A Busy Weekend
Daniel's son Kevyn descended on him on Saturday together with a half-dozen friends. I had invited Daniel to eat with me that evening but, in view of Kevyn and friends' arrival, Daniel reversed the invitation. So, the boules square was fully used and afterwards the gang of students set about cooking a leg of lamb and veggies. The following day was a celebration of the birthday of one of the friends, Laure, and Daniel had already invited me to meet Jean-François Collonat (of whom more later) for aperos at midday. So I stayed on for the barbecue and birthday celebration (Happy Birthday To You.... seems to be international and was duly sung in several languages). And on to boules again...............
Guided Tour Translation
Jean-François Collonat does a guided tour of the village, relating its history along the way, every weekend in July and August and on special occasions in between. The tour lasts about an hour and a half. Over the past 18 months Daniel has been busy videoing J-F doing his stuff and subsequently has drawn up a commentary, based on what J-F recounts, to go with the video. The video will be converted to DVD and I offered to do an English commentary to go as an alternative to the French on the DVD. So, I am busy doing a translation of the commentary text. I had the idea of producing the text as a brochure, in the two languages, and both Daniel and J-F have accepted this. With a few photos and maybe a map or two added, it should make for a good 16-page brochure. And a budget is available to print it.
A brief perusal of the French text made me think that the translation would be straightforward. In the main it is, apart from some obscure terms relating to times past. However, there are a couple of things that have caused me to stop and think carefully. Firstly, some words/terms simply don't translate; for instance: Mairie. “Town Hall” doesn't get it; you don't have them in villages and anyway that's more of a “Hotel de Ville”. “Village Hall” doesn't get it either; it's a different thing, a salle de fêtes or similar. “Mayor's Offices” won't do the trick either as that is a town hall and, anyway, small English villages don't have mayors. In the end I decided a Mairie was a Mairie and left it at that. Notaire is similar; we don't really have an equivalent; “notary” is probably the best translation but how often do you encounter that word in English? The other problem has been that the French use very long sentences. Three or four subordinate clauses is the norm and 6-7 are frequent. You simply can't do that in English without creating incredibly complex (and opaque) sentences. So, to hell with faithfulness to the original in that respect, I've chopped the French up into much more manageable English sentences. At the moment, it's working out at about two hours per page, which seems to be reasonable progress.
Vaison Market
I hadn't been to Vaison market for a while so I went to check it out. At this time of year it's just moderately crowded, not heaving as it is in summer. Asparagus is now in full flood, white, green, thick or thin. I personally prefer the thin green stems. And the prices are beginning to fall and will fall further, even though they are half the price of asparagus in England already. I also caught sight of the first strawberries from nearby Carpentras, reputed to be the best in France. The really good ones are known as garrigues and tend to be small and misshapen, not what you would find in UK supermarkets (which is their loss).
Inevitably I also bought some plants, including a clematis I think may be a Gypsy Queen, like the one I brought back from England. It looks very similar from the label and is the same flowering period but had no name on it and the stall owner didn't know its name. It will go outside the front door.
Orchards
Fruit-growing being a principal occupation around here, the area is full of orchards. At the moment the almond trees are full of bloom and the peach trees are also starting. Before long the cherry trees will join in and there will be whole panoramas of blossom. Not to be outdone, the local roadsides are displaying irises (mostly various shades from light blue to mauve), coronilla and the wild wallflower, merysimum. Broom and valerian are just beginning to show but will be in abundance in a couple of weeks or so.
Friday, 10 April 2009
Thursday, 2 April 2009
Flowers, Books and Films
Back Again, With Plants
I'm now back from my visit to England to see my mother, kids and friends. Everything went well; and daffodils everywhere, in profusion..........very Wordsworthian.
I came back with a suitcase full of plants, mostly bought at 99p to fill holes in my terrace wall, but also a Guinée rose and a clematis bought at Wisley. I find the Guinée rose difficult; I'd had it in Reading but with only modest success. However, the specimen I found looks strong and so I shall try again here; it's worth it for its exquisite perfume. I feared for the clematis which, despite being a late-flowering variety, had put on considerable growth and had to be doubled up in my suitcase, cushioned by dirty shirts. But it survived the journey and is now planted on my terrace at the back.
