Shellfish Etc

Shellfish Etc

Georges Corbo offered his shellfish lunch again today at the Bar du Pont and I duly went along with friend Steve (Jo, his wife, doesn't like shellfish). We ate outside in the sunshine on the terrace, the first time I have done so this year although there have been many days when I could have had lunch on my balcony.

Georges has just been elected president of the Amities Mollanaise, the village old peoples' club, so Steve said to him that, being a president, he had to have a mistress. I added that, going by Hollande, maybe one mistress wasn't enough and that he should have at least two. Unfortunately there were only a half-dozen of us taking the meal so it probably wasn't worth the trouble for Georges. I hope he'll try at least one more time.

Also there were friends Dominique and Chantal and we started discussing colloquial phrases and their origins. Steve noted that whilst, when it rains hard, the French say it is raining ropes (purely descriptive), in English we say it is raining cats and dogs. The origin of this, supposedly, is that in the days of thatched roofs cats and dogs would often climb into the thatch for warmth. When it rained, the thatch became slippery and the cats and dogs slid out of the thatch. I can't confirm the veracity of that at the moment.

Following on from that, Chantal volunteered an explanation of the expression “to fall pregnant”, which is the same in English and French. It has always puzzled me, since it suggests a random happening such as falling ill or falling in love, whilst in fact there is a very ready explanation for the condition resulting from a very specific act. Chantal said that it derived from frequent ignorance among young peasant girls who, barring miraculous conceptions (for which a few claims have been known), could not understand how they had become pregnant. Hence, for them, it was a random inexplicable event.

We also talked about changes in society, particularly family life and shop opening hours. Some three years ago I noted that the first supermarkets here had decided to open on Sunday and that therefore they would all have to; sure enough they have. That may seem relatively inconsequential but is an element in a huge social change over the past 50 years in both France and the UK. When I was young in England, Saturday was the day for recreation. On Sunday, everything was closed; no sports, no theatre or cinema. You were supposed to catch up on any jobs not done during the week or else massage your puritan guilt complex. I remember wondering why we couldn't have continental Sundays, where the rule seemed to be that as long as you went to church in the morning you could do what you liked during the rest of the day; all the entertainment facilities were on offer.

What seems to have happened is that work patterns have changed to the point where there are no set days for doing anything. If families are to live to a pattern, and I believe most do, then they have themselves to impose that pattern on their week, based probably around varied work schedules. No general patterns imposed from outside are any longer discernible, neither are there social pressures to do any set thing on any set day. I think that may be one reason why family life often suffers; there is no generally set time for it, such as evening meal times or Sundays, so it has to be consciously planned for and often gets forgotten.

Dominique and Chantal commented that the same changes were discernible in France. The situation in the large towns was very much as in England but the old patterns of life still persisted to an extent in rural France. There the sacred two hours for lunch was still widely observed, for instance, and retention of primary schools in even very small villages such as Mollans meant that children still came home for lunch. I like that and that is perhaps why, even 12 years into retirement, when I can do pretty much what I like when I like, I still feel I should be enjoying myself at weekends and not doing whatever jobs are awaiting attention. Old habits die hard.

Spring?

Spring

The spring like weather has continued. In my youth I remember that the first time a cuckoo was heard (supposedly a portent of summer) the hearer would write to The Times and The Times would publish the letter. People looked out for the letter and it became a kind of tradition. I don't know if they still do it. Anyway, I am announcing the first daffodil in bloom in the village, in one of my pots in front of the house. Somehow I don't think the local paper, La Tribune, will be interested; cuckoos and daffodils are strictly for the English, I suspect. Friends Steve and Jo have the first few primroses and a Japonica bush in bloom in their garden so the first signs of spring are definitely here. I've cleared the back garden of winter debris, manured all round and planted some more lilly bulbs, as they seem to do well and need no attention.

Rain has become less frequent although the water level is still high. The sediment usually thrown up by the rain has settled so the river is full of clear light blue/green water (the colour likely a result of light refraction through clay particles) and looks very attractive. I've only just realised that the muddy colour from sediment that rain usually causes is a factor only from Buis downstream. I was taken up to St Auban on Saturday and the river above Buis was clear. The river falls fairly steeply further up and is narrow and so runs fast until it reaches Buis, where it forms a wider bed and runs more slowly through to Mollans. So I suppose it is natural that sediment carried down will settle between Buis and here and then get stirred up by rain. It's taken me only seven years to work that out!

