Village Life

Erratic Jobbing
The boules ground is still not in a playable state although little other than the spreading of some gravel, already on site, needs to be done. The laying of drains under the ground there has been something of a saga, work having been started as early as last October. So it's taken six months (and counting) to lay fewer than 100 metres of drains. Nobody seems surprised, which makes me wonder why.

Extended durations for any kind of building work are very much the norm here and I now understand the reason. My admittedly limited experience of building work in the UK is that a workforce is allotted to the job and basically works at it until the job is finished. Here, a workforce seems always to be allocated multiple jobs at a time and works on one or another for indeterminate periods according to circumstances and convenience. It results in delays often commented on by would-be Peter Mayles writing about their experiences in house renovation in France.

The incredible (to me) time taken to lay the drains under the boules ground has been at least partly explained to me by neighbour Jean-Pierre. What apparently happens is that the builders complete a chunk of the work and then go to the Mairie to ask for payment for the work completed. Getting the payment can take weeks and, while waiting, the workforce moves on to another job. Even if payment is forthcoming within days, they are then engaged elsewhere and stay there until some similar break-off point. Then, if payment has been made, they return to complete another chunk of work. And so on. The typical traditionally British attitude is to assume that the workforce is simply slacking and needs a kick up the jacksie but that, from my observations, is untrue. The workers seem to be hard at it when they are there. The execution time for a job is probably no different from that in the UK, may even be shorter; it is the elapsed time that is far longer.

Boules and Flowers
The recent good weather (typical UK April weather atcually, sunshine and showers) and rise in temperature finally tested the patience of the boules crowd too much and we played for the first time since Christmas, albeit on the “grande terre” next to the Cafe des Sports rather than the usual pitch. I managed to play reasonably well, given that it was my first time out in months. When the new gravel surface is eventually laid on the usual pitch it will be like learning a new ball game, literally. All the slopes, stony areas and “placid” runs we used to know will have changed. Should be fun getting to grips with it.

The good weather has also finally brought into bloom all the bulbs I have in front of the house that have had buds ready to burst for the last two weeks. The terrace is looking good with anemone blanda and scilla siberica showing well in crevices in the terrace wall. I bought a false jasmine to replace the true one that didn't survive the winter so that should be climbing and blooming before long. Like many plants here, I've noticed, it seems to have two flowering periods per year, one in spring/early summer and one in the autumn. The back garden itself is more or less done, apart from a little weeding and the installation of a water feature. Ever since I visited the Alhambra as a student at Madrid University in 1962 I have understood the appeal of running water in a hot environment. Just the sound of running water seems refreshing. The Moors, of course, found that out long before I did.

Anyway, the water feature I brought back with me from the UK after Christmas came without any wall support attachments, despite the wall-mounted illustration in the catalogue that persuaded me to buy it. It sits perfectly adequately on the ground and looks OK there but I really wanted it on the wall; and the prospect of trying to drill holes into the rock terrace walls and the feature itself wasn't inviting. So I asked friends Steve and Jo to come round and give an opinion and they duly did so this evening. As so often seems to happen, extra minds produced a potential solution: a plinth. Why didn't I think of that? I don't know; in retrospect it's a fairly obvious thought but one that my tunneled vision of the moment wouldn't allow. So, in the next few days, it's off to find/build a plinth.

Change In The Village
The Bar du Pont has been changing ownership over the past week and has been closed for stock-taking and renovations, so the normal pizza evening routine was interrupted. Since we couldn't use the Bar, neighbours Jean-Pierre and Monique invited all the usual crowd to get their pizza and come to eat it at their house. Which we duly did. At the Bar, Jacques and Monique (famous for her sense of humour?) are giving way to people I have yet to get to know but who are apparently cousins of Martine Moreau, a neighbour of Steve and Jo. It seems that about a quarter of the population of Mollans have some such slightly indirect relationship to Mme Moreau so that much wasn't surprising and it keeps ownership of the Bar within the village. Incidentally, Martine was bereaved of her husband a few years ago and, as she recounts, got a visit from a local widower the day after her husband's death telling her she needed a man, i.e. him. The former may or may not have been true but the latter wasn't, at least in Martine's opinion. Apparently all available women in the locality get a similar visit but the visitor hasn't had any luck so far so there must be something wrong in his logic. The episode does illustrate though how the French don't muck about in coming to the point in such matters.

During the evening I learned from Anne-Marie that one of the two bakers in town has also changed hands. In this case the new owners are from Merindol, which is at least 10 km from Mollans and therefore foreign territory. Will the foreigners be accepted? Time and the quality of their bread will tell. As Anne-Marie said to me: “Everything is changing in the village”. Well, the new library is opening at the weekend also and the hairdresser is apparently passing over the business to one of her assistants but...............................Maybe only so much change at a time can be properly assimilated in a village such as ours.