Meanwhile, Mana had acquired some plants which she called Hépatiques Trilobés, from a bank of wildflowers near here. A dictionary search identified these as Liverwort, a very English name, but I'd never seen anything like them in England and they are wild flowers supposed to grow just about anywhere in Europe. They are very short and have a blue anemone-like flower. Interestingly, Keeble Martin doesn't include them in his book but the RHS encyclopedia I have identifies three varieties as Hepatica(for which the Trilobés doesn't help much since they are all Trilobés), but a search in a French wildflower book I have suggests they are Hépatiques Nobles. The name Liverwort suggests they have had some medicinal use in England in the past but I'm puzzled by their absence from Keeble-Martin's book and by my never having encountered them in England. Anyway, I acquired some too and they are duly planted in the back garden.
Films and Books
Daniel had kindly invited me to eat with him on my return so that I wouldn't have to cook that evening. Over the meal, I mentioned having seen Slumdog Millionaire and Mana's reaction to it and we got into a discussion of books and films thereof. I initially took the stance that you can't compare books and the film of the book because they are different media: what you can do in a book you can't necessarily do in a film and vice-versa. Daniel took a different tack; he reckoned it could be very interesting to compare the two, not to assess similarities but to ask questions about why any differences have been introduced. Some may be for banal reasons of what is possible in one medium or the other but others may give much more cause for thought. I think he's right and it's a point that hadn't occurred to me.
I'm now back from my visit to England to see my mother, kids and friends. Everything went well; and daffodils everywhere, in profusion..........very Wordsworthian.
I came back with a suitcase full of plants, mostly bought at 99p to fill holes in my terrace wall, but also a Guinée rose and a clematis bought at Wisley. I find the Guinée rose difficult; I'd had it in Reading but with only modest success. However, the specimen I found looks strong and so I shall try again here; it's worth it for its exquisite perfume. I feared for the clematis which, despite being a late-flowering variety, had put on considerable growth and had to be doubled up in my suitcase, cushioned by dirty shirts. But it survived the journey and is now planted on my terrace at the back.
Meanwhile, Mana had acquired some plants which she called Hépatiques Trilobés, from a bank of wildflowers near here. A dictionary search identified these as Liverwort, a very English name, but I'd never seen anything like them in England and they are wild flowers supposed to grow just about anywhere in Europe. They are very short and have a blue anemone-like flower. Interestingly, Keeble Martin doesn't include them in his book but the RHS encyclopedia I have identifies three varieties as Hepatica(for which the Trilobés doesn't help much since they are all Trilobés), but a search in a French wildflower book I have suggests they are Hépatiques Nobles. The name Liverwort suggests they have had some medicinal use in England in the past but I'm puzzled by their absence from Keeble-Martin's book and by my never having encountered them in England. Anyway, I acquired some too and they are duly planted in the back garden.
Films and Books
Daniel had kindly invited me to eat with him on my return so that I wouldn't have to cook that evening. Over the meal, I mentioned having seen Slumdog Millionaire and Mana's reaction to it and we got into a discussion of books and films thereof. I initially took the stance that you can't compare books and the film of the book because they are different media: what you can do in a book you can't necessarily do in a film and vice-versa. Daniel took a different tack; he reckoned it could be very interesting to compare the two, not to assess similarities but to ask questions about why any differences have been introduced. Some may be for banal reasons of what is possible in one medium or the other but others may give much more cause for thought. I think he's right and it's a point that hadn't occurred to me.
Monday, 23 March 2009
Cinema and England
To The Cinema
I went with Mana, a local friend, to see Slumdog Millionaire at the cinema in Buis yesterday evening and was impressed. I found the mixture of realism and fantasy, Bollywood and other genres effectively blended and the whole well acted and photographed. A thoroughly engaging film, if not a great one. Mana was not impressed, having read the book and finding the detail on the poverty from which Jamal had emerged lacking and dismissing the tinseltown episodes as American, although I think they were Bollywood. Plenty to talk about afterwards, anyway.
The film was dubbed into French, which is what happens to most films here that will run on the main cinema circuits (which doesn't include Buis and neighbouring towns). I find the range of films shown locally much better than that I was used to in Reading, primarily because the French seem to accept subtitles easily. Subtitling is what happens to any film that is not going to be a blockbuster on the main cinema circuits. That turns out to be a very important difference. If you can accept subtitles, then you don't have to bulk out cinema programmes with inferior films because you are constrained by a single language. You, literally, have the whole worlds films to choose from. So, since I have been here, I have seem films originated in, for instance, Morocco, Mongolia, Algeria, Spain, and China, all good films that I would never have had the chance to see in Reading.