Elections

We have mayoral elections on the 23^rd of March as the current mayor is retiring. The electoral process is somewhat complicated. As Mollans now has over 1000 inhabitants, we voters vote for a list of potential councillors headed by a potential mayor. Each mayoral candidate has to create his/her own list of backers/potential councillors. Depending on the result (size of majority) there may then be a second round of voting and eventually a third round of voting for the final few individuals who make up the rump of the council.

Anyway, I received an email from friend Patrick, who is on what looks to me to be the strongest list, asking if I would help set up, fill in and maintain a blog for the list. I was somewhat surprised as a blog is essentially simple but, assuming they just wanted some reassurance, I agreed. That is why I went, with some members of the list, to St Auban. A “professional” there had been asked to set up the blog for them, I was told. The outfit in St Auban was indeed professional but in setting up and hosting websites, which was apparently what they were asking for. Given that none of the list members has any kind of IT background I was slightly alarmed at what they might be trying to do, especially given the very short time over which the website was likely to be used. However, it appears that they want only a very elementary site and to use it in a very elementary way, not too dissimilar to a blog; so they should be OK and I may not be needed at all. For anyone interested, the site is at www.mollans2014.fr

Living

Gardening

The recent spell of warm sunny weather has got me gardening for the first time this year. Roses front and back are all pruned, as are both the grape vines, and the clematis, which are already producing buds, have been cut down. I've also got rid of the winter weeds at the back and so am ready to put down the pelleted bird shit I use as a background fertiliser. I get it from the local agricultural cooperative because it is cheaper there than elsewhere but it comes in 40kg sacks, which I am not able to hump around. I therefore leave it in the boot of the car from where I take out bucketfuls (or should that be buckets full?) at a time as needed. The result is an agricultural aroma in my car that would certainly defeat any of the sir fresheners on sale. Ah well, I don't mind and anybody else just has to accept it.

While I was pottering out front my artist neighbour Florence came by with heavy-duty gloves and a saw in her hand. She was off to explore the river banks in search of tree roots. The river in spate pulls up the odd bush or small tree and Florence collects the roots, which she prunes or manipulates to form interesting shapes and she she then places them around her house and garden.

How We Lived

Friend Steve's sister, Marianne, emailed some derivations of colloquial sayings to him which he forwarded to me. It reminded me that I have a dictionary of slang and colloquialisms that I haven't looked at for a while. Anyway, here are a few historical ones that interested me.

The saying “piss poor” apparently derives from the practice of impoverished families all pissing in one pot which, when full, could be sold to the local tannery for tanning leather. Recycling before its time. Of course, if you were really poor you “didn't have a pot to piss in”.

The state of floors was another gauge of poverty. If you were “dirt poor” it was your house had only an earthen floor. Better-off families had stone or tiled floors which, incidentally, became slippery when wet, so straw (called thresh) was put down for a better grip. A plank would be placed at the door to stop the thresh getting out of the door when moved by walking, which gave us the word threshold.

Bread also was an indicator of status. The lowest got the burnt crust at the bottom of a loaf, the next in status got the middle and the toffs got the “upper crust”.

Finally, the family tin bath was filled just once with hot water for all the family to use. Men went first, then women, children and babies last of all. By this time the water would be quite murky and nothing that went below the surface (e.g. a baby) would be visible. Hence the stricture not to throw the baby out with the bath water.

I really must get down to reading my dictionary again.

Time And Tide

Moments In Time

Being a football fanatic, I tend to listen to post-match interviews and have become fixated on the use of the word “moment” by foreign players and coaches. Teams are said to be in a good or bad moment and the same is often said of periods during a match. If a player says he is in a good moment, what he means is that he is in form at the time. If a team is said to be in a bad moment, what it means is that the team has been off form for some time. I have the awful premonition that this use of the word moment going to become standard English if the practice is not stopped; and “moment” is in no way the appropriate word in these cases.

So how does it come about? I think it is because the word “time” is used for all manner of aspects of time in English but not in other languages (e.g. French and Spanish). The obvious translation of time into French is “temps” but can be correctly translated as such only very infrequently; the word more often takes it's other meaning, weather. If you are in time for a meeting you are “à l'heure”; if this is a good time to do something it is a “bon moment” (Aha!); and if you are having a good time then time doesn't figure at all; “vous vous amusez bien”.

