Boules And A Film

The Unwritten Rules Of Boules

The regulated rules for the game are known to most players but the unwritten rules can be just as important. Here is a guide to the latter

1 You never ever play badly

2 If your boule goes way past the cosh, it must have hit a stone or slipped from your hand.

Shouting “Ah, elle m'a glissé de la main” will confirm that your shot would have been good

3 If your ball falls short, it must have hit an invisible deep patch of dust or gravel

4 NB Since stones, gravel and dust make up all boules terrains, one or other of these explanations must be true

5 If you fail in some other way, such as not spotting the shot that everyone else can see

is required, you have to offer an explanation along the lines of “Ah, but if I had hit that

boule on this side and that boule had ricocheted on to that side of that other boule and....

6 If your opponent throws a ball that appears to stop equidistant from the cosh to yours,

you have to exclaim “Le point est toujours à moi”. If your opponent demands that the

distances be measured and the result is unfavourable to you, you must demand to inspect

the tape and regard it overtly with extreme suspicion. The delay afforded by asking for a

third opinion will help your opponent to forget how he put his boule where it is

7 If your opponent's boule nearly beats yours but just fails to do so, it is only courteous to say “Quel dommage”. The effect on your opponent's game of repeatedly saying this is not your responsibility

8 If you win a game it is only courteous to look sad and say “Désolé “. If you win 13-0 you

could politely add “Vous n'avez pas eu de chance” and suggest a return game

Fortunately, the players in my village are well aware of the unwritten as well as the formal rules and adhere to both.

More Boules

I went to Buis to watch some exhibition games played by players from all around France. Small stands had been erected around the terrains and it was very pleasant sitting in the sun and watching the play. However I was also slightly depressed by seeing a standard of play I couldn't even aspire too, let alone reach. I shall have to be content with being “good enough” for games in and around the village. As it happened, I went to play in the afternoon and played very well, but by my standards not those I had been watching.

A Film

A film is being made in the village. It is apparently exactly 20 years since a group of Dutch youths who were staying in the village decided to walk up Mt Ventoux. On the way down, one of them fell and was killed. The film is to commemorate that event. I shall probably enjoy seeing the film if I get a chance, even if it is in Dutch, but at the moment it is a considerable nuisance. Parts of the village have restricted access and if you are within 100 yards of the action you are told not to talk or only in whispers. I'll be happy when the film crew move off to Mt Ventoux.

Expressions And Attraction

New Expressions

At dinner with friends Rene and Armelle I was asked what I thought of my new neighbour, a woman who has bought the house that used to belong to friends Neville and Liz and which sits just above mine. She had wanted to meet me before she moved in and Neville and Liz had arranged a time but she didn't show up until later. By then I had gone off to play boules. So my answer had to be that I didn't know. Armelle said she had spoken to another of my neighbours, Florence, and Florence said she and the new neighbour were like “cul et chemise”. It wasn't obvious to me what that meant until it was explained (very close, apparently). So, it was good to learn a new expression but I was frustrated to find that I couldn't think of the English equivalent. Later, Steve and Jo suggested “bosom friends/pals” or “being in each others pockets”. Problem solved but I don't want to forget my English.

Weeks ago Daniel had introduced me to the expression “heureux comme un poisson dans l'eau”. That time I could find the somewhat crude but definitely more expressive English equivalent: happy as a pig in shit.

Rules Of Attraction

Over lunch with Daniel he brought up the subject of a common female acquaintance and said how attractive he found her, pointing out her good figure. He has his Marie but said to me why didn't I, as it were, “go for it”. I agreed that she was, in general terms, an attractive woman but said I wasn't attracted to her. I've become used to attempts to pair me off, possibly because of my somewhat haphazard lifestyle or perhaps simply because I am a spare male. My friend Steve's wife Jo thinks I need a wife; I jestingly reply that I've already had one of those and didn't go that much on it. Neighbour Jean-Pierre is also on the job. Whenever I'm introduced to a single woman in his presence he gives me a nudge and says: “Elle est disponible, Yann, vas-y”.

The point is that Daniel seemed to need an explanation of why I didn't find this woman attractive, despite her obvious “assets”, and I struggled to say why. A friend, yes, and someone with whom I could happily pass some time; but attractive to me, no.

What I needed was some description of what attracts me to a woman so I tried to search back in my mind as to what had attracted me to women in the past, not necessarily just those with whom I had had a relationship. Daniel's “bums and tits” approach was certainly part of the picture, perhaps an essential part, but very far from all of it. Physically, I do know that I am attracted to women with slim rather than more generous figures but that is about as far as I could go in terms of general shape. I know that some characteristics of eyes and mouth play an important role but can't define what they are; it's not big/small, it's something else. Gestures too can be important. I remember once sitting in a café watching a woman at another table whose lower arm and hand movements were so flowing and graceful as to be almost a work of art in themselves; they fascinated me.