The cinema in Buis has promoted a debate on whether films in languages other than French should be dubbed or subtitled. The general argument is that dubbing compromises the integrity of the film, whilst subtitling obviously introduces some visual interference, with the inference that purists will opt for subtitles. I suspect the debate is academic; economics rather than aesthetics will determine whether films in other languages are dubbed or subtitled. However, sometimes you can take your pick; Slumdog Millionaire was earlier showing in a subtitled version. The important point for me is that, if you accept subtitles, then a far wider variety, and a greater overall quality, of films becomes available.
And Back To England.............
Tomorrow I fly back to England to see my kids and my mother for a week. I gather that the weather in England, or the southern part, has changed for the worse: lower temperatures and rain. Which is a pity because here the weather is forecast to stay fair for the next several days. However, I love England in the spring (“Oh to be in England.....etc) and so will doubtless find things to please me. And I shall no doubt bring back various plants in my suitcase for my garden here.
Résumé en Français
Je suis conscient de ne pas avoir fait les résumés que j'avais proposés. C'est plus difficile que je ne l'avais pensé: pas le français mais le résumé. Cependant, je les écrirai de temps en temps.
I went with Mana, a local friend, to see Slumdog Millionaire at the cinema in Buis yesterday evening and was impressed. I found the mixture of realism and fantasy, Bollywood and other genres effectively blended and the whole well acted and photographed. A thoroughly engaging film, if not a great one. Mana was not impressed, having read the book and finding the detail on the poverty from which Jamal had emerged lacking and dismissing the tinseltown episodes as American, although I think they were Bollywood. Plenty to talk about afterwards, anyway.
The film was dubbed into French, which is what happens to most films here that will run on the main cinema circuits (which doesn't include Buis and neighbouring towns). I find the range of films shown locally much better than that I was used to in Reading, primarily because the French seem to accept subtitles easily. Subtitling is what happens to any film that is not going to be a blockbuster on the main cinema circuits. That turns out to be a very important difference. If you can accept subtitles, then you don't have to bulk out cinema programmes with inferior films because you are constrained by a single language. You, literally, have the whole worlds films to choose from. So, since I have been here, I have seem films originated in, for instance, Morocco, Mongolia, Algeria, Spain, and China, all good films that I would never have had the chance to see in Reading.
The cinema in Buis has promoted a debate on whether films in languages other than French should be dubbed or subtitled. The general argument is that dubbing compromises the integrity of the film, whilst subtitling obviously introduces some visual interference, with the inference that purists will opt for subtitles. I suspect the debate is academic; economics rather than aesthetics will determine whether films in other languages are dubbed or subtitled. However, sometimes you can take your pick; Slumdog Millionaire was earlier showing in a subtitled version. The important point for me is that, if you accept subtitles, then a far wider variety, and a greater overall quality, of films becomes available.
And Back To England.............
Tomorrow I fly back to England to see my kids and my mother for a week. I gather that the weather in England, or the southern part, has changed for the worse: lower temperatures and rain. Which is a pity because here the weather is forecast to stay fair for the next several days. However, I love England in the spring (“Oh to be in England.....etc) and so will doubtless find things to please me. And I shall no doubt bring back various plants in my suitcase for my garden here.
Résumé en Français
Je suis conscient de ne pas avoir fait les résumés que j'avais proposés. C'est plus difficile que je ne l'avais pensé: pas le français mais le résumé. Cependant, je les écrirai de temps en temps.
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Gardening, History and a Joke
Gardening and History
The weather has been getting better and better. For the last few days I've been playing boules in temperatures in the low to middle 20s. My car was recording 29 degrees this morning but it's usually optimistic by a few degrees. The days have been spent gardening. I've pinched a couple of inches off the footpath at the back of the house to plant a row of irises given to me by friends Steve and Jo, who have been splitting and replanting theirs. They won't do much this year but should look good next. Have also dug two more holes in the road in front of the house and planted a climbing rose (Iceberg) up against a lime tree on one side and a clematis (Jackmanii) to climb up the honeysuckle on my side. Scraping the paint off the beams in my bedroom will have to wait.