So it's easy to see why foreigners struggling with their English speak in this way but will someone please stop it. There is no time like the present and stopping this misuse will not be a moment too soon.

The Weather

I make no excuses for returning to the topic of the weather; after all, it is in the news almost everywhere. Whether (sic) it is a consequence of climate change or just an arbitrary blip I have no idea and really don't care much. Here we have so far had a winter that has been milder but much wetter than usual. It has been what is known here as English weather and so of course yours truly is getting the blame for it. The Ouveze as it runs by my house is at the moment channel-wide, fast flowing and turbulent. If it rises another couple of feet, which wouldn't take much more rain, it will spread out over the wider river bed which is 3-4 times the width of the channel. It did that for a few hours two weeks ago. There's no immediate danger to anyone but I have never before seen it this high for such an extended period. The potential danger here is not a consequence of saturated land but rock. Rock is a bit difficult to saturate but sheds water quite as easily as saturated land.

Maintenance of the river course is not brilliant but probably adequate for all likely eventualities. The same clearly cannot be said of what is happening in England. I caught Clark, the UK government minister, saying on TV's Question Time that you cannot be fully prepared for events that happen once in a hundred years and screamed at the TV when nobody challenged him. Of course what he said is strictly true but flooding on the Somerset plain is not a once in a 100 years event; it happens regularly, just not as severely as now. If ever there was a warning that has to be it but nobody chose to take notice. It always annoys me, perhaps to an unreasonable extent, when a panel of people supposed to challenge one another pass up an easy chance.

Another problem for England, rather than France, seems to be maintenance of infrastructure more generally. There is an inherent conflict between it and democracy. Infrastructure can usually be ignored for 15-20 years without anyone noticing and governments' focus is on much shorter time-frames, basically on the length of their remit to rule. In any five-year term, there will always be many items far more pressing (and potentially vote-catching) than maintenance of infrastructure. Nevertheless, maintained it must be and for some reason I don't fully understand France seems to do better at this than England. A contributing factor, I am sure, is the greater devolution of budget in France. If areas at risk of flooding have a budget to fix the problem they will fix it.

Scottish Nationalism

This is another problem grabbing the headlines in the UK. People I know with their ear to the ground in Scotland reckon that the referendum will reject separation from the UK. Old enmities may die hard but shifts in population are probably what will decide this issue. I think the Scottish Nationalists have missed a trick. They should have demanded a referendum in the rest of the UK as to whether it wanted the Scots; then they might have got the result they want.

Food And Politics

Food

This is the beginning of a week that promises plenty of good food. Yesterday Georges Corbo put on a sea food lunch at the Bar du Pont. He was the village metal worker before he retired, making the iron steps that lead from my terrace to the garden at the back among other things. After his retirement last year he tried offering a plate of oysters and prawns on Saturday lunchtimes at the Cafe des Sports but didn't get enough takers to make it worthwhile. But sea food is clearly his thing and so he put on the lunch at the Bar du Pont.

The sea food platters comprised brown shrimps, prawns, oysters, whelks and half a crab, more than enough for everyone and there were 14 of us tucking in. I hope that was enough to make it worthwhile and merit a repeat. The dessert was, inevitably at this time of the year a “galette des rois”. And I learned the reason for the two types of galette made here. Georges Corbo proudly told me he had made the galette himself, a Marseilles galette. Apparently, the galette consisting of a sponge cake with dried fruit is typical of this locality, with its tradition of dried fruit. The other type of galette, flaky pastry with a solid marzipan filling, is apparently typical of Marseilles. I have often wondered at the reason for the two different types of galette. To the amusement of all, the charm hidden in the galette was a small metal penis. Only in France...............

Next Saturday friends Robin and Jill have invited me to a goodbye lunch before they return to England and the following day there is the old wrinklies' lunch offered by the Mairie. So I shall have been well fed over the week.

Politics

Conversation at the sea food lunch focussed on the political situation in France, with Hollande now as popular as the proverbial fart in a lift and the subject of ridicule from all quarters. He didn't help himself in a speech last week that was supposed to be important by making the core of his speech the statement that he had changed, in view of the economic situation, from being a socialist to becoming a social democrat. This may be a significant point in terms of political philosophy, and the French are fond of that, but the current situation would seem to demand rather more than a fine philosophical distinction. And Hollande's buffoon image wasn't helped by pictures blazed across all the papers of him hiding under an over-large helmet on a chauffeur driven scooter on a visit to his mistress.

