England Versus France

Thursday Evening

I went to the Bar du Pont on last Thursday evening to have mussels and chips and bumped into Nico. I have agreed with him and Mathieu to have them redo the tiling on my terrace floor as there is a problem with its permeability. I knew the tiles there weren't designed for outside use but the builder promised to coat them with a sealant, which he did. Two years later the problem recurred and he came again to add sealant. Now the problem has arisen for the third time and so I decided to have a permanent job done with new tiles. Nico had twice arranged to collect me to go to Avignon where he knew a good place to get tiles and twice had failed to turn up. So I wanted to see him. He said he was sorry about the previous Monday, the last time he failed to turn up, but they had been behind with another job they were doing. Anyway they were coming the following Monday to start on my terrace (no mention of tiles). It didn't matter; I went to Vaison and found some. And Nico and Mathieu duly turned up today to start work. It's not quite straightforward as they have to put iron bars into the wall to support three pots off the ground which have climbing roses, clematis and jasmine in them and so can't be moved away. But, anyway, they have started in early July as they said they would and that is something of a first for this area.

To have the mussels and chips I sat at a table with the two Dany Sue, Michele and her cousin Annie from England. Annie is French but married an Englishman who died a few years ago and has lived half her life in Teddington; and she loves it. What she loves above all is the theatre, cinema and concerts in London but she also loves marmite, lamb with mint sauce and drizzle! I found it very entertaining to hear her expound on the delights of these latter to the obvious puzzlement of the others, particularly the drizzle which so many of us have specifically came here to avoid There is no equivalent to marmite in France so it took some time to try to explain it and, admittedly, an extract of yeast, put like that, doesn't sound that appetising. So the wonders of marmite toast were lost on the French there.

Annie has become anglicised but retains at least one French trait: obsession with the English royal family. She said she'd seen some marvellous pictures of George taking his first steps walking in public. I nodded understandingly but it quickly became clear I hadn't a clue who she was talking about. “George,” she said in astonishment, “William and Kate's son.” “Oh yes,” I said unenthusiastically, at which point she accused me of being a traitor. So I accused her of the same. Dany intervened to say he thought I had found my proper home here in Mollans, that I very much belonged here. Clearly the same is true of Annie in England. We discussed the point and decided that neither of us would want to swap places; though, as we crossed the bridge afterwards she did go into raptures in front of the Dauphin fountain on the other side, remembering how she had played there as a child and washed her doll's clothes in the wash-house. So we both have happy memories of our origins on each side of the Channel but are both happy at now living on the other side.