As an alternative to Sudoku over breakfast, I have been reading a history of Pierrelongue, a village 3 km from here along the road to Buis,. It seems there's a still unresolved dispute between Pierrelongue and Mollans over grazing and timber-gathering rights on Mt Bluye, the large hill (3000ft) which spans the two villages. Nothing remarkable in that except that the legal process started in the mid-18th century. There's not a lot that grazes on Mt Bluye now, except a few wild boar, so maybe that's why the case is still unresolved; or maybe everybody just got too tired or forgot what the problem was. Mt Bluye is also the source of many of the springs that bring water to the two villages, which might be more of a problem (viz. Jean de Florette and Manon des Sources) except that there seems to be plenty of water for both. Pierrelongue didn't get its own fountain (i.e. source of fresh water) until as late as 1898. (By contrast, there are eleven fountains in Mollans, dating from ~1770). Before that the villagers of Pierrelongue had to cross the river on a large plank, which occasionally got chopped up for firewood when the weather got cold. Or they could use the river water but the people of Buis had a song that ran along the lines of “we piss in the river and the Pierrelongais drink our piss”. Local villages pissing on one another, or doing something rather more violent, seems to have been all the rage in the 14th and 15th centuries but is a sport that has fortunately died out.
Joke
Here's another of René's stories, which he tells in an Alsatian accent that I could never reproduce. A local yokel introduced himself to a new neighbour and enquired what he did for a job, as he clearly wasn't a farm worker. The newcomer replied that he was a professor of deductive logic at the nearby Strasbourg university. After thinking for a few moments, the yokel asked: “Er....what exactly is that?”.
The professor replied: “ Well, let me give you an example. For instance, I see that you have a kennel in your garden, so I deduce from that you probably have a dog”.
“Yes”, says the yokel.
“I notice also,” says the professor, “that there are toys in your garden and I deduce from that that you have children”.
“Yes”, says the yokel, increasingly impressed.
“Since you have children,” continues the professor, “I conclude that you probably have a wife and that you are heterosexual”.
“Yes again”, says the yokel, now extremely impressed.
A few days later the yokel yokel meets another (yokel) neighbour and tells him about this brilliant professor who has moved into the village. The conversation proceeds as follows.
Yokel 2: “What is this new guy a professor of”?
Yokel 1: “Deductive logic”
Yokel 2; “What exactly is that”?
Yokel 1 (puffing out his chest): “Well, let me give you an example. Have you got a dog kennel in your garden”?
Yokel 2: “No”
Yokel 1: “Homosexual!”
The weather has been getting better and better. For the last few days I've been playing boules in temperatures in the low to middle 20s. My car was recording 29 degrees this morning but it's usually optimistic by a few degrees. The days have been spent gardening. I've pinched a couple of inches off the footpath at the back of the house to plant a row of irises given to me by friends Steve and Jo, who have been splitting and replanting theirs. They won't do much this year but should look good next. Have also dug two more holes in the road in front of the house and planted a climbing rose (Iceberg) up against a lime tree on one side and a clematis (Jackmanii) to climb up the honeysuckle on my side. Scraping the paint off the beams in my bedroom will have to wait.
As an alternative to Sudoku over breakfast, I have been reading a history of Pierrelongue, a village 3 km from here along the road to Buis,. It seems there's a still unresolved dispute between Pierrelongue and Mollans over grazing and timber-gathering rights on Mt Bluye, the large hill (3000ft) which spans the two villages. Nothing remarkable in that except that the legal process started in the mid-18th century. There's not a lot that grazes on Mt Bluye now, except a few wild boar, so maybe that's why the case is still unresolved; or maybe everybody just got too tired or forgot what the problem was. Mt Bluye is also the source of many of the springs that bring water to the two villages, which might be more of a problem (viz. Jean de Florette and Manon des Sources) except that there seems to be plenty of water for both. Pierrelongue didn't get its own fountain (i.e. source of fresh water) until as late as 1898. (By contrast, there are eleven fountains in Mollans, dating from ~1770). Before that the villagers of Pierrelongue had to cross the river on a large plank, which occasionally got chopped up for firewood when the weather got cold. Or they could use the river water but the people of Buis had a song that ran along the lines of “we piss in the river and the Pierrelongais drink our piss”. Local villages pissing on one another, or doing something rather more violent, seems to have been all the rage in the 14th and 15th centuries but is a sport that has fortunately died out.