He did earn sympathy of a sort from my French friends but because the media coverage was diverting attention from more important matters rather because of any intrusion into his private life. This last would no doubt make even more headlines in England. Having sired four children with Segolene Royale while keeping journalist Valerie Trierweiler as his mistress, he now apparently has an additional mistress in dancer Julie Gayet. That would certainly provoke headlines in the British press but is pretty much par for the course among senior French politicians and would not normally be deemed worthy of press coverage.

That it has could be a result of paucity of other news or it could mark a shift in French attitudes. In a way, the general French attitude to love, sex and marriage seems to have been shaped by their nobility, for whom marriage has always been essentially an economic or political alliance, separating love and marriage and focussing on the family fortune. That stance seems to have been adopted widely by the populace. A recent survey revealed that two fifths of men and women did not believe fidelity in marriage was important, two thirds of men and one third of women regard love and sex as separate entities and the same percentage of men and half of all women think physical attraction automatically leads to sex. That helps to explain why dismay here at press coverage of Holland's private life is not directed at the salacious details, as it would be in Britain, but at its diversion from more important issues.

Loth to see my French friends in despair at the lunch over their political situation and the dearth of alternatives to Hollande, I suggested that perhaps Britain could help by offering France a king. After all, we have a large number of princes and I'm sure we wouldn't miss just one. However, I have to admit that my suggestion was not met with great enthusiasm.

Carols Again

Carols

We duly sang our carols again just before Christmas at both the old people's home and the Bar du Pont. The audience was larger this year at the old people's home but smaller in the Bar du Pont so there is clearly some more work to be done on drumming up an audience. I had contacted the school hoping to get some interest from the kids who would then bring their parents along but that didn't work. We'll just have to try something else next year. Anyway, everyone who did come either to listen or join in seemed to enjoy the event.

The local paper, La Tribune, printed a write-up likening us in our red “bonnets” to the sans culottes in the revolution, saying we erected barricades of mince pies and Christmas cake. Armelle did the introductions at the old people's home and Rene in the Bar du Pont, in his usual humorous style. Below is his speech (in French of course).

“Cher public, chers amis,

Comme on dit dans les séries télé – et pour ceux qui nous suivent depuis nos débuts – voici la saison III de nos chants de Noël, ce qui ne serait jamais arrivé s'il n'y avait eu auparavant les deux précédentes. On voit par là l'importance de la comptabilité.

Il en découle des craintes fondées. On regarde derrière soi, on se compte et on se rassure d'être encore tous là. Car danCarols s une chorale, cher public toutes les voix comptent. Même les moins belles !

C'est à elles qu'on reconnaît les meilleures. Et nous en avons aussi. Vous les repérerez facilement. Surtout de profil, ce sont les mieux nourries.

Troisième saison, cela sous-entend que nous sommes aujourd'hui au sommet de notre art. Quand vous nous aurez entendu ce soir, vous cesserez définitivement de croire aux causes perdues. Vous trouverez – vous qui doutez de votre voix – à nous écouter le début de grandes espérances.

Parmi nous, comme chaque année nous avons nos amis étrangers. Pas d’inquiétude pourtant ! Il ne s'agit là que d'un effet secondaire de l'hérédité que nous nous efforçons de corriger au maximum. D'ailleurs, ils n'ont presque plus d'accent. Hélas, par un réflexe excusable ils chantent parfois encore Noël à leur façon.

Chanter Noël est une spécificité de notre chorale. En fait la seule. Nous ne chantons que Noël. Au clair de lune et dans la neige, c'est très impressionnant. Il ne s'agit pas là d'une maniaquerie mais d'une obsession qui date de notre enfance et qu'on nous interdit de pratiquer en dehors du mois de décembre.

Telle est la vie des chorales de Noël !

En effet, il aurait été remarqué que chanter Noël entraînait une baisse notoire des températures, voire des chutes de neige, pire encore, l'obligation faite aux parents de cadeaux coûteux à leurs enfants. Ce sont des choses qu'on ne peut accepter qu'en décembre. Le reste de l’année nous sommes aussi discret qu'une gendarmerie en Corse. Aussi est-il inutile de nous espérer lors des prochaines festivités qui marqueront au village le rattachement de Mollans à la COPAVO.