Of course there's personality as well, when I get to know someone, and I know that positive, happy, outgoing personalities attract me more than introspective morose ones. But saying that reveals little and is probably true for most people. Then there words, words, words. I like irony and studied understatement (I am of English origin, after all) and I often find ruefulness, self-deprecation and perceptive comments attractive, as well as a sense of humour (obviously). And common interests provide cement for a relationship but don't explain that fleeting moment, that “certain sourire” when attraction is first established.

The problem is that all these factors individually, although they all contribute, don't really explain anything. The answer is probably somewhere in my genes but I don't know anyone who carries a map of their genes around with them for comparison. Anyway, the subject is of more interest to my friends than to me at the moment. All I know, and it is enough for me, is that I can tell, usually fairly immediately, if I am attracted to a woman or not. Whether she happens to be “disponible” or not at the time is another question. And whether or why she is attracted to me is also something I can shed little light on.

“ Je suis comme je suis, je ne suis pas là pour plaire” (Prévert)

This And That

Stasis?

It occurs to me that I haven't written anything for over a month and that is longer than I like to leave my blog unmolested. The problem, I think, has been too much of the same enjoyment. The days and evenings of the summer seem to have flown by, cooler than usual, but still warm and sunny. I've enjoyed the fête days, the regular boules sessions, meeting up with the recidivist visitors who come only in the summer months and sharing meals with friends. But all that is as usual and there has been little out of the ordinary to comment on. Am I becoming stuck in a rut?

I don't know but feel I should be doing more. There's a limit to the time I can spend drinking Calvados on my balcony and contemplating my navel. The flower displays front and back just require watering now. All the jobs that needed doing in the house are now essentially done. I've thought about adding another layer of polish to the old hand-made tiles in living room and painting the 150 year-old tiles in my bedroom; the surface of these has really gone so there is no other way to renovate them. But these feel like jobs for the winter.

The job that needs doing and which I have been putting off (there's always one) is to recreate my website on Mollans. It's been offline for too long since I changed the host server. Recreating the pages shouldn't be too arduous from the back-ups I have but I know that redoing the SEO in three languages and declaring it to the search engines is going to be a chore. I really must start on it, though......tomorrow?

I do have trips to Italy in September to see my daughter and cousin and to England in October to see my son, which will break the routine, so maybe they will shake me out of my torpor. Or maybe I'm just becoming a bit neurotic in my old age.

Tenth Anniversary

It's ten years (eleven, actually, bit I forgot to celebrate last year), since the American national computer society (the ACM) gave me in 2003 the grand title of Pioneer of Software Engineering. This was richly undeserved, although the time lapse explains why. The recognition was for work to which I contributed in 1968. In fact, the work was done by some 40 of us at a NATO-sponsored think-tank. The key to my personal recognition was simply my age. I was 26 at the time and most of the participants were in their 40s and 50s; they contributed, with their knowledge and experience, much more than I ever could. The ACM wanted the think-tank commemorated with a paper given by one of the participants in Garmisch, Germany, where the original meeting had been held. But.......35 years had elapsed and most of the original participants were either dead, in their dotage or unable to travel. I was simply the one who was left.

In fact, I was only at the original meeting at all because of a series of coincidences and really shouldn't have been in such exalted company.  Yet the other participants, both at Garmisch and the follow-up meeting in Rome, seemed to value my contributions,which pleased but also puzzled me. One of the participants, Bob Barton, who was then VP Engineering for Burroughs Corp, described my role as that of a catalyst: I led the others to think in directions that they wouldn't otherwise have considered.  This could be explained by my background in languages rather than the maths and engineering backgrounds of the others; plus, I like to think, a certain ability with abstract thinking.  Anyway, it was a privilege for me to get to know and work with the other participants, most of whom were professors or heads of research at the peak of their careers, on what proved to be important fundamental thinking on future directions for software development. Their contributions certainly shaped my future thinking and career.

Bastille Day

Bastille Day

This 14^th of July was, for me, a particularly enjoyable occasion. There are evenings that I have experienced before in the village, at the Feu de la St Jean for instance, when the villagers collectively appear at their best. At the funeral of Diana (Princess of Wales) her brother asked rhetorically of her two sons “who will make your spirit sing?”. That phrase has always had a resonance with me, encapsulating the feeling one can get occasionally that all is good with the world (despite whatever is making the news headlines at the time). Wordsworth expressed the feeling in Intimations of Immortality as ”we feel that we are greater than we know”. That is what I felt on the evening of this 14^th of July.