Joke
Here's another of René's stories, which he tells in an Alsatian accent that I could never reproduce. A local yokel introduced himself to a new neighbour and enquired what he did for a job, as he clearly wasn't a farm worker. The newcomer replied that he was a professor of deductive logic at the nearby Strasbourg university. After thinking for a few moments, the yokel asked: “Er....what exactly is that?”.
The professor replied: “ Well, let me give you an example. For instance, I see that you have a kennel in your garden, so I deduce from that you probably have a dog”.
“Yes”, says the yokel.
“I notice also,” says the professor, “that there are toys in your garden and I deduce from that that you have children”.
“Yes”, says the yokel, increasingly impressed.
“Since you have children,” continues the professor, “I conclude that you probably have a wife and that you are heterosexual”.
“Yes again”, says the yokel, now extremely impressed.
A few days later the yokel yokel meets another (yokel) neighbour and tells him about this brilliant professor who has moved into the village. The conversation proceeds as follows.
Yokel 2: “What is this new guy a professor of”?
Yokel 1: “Deductive logic”
Yokel 2; “What exactly is that”?
Yokel 1 (puffing out his chest): “Well, let me give you an example. Have you got a dog kennel in your garden”?
Yokel 2: “No”
Yokel 1: “Homosexual!”
Sunday, 15 March 2009
Cycle Races, Wild Flowers, Rugby and Bobbies
Cyclists and Flowers
Yesterday I went to see the Paris-Nice cycle race go past the village. It's not as big a deal as the Tour de France, obviously, but it is supposed to be one of the big races. It turned out to be a real anti-climax, my having got there far too early. Nothing happened apart from a few sponsor cars racing past until a break-away group of about a dozen cyclists surged past with a couple of support cars behind. They had a lead of about 5 minutes on the main peloton, which then came past with about as many support cars as cyclists. And that was it. No wonder the village didn't turn out for it. Anyway, I'm glad I saw it.
Arriving too early meant I looked around at the herbiage at the edge of the field where I was standing and saw several helianthemums growing. I think one or two of those might end up in the wall at the back of my terrace. The flowers that grow wild here are quite a surprise to me. First, there are irises everywhere, some of which are already blooming at the back of my garden. But they are everywhere in the hillsides around and there is a dwarf variety, very similar to those that grow from bulbs in England, but these have rhizomes: they are blue, yellow or white. Another surprise was to find wild tulips, although these are not yet out, which grow in the lavender fields just to the north of the village. They are all a combination of yellow and red in colour, have a much slimmer form than most cultivated tulips and the petals come to an elongated point at the top. I prefer their shape to that of the cultivated varieties. Plus red violets, one has taken root in my wall, coronilla, the salvia pratensis and numerous varieties of sedum. All wild, all common, and some destined for my back garden.
Rugby and other forms of play
Today, Steve and Jo invited me for lunch and we ate outside in some 23 degrees of sunshine. They have done a good job on the veg.beds and Jo is eager to get started on sowing; indeed, she's already planted a bed and a half of rattes, the small potatoes that are grown here, much like the earlies in England but these grow all the year round. I pruned their roses and then went on to play boules and, after boules, to meet Steve and René in the Bar du Pont to watch the second half of the France-England rugby match. England were already 29-0 ahead so it was an occasion to witness local disgust. Rugby puzzles me, although I have played it (very badly). A player was penalised for putting his hand on the ball at the wrong time; simultaneously, one player was gaily gouging lumps out of another player's midriff and shirt with his studs and yet another was busily trying to stomp an opponent's head into the ground. But that, it seems, is not against the rules. I found myself straining to see, when an object emerged from a scrum, whether it was actually the ball and not some player's head.