Mais peut-être existe-t-il des chorales spécialisées dans les transferts inter communautaires.

Résumons-nous ! Nous ne chantons Noël qu'en décembre et qu'une fois, ce qui fait de cette soirée une occasion unique et de Vous, cher public, des privilégiés. Enfin : Nous avons remarqué que pour les choses difficiles à supporter, il était préférable de s'en débarrasser en une fois. Donc – et par respect pour notre public – il n'y aura pas de pause entre les différents chants.

Pour terminer nos remerciements à Valérie et Patrick qui nous accueillent dans leur crèche pour la troisième fois, à Liz qui nous accompagne résignée au piano et à Jo qui nous dirige sans illusion.

Et maintenant, chantons et vive Noël !”

Et maintenant, chantons et vive Noël !”

Christmas Trade

Christmas

And so it's winter. We had some token snow three weeks ago but only an inch at most overnight and it disappeared promptly the following morning. It has been visible on the top of Mont Ventoux for over a month now and on the slopes of the surrounding hills down to about 1000ft.

I find it surprising how easily what has already become routine at this time of the year clicks in. The Christmas carols that a crowd of us have sung for the last two years have been decided for this year and rehearsals are under way. As an attempt to expand the numbers involved one way or another, I made contact with the school and some of the children may participate; for the moment we have to wait and see, participation being entirely voluntary, as it should be.

Arrangements are being made for Christmas day itself. I shall go to friends Steve and Jo, along with Liz, Neville, Jill, Robin and two Australian friends of Steve and Jo who have turned up in this hemisphere unexpectedly. We may be joined by my son, Carl. The whole assembly will come to me on Boxing day, so we'll have two days of no doubt over-eating, over-drinking and chat. I'm sure it will be a very pleasant way to pass the holiday.

The winter lights are up in the village, all blue and white to make a Chelsea supporter feel at home, and there is tinsel on the door of the Bar du Pont. The weather for the past 10 days has been sunny, and warm, during the day but very cold at night. All as usual, all as it should be.

Protectionism In France

I've commented before that the Common Market is just a pipe dream. What now occurs to me is that protectionism may be rife in the internal French economy as well as evident in its international stance, and may indeed be a factor that is seriously slowing any French economic recovery. The only outlet for newspapers in the village, the Bar du Pont, apparently has to use the distributor it does. That indicates a cartel, which would be illegal in England but apparently not in France. Moreover, the distributor not the retail outlet decides how many copies of newspapers are supplied. This minimises wastage but also militates against expansion. Speculative extra copies are not on the agenda.

I'm now wondering if some similar mechanism applies more generally. I've noticed that chain shops, when they gave some popular item that sells out quickly, never know if or when they will get resupplied. Thus near-certain sales are curtailed. I have put this down to the generally dozy approach to marketing in this part of Provence but it may be something else. The other day I went to the local nursery to get some more blue pansies for the pots in front of my house. The owner didn't have any but said he was expecting a delivery at the end of the week. Of blue pansies, or any pansies? He didn't know. In fact he didn't know at all what would be delivered. But he had a secured sale if he got some blue pansies so why not order some from elsewhere? It seems he couldn't, and this was not a chain outlet but a family business so no higher up was telling him what he could do. If what I suspect is true, then the French economy is in even more trouble than I thought.

The UK Civil Service

Friend Steve read an article stating that there was growing suspicion that numerous ex-pats were claiming pensions and other benefits for UK nationals who had died abroad. Apparently, UK and French authorities do not communicate on births and deaths. A proposal is to write to ex-pats asking them to declare if they are still alive. Now, granted this is certainly more intelligent than writing to ask them if they are dead (which I actually don't believe is beyond our Civil Service) but not much more. If any ex-pat is committing fraud by receiving money for someone who has died, they will presumably cheerfully confirm that that person is still alive.

I don't know whether it was part of this same scenario but my heating allowance this year was cut by half because, the Pensions' Team assured me, they had evidence that another claimant was living in my house last September. My house is not that large and I generally know who is living in it so I wrote back to say that they had been misinformed. If another claimant was claiming to have been living in my house at that time, then the Pensions' Team had an attempted fraud on their hands and they should investigate it. I did add that a much more likely explanation was a simple cock-up by someone in their team. I await their reply.