkey/hole.jpg

Yes – there are still stand up loos in France. Now, we females have quite correctly sought equality and in this regard for long periods we have been able to use true unisex stand up toilets. The last one I found was on the autoroute services close to Poitiers. However, these are not stand up toilets! One squats the bot……there was a time when I did not know this. Also be aware that toilet paper is not always provided. You have been warned. I have also found that when cycling with kids, minor cases of Diarrhoea can be turned into instant constipation when the stand up threat is rolled out.(One day the child abuse van will pull up outside and uniformed politically correct guards will grab me). I didn’t intend to make this blog a toilet tantrum but if you are an affecianado of deep luxury quilted double silk tissue that will caress your flesh with the kiss of the soft southern breeze – FORGET IT. If that’s what you want take your own. But again beware! For UK drainage users, the design of sewer here is often of smaller bore and lesser gradient, but let’s not plunge into such depths.

Just before we lower the seat down on this issue I must tell you about one evening in Paris two months ago when I was dining at a Pot au Feu restaurant. We were seated near a door which opened into an airless cupboard which housed la toilette. Another diner dashed into the cupboard and appeared to be immediately swept up in something involving a bullet train and a volcanic explosion. He emerged appearing soothed and returned coolly to his table to continue his elegant life of chic Parisian. We were engulfed in a cloud of gas that contravened the Geneva convention and the laws of physics. I struggled for air while Gilles calmly lifted a bone from his stew to his lips. ” La vie – it is about flesh you know….” He said. He was born there.

As I rode through the town today I saw the cat lady. (See my blog “The cat’s out of the bag”) She was standing in the road with a large pair of binoculars held to her eyes. She was studying the church tower. I must point out that the cat lady is also the bird lady. She is also an angel but probably escaped. She saw me and we did the four kisses.
“Oh my little bonhome, my little flea – you are there.” She explained as if I would understand.
“Quoi?”
“My little man, my love, my ‘plume blanche’, he is there alive.”
A while ago she found a dazed crashed baby dove with a white breast feather, fed and did whatever angels do to fallen doves and set it free. She watches over it. One day an angel may need a dove for a special mission. As gangstas say on the streets of South London -“Respect”.

Emma thinx: Leaders – Leave out a little seed. A dove may land.

Sitting on the Block of e-Bay.

Posted on June 28, 2011 by emmacalin

I needed a wardrobe. Actually I’ve always needed a wardrobe and today was my chance. Like most folk in France we have a trailer, in the way that most English folk have a lawnmower or a toaster. There are many ways to buy period romantic furniture worthy of une filly de frill such as me. You can go to a shop. There are many antique “Brocante” emporiums which are usually exotically priced and in my view, aimed at somewhat gullible foreigners. You can check out a web site called “Viva Street” which is quite handy. There is also a more local on line service called “le Bon Coin”. Oh, and there is also a very curious little cosmic galactic enterprise called e-Bay France. Now, in France, the whole idea of the auction site is quite alien. This is not the way of TRADITION. Think of a butchers shop selling rabbits. Do customers bid to beat their neighbour to the rabbit punch? NON! On eBay.fr the seller says what he’s got and asks for too much and the buyer shrugs and makes a derisory offer. It’s like the old days of wage negotiations when workers were allowed to ask for a wage increase. You have to be quite old to remember that. Oh dear the old red commie petticoat is hanging down a bit. So, there is a price. You offer less. There is a counter punch and you make a deal. Do I get my MBA now? And there was a wardrobe and I wanted it!

We drove to Angouleme and while my hero driver Gilles reversed the enormous trailer I descended into the gloom of an underground garage with Monsieur le seller. We checked out the wardrobe. It was suitably enormous and twiddled – it was the wooden equivalent of a whole purple pumping ecstatic overwritten paragraph. I got out some cash. Monsieur Le Seller looked sadly at me. “Madame” he began hesitantly, “I wonder if you be interested in my bed?” Given the presence of Gilles I guessed he meant something honourable. “You see, this was the bed of my parents – my birth and many other world events happened in this bed. Now – we are globalised everywhere and no one of la famille wants it. These are the last things of my heritage and when they are are gone I can let go of the past.” I wondered how best selling romantic novelists would handle the situation as I embraced the weeping Monsieur to my bosom. “Forty Euros” I said. “Forty five and done.” He replied stepping back. Gilles arrived and loaded the goods. Now come on big biz guys – that’s got to be my MBA.

Speaking of the old red commie petticoat – my audiobook of “Sub Prime” is finished and FREE to my loyal blog readers (click here) and I really do thank all of you around the world who are coming back to the site everyday to share my insights into bi-lingual incomprehension. It’s not me reading it. See my blog “The Drama Queen’s Speech.” to find out why! If you actually want to hear MY rejected over sibilant voice I’m got some audio poems that will be coming up on the blog…

Emma x
PS. If you download the audiobook, please do let me know if you liked it.

Emma thinx: Indoors I watch a lost butterfly beating in vain against a window pane. Which of us understands the most? Not me.