In the evening I went to Daniel's to celebrate his finishing the script of La Partie de Boules n'aura pas lieu. A bit prematurely, as it turned out, as he feels he has some final revisions to make. Nonetheless, we drank to the script. We still don't know what to do with it but if any reader wants a copy, I'll happily send it if I have their email address. I happened to notice, on a TV programme guide he had, a mention of les flics. Which reminded me of “going to the flicks” (to see a film) in my youth. The term, now dated, presumably derives from when kaleidoscopes were a popular form of film but where does “les flics” come from? Daniel didn't know either but a search through his etymological dictionary suggested it might derive from the sound of the whips which French policemen had in the early 19th century. It seems the French had their flics before the English had their bobbies, which is something else I didn't know.
Yesterday I went to see the Paris-Nice cycle race go past the village. It's not as big a deal as the Tour de France, obviously, but it is supposed to be one of the big races. It turned out to be a real anti-climax, my having got there far too early. Nothing happened apart from a few sponsor cars racing past until a break-away group of about a dozen cyclists surged past with a couple of support cars behind. They had a lead of about 5 minutes on the main peloton, which then came past with about as many support cars as cyclists. And that was it. No wonder the village didn't turn out for it. Anyway, I'm glad I saw it.
Arriving too early meant I looked around at the herbiage at the edge of the field where I was standing and saw several helianthemums growing. I think one or two of those might end up in the wall at the back of my terrace. The flowers that grow wild here are quite a surprise to me. First, there are irises everywhere, some of which are already blooming at the back of my garden. But they are everywhere in the hillsides around and there is a dwarf variety, very similar to those that grow from bulbs in England, but these have rhizomes: they are blue, yellow or white. Another surprise was to find wild tulips, although these are not yet out, which grow in the lavender fields just to the north of the village. They are all a combination of yellow and red in colour, have a much slimmer form than most cultivated tulips and the petals come to an elongated point at the top. I prefer their shape to that of the cultivated varieties. Plus red violets, one has taken root in my wall, coronilla, the salvia pratensis and numerous varieties of sedum. All wild, all common, and some destined for my back garden.
Rugby and other forms of play
Today, Steve and Jo invited me for lunch and we ate outside in some 23 degrees of sunshine. They have done a good job on the veg.beds and Jo is eager to get started on sowing; indeed, she's already planted a bed and a half of rattes, the small potatoes that are grown here, much like the earlies in England but these grow all the year round. I pruned their roses and then went on to play boules and, after boules, to meet Steve and René in the Bar du Pont to watch the second half of the France-England rugby match. England were already 29-0 ahead so it was an occasion to witness local disgust. Rugby puzzles me, although I have played it (very badly). A player was penalised for putting his hand on the ball at the wrong time; simultaneously, one player was gaily gouging lumps out of another player's midriff and shirt with his studs and yet another was busily trying to stomp an opponent's head into the ground. But that, it seems, is not against the rules. I found myself straining to see, when an object emerged from a scrum, whether it was actually the ball and not some player's head.
In the evening I went to Daniel's to celebrate his finishing the script of La Partie de Boules n'aura pas lieu. A bit prematurely, as it turned out, as he feels he has some final revisions to make. Nonetheless, we drank to the script. We still don't know what to do with it but if any reader wants a copy, I'll happily send it if I have their email address. I happened to notice, on a TV programme guide he had, a mention of les flics. Which reminded me of “going to the flicks” (to see a film) in my youth. The term, now dated, presumably derives from when kaleidoscopes were a popular form of film but where does “les flics” come from? Daniel didn't know either but a search through his etymological dictionary suggested it might derive from the sound of the whips which French policemen had in the early 19th century. It seems the French had their flics before the English had their bobbies, which is something else I didn't know.
Thursday, 12 March 2009
Boules and Giraudoux
Boules and Giraudoux
Three days of glorious weather have meant three afternoons of boules and my form seems to be returning; seven wins in nine matches is not so bad. More importantly, my “feel” of the boules and the piste seems to be better; the force is with me. Just as important have been the afternoons in shirt sleeves and sunshine with pleasant company.
The weather has also meant some more gardening and the purchase and planting of a vine to go at the back, to supplement the one at the front. With luck it will grow along a wire fence at the side of my back garden. I also have a rambling rose and a clematis going along the same fence so, “inshallah”, it should look good and be productive a couple of years from now.
Meanwhile, Daniel has been beavering away at the script for “La Partie de Boules n'aura pas lieu.” It now runs to nearly 20 pages and he has one final scene to write (the 13th, as in 13 points to win a boules game). He should have it finished by the weekend and then it will be time to revise, if necessary, and decide what can be done with it. I think the script is very good. Daniel was a Professor of French literature, specialising in drama and film, and so has a good grasp of how to write a script. I love the way he has managed to marry the eternal elements of classical Greek theatre, some of the characters of Giraudoux's play, and his own personal reflections on man/wife relationships (in the context of the Helen of Troy story) into a mundane game of boules. He has managed this with both the Greek originals and the local boules-playing characters being recognisable. That's quite a feat.
The problem is what to do with the script when it is finished. At a rough estimate, the play would run to 40-50 minutes, which would probably be too long for a skit to be staged at one of the village festivals. Daniel suggested an English translation, which would be possible (although the poetry would be difficult), but that would remove the local character element and necessarily assume an English familiarity with boules. I think that, ideally, it would be played at boules pistes around the area (I'm sure our local characters have their counterparts in local villages) but have no idea how to arrange that. I think, anyway, we should publish the result and see what happens. Maybe I'll do that as an adjunct to this blog.
Three days of glorious weather have meant three afternoons of boules and my form seems to be returning; seven wins in nine matches is not so bad. More importantly, my “feel” of the boules and the piste seems to be better; the force is with me. Just as important have been the afternoons in shirt sleeves and sunshine with pleasant company.
The weather has also meant some more gardening and the purchase and planting of a vine to go at the back, to supplement the one at the front. With luck it will grow along a wire fence at the side of my back garden. I also have a rambling rose and a clematis going along the same fence so, “inshallah”, it should look good and be productive a couple of years from now.
Meanwhile, Daniel has been beavering away at the script for “La Partie de Boules n'aura pas lieu.” It now runs to nearly 20 pages and he has one final scene to write (the 13th, as in 13 points to win a boules game). He should have it finished by the weekend and then it will be time to revise, if necessary, and decide what can be done with it. I think the script is very good. Daniel was a Professor of French literature, specialising in drama and film, and so has a good grasp of how to write a script. I love the way he has managed to marry the eternal elements of classical Greek theatre, some of the characters of Giraudoux's play, and his own personal reflections on man/wife relationships (in the context of the Helen of Troy story) into a mundane game of boules. He has managed this with both the Greek originals and the local boules-playing characters being recognisable. That's quite a feat.
The problem is what to do with the script when it is finished. At a rough estimate, the play would run to 40-50 minutes, which would probably be too long for a skit to be staged at one of the village festivals. Daniel suggested an English translation, which would be possible (although the poetry would be difficult), but that would remove the local character element and necessarily assume an English familiarity with boules. I think that, ideally, it would be played at boules pistes around the area (I'm sure our local characters have their counterparts in local villages) but have no idea how to arrange that. I think, anyway, we should publish the result and see what happens. Maybe I'll do that as an adjunct to this blog.
Sunday, 8 March 2009
Spring and Mairies
Spring
The weather has changed over the last two days and spring seems a genuine prospect. So I've cut down the pentstemons and taken a large number of cuttings, fed handfuls of chicken shit around the hole I dug in the road for my wisteria, hopefully to persuade it to finally reach the underside of my balcony at the front, and surveyed the small back garden. I've thrown hundreds of seeds down there since the autumn, even some from a visit to Wisley in England when I kindly decided to do some dead-heading for them, so I'm anxious to see what will take and not sure what it will look like if and when it sprouts. However, there are some definite weeds so I'll take advantage of the weather, if it continues, to clean the space up a bit. There's no sign yet of the bulbs for which I dug holes in the other side of the road but I got the idea and planted them late so there's still time for them to show. The narcissi in pots at the front of the house are all in bloom, along with the pansies.
I still intend to dig another hole in the road opposite my kitchen and plant a climbing rose to go up one of the lime trees. The neighbours all say this is fine and just to go do it but I wonder what they really think about this mad Englishman who keeps digging holes in the road. I may have to claim officially that I'm doing a public service by calming the traffic (what there is of it).
Mayors
The mayoral system in France is quite different to anything in England. Mayors and Mairies here have a lot more power and the system is certainly open to abuse. However, I think that, on the whole, the system works quite well, certainly within a small village like Mollans; I find it is definitely preferable to the neutered local government in England, which apparently has the most centralised local government in Europe. If I feel strongly about anything, I have absolutely no problem in bending the ear of the mayor or any of the councillors here (most probably in the Bar du Pont). Many people take advantage of this easy access and below I reproduce a sample of extracts from letters received in Mairies in the region, kindly supplied by one of our councillors, Jacques Thibault.
Les ralentisseurs que vous avez mis devant l'école sont trop hauts et ma femme se fait sauter quatres fois par jour.
Depuis que vous avez acheté un ordinateur à la Mairie il n'y a plus moyens de trafiquer les papiers comme vous faisiez avant.
Le cimetière est dans un ètat pas possible et tous ceux qui y habitent pensent comme moi.
Est-ce qu'on ne pourrait pas déplacer le bal du 14 juillet jusqu'au 15 août?
Oui, Monsieur le maire, vous êtes responsable des cacas des chiens même si ce n'est pas vous qui les avez faites personnelllement
Le toit de l'église fuit depuis longtemps et la vierge est toujours mouillée. Faites quelquechose pour elle s'il vous plait, Monsieur le maire
Parce que vous avez fait la route pas assez large mon voisin est obligé de faire pleins de manoeuvres difficiles dans son garage et alors ce qui devait arriver est arrivé. Un matin où il était sûrement bourré, il a fini par réussir à rentrer dans ma femme.
Si c'est le maire qui est chargé d'enlever les ordures, que dois-je faire avec ma femme?
These quotes are reproduced faithfully. The French expression and grammar are not mine.
The weather has changed over the last two days and spring seems a genuine prospect. So I've cut down the pentstemons and taken a large number of cuttings, fed handfuls of chicken shit around the hole I dug in the road for my wisteria, hopefully to persuade it to finally reach the underside of my balcony at the front, and surveyed the small back garden. I've thrown hundreds of seeds down there since the autumn, even some from a visit to Wisley in England when I kindly decided to do some dead-heading for them, so I'm anxious to see what will take and not sure what it will look like if and when it sprouts. However, there are some definite weeds so I'll take advantage of the weather, if it continues, to clean the space up a bit. There's no sign yet of the bulbs for which I dug holes in the other side of the road but I got the idea and planted them late so there's still time for them to show. The narcissi in pots at the front of the house are all in bloom, along with the pansies.
I still intend to dig another hole in the road opposite my kitchen and plant a climbing rose to go up one of the lime trees. The neighbours all say this is fine and just to go do it but I wonder what they really think about this mad Englishman who keeps digging holes in the road. I may have to claim officially that I'm doing a public service by calming the traffic (what there is of it).
Mayors
The mayoral system in France is quite different to anything in England. Mayors and Mairies here have a lot more power and the system is certainly open to abuse. However, I think that, on the whole, the system works quite well, certainly within a small village like Mollans; I find it is definitely preferable to the neutered local government in England, which apparently has the most centralised local government in Europe. If I feel strongly about anything, I have absolutely no problem in bending the ear of the mayor or any of the councillors here (most probably in the Bar du Pont). Many people take advantage of this easy access and below I reproduce a sample of extracts from letters received in Mairies in the region, kindly supplied by one of our councillors, Jacques Thibault.
Les ralentisseurs que vous avez mis devant l'école sont trop hauts et ma femme se fait sauter quatres fois par jour.
Depuis que vous avez acheté un ordinateur à la Mairie il n'y a plus moyens de trafiquer les papiers comme vous faisiez avant.
Le cimetière est dans un ètat pas possible et tous ceux qui y habitent pensent comme moi.
Est-ce qu'on ne pourrait pas déplacer le bal du 14 juillet jusqu'au 15 août?
Oui, Monsieur le maire, vous êtes responsable des cacas des chiens même si ce n'est pas vous qui les avez faites personnelllement
Le toit de l'église fuit depuis longtemps et la vierge est toujours mouillée. Faites quelquechose pour elle s'il vous plait, Monsieur le maire
Parce que vous avez fait la route pas assez large mon voisin est obligé de faire pleins de manoeuvres difficiles dans son garage et alors ce qui devait arriver est arrivé. Un matin où il était sûrement bourré, il a fini par réussir à rentrer dans ma femme.
Si c'est le maire qui est chargé d'enlever les ordures, que dois-je faire avec ma femme?
These quotes are reproduced faithfully. The French expression and grammar are not mine.
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