When I got to the Place Banche de Cour, in front of the Bar du Pont, I joined Daniel, Jacques, Claudine and Michelline at a table and then went looking for food. There were pizzas, burgers, sausages and chips on the menu (I opted eventually for a burger and chips). But.......I had a joke in mind. So I said to various people that I was disappointed that there was no “fromage de tete d'aristocrate” (aristocrat brawn) on the menu. This was met with blank stares; joke failed. So I attempted to explain that, since there were a lot of loose aristocratic heads around on the original 14^th of July the French, being French, must have made brawn out of them and that should be a traditional dish for the date. That explanation did extract some laughs; that is until Patrick, a serious and meticulous character, said that the original Bastille day preceded all the guillotining and so there wouldn't have been any spare heads to make brawn out of. There's always one, isn't there? He's a bridge and chess player of course.

Anyway..............I went on to have a thoroughly enjoyable evening. There was music, dancing, conversation and plenty to watch to keep me amused. At one point the band struck up with a song that I love, the first line of which runs “Il me semble que la misere serait moins penible au soleil”. Everyone was joining in singing it and I wanted to know who sang it and the title. Everybody knew the former: Charles Aznavour. But nobody knew the title of the song. So when I got home I did a Google search and found that the title was “Emmenez-moi” (au bout de la terre). The next time there is a similar gathering, probably at the moules-frites next Thursday, I shall go round asking people what the title is and score a few brownie points.

Conversation ranged from boules to education in Tunisia, Islam, power, the colour black and quantum physics, which kept me nicely occupied, and whilst drinks were flowing more than freely nobody got very drunk or obstreperous in any way. And the moppets were in full swing, dancing with other moppets, parents or dogs; it didn't seem to matter.

The “black” mentioned above came about because of a news item I had read earlier in the day stating that a group of British scientists had managed to produce a colour black that absorbed 99.32% of light. The colour black, as most of us know, absorbs light and sight depends on reflected light. So if you can produce a black that is black enough (reflects no light) you won't actually be able to see it; and as you get closer to that goal, as this invention does, you get some intriguing side-effects. Fascinating, isn't it?

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.

Summer News

News Summery

Friends Nick and Marigold came to stay but only for one night as I had to depart the following day for Chorges. Anyway, they seem to have enjoyed their short stay, said they felt really relaxed and had a good night's sleep despite or because of being serenaded by the Mollans' frog's choir over in the river, backing a nightingale soloist. Now that the hot weather has arrived the frogs' choir is a nightly event, although the nightingale doesn't always appear.

The regional boules chamionships at Chorges were fun, even if our teams didn't do that well. A downpour on the first afternoon caused a bit of pile-up of games to be played the following day so there wasn't any time to explore the area but the alpine scenery around the venue was magnificent enough.

At Roberto's house-warming a few weeks' ago I tasted a red wine that impressed me a lot. It had some grape variety in it that was unusual for this area, possibly Cabernet Franc I think. Anyway, it was made by Denis Tardieu in nearby Villedieu so I went looking for it. I found the vineyard some way up a very rough track but there was nobody there. I found a local cooperative, asked there and was pointed to an adjacent house. The occupant told me he had none of Denis Tardieu's wine and that Tardieu didn't have a shop which sold it; it might be best to phone him, he said. I found Tardieu's website which has a phone number that is for work purposes only and an email contact link that doesn't work. So I think I've found the classic Provencal wine-maker; makes very good wine but can't be bothered with selling it.

World Cup

Being a football-aholic I've been glued to the television most evenings and, for once, it has been an unfailing pleasure. I've been particularly impressed by the unfancied teams, such as the USA, Australia and Iran, playing consistently good football even while spending most of their matches on the defensive. It's a welcome change from the dour, unconstructive defence seen from similar teams at many previous tournaments. There are usually one or two teams that do much better than expected (e.g. Costa Rica) and one or two unexpected defeats but nothing like the current world champions', Spain, drubbing at the hands of the Dutch. Italy's defeat by Costa Rice can be put down to the Italians' habit of drawing or losing matches they don't desperately need to win whilst winning the ones they do. Another good aspect is that no obvious favourite to win the tournament has emerged: Argentina and Brazil may be the bookies' favourites but neither has particularly impressed and Holland, Germany or France could still do it.

Probably the less said about England's performances the better. This was a World Cup at which everyone agreed little could be expected of the England team, it was too young and inexperienced; and little is what we got. At least we might have expected a few positive moments to keep as treasured memories but the only outstanding memories are of defensive blunders. Hodgson wasn't anybody's first choice as England Manager except the FA's, who can generally be relied upon to make at best uninspired and at worst downright stupid decisions. However, he is a reasonably good manager with a deserved reputation for putting together well-structured and organised teams from the talent at his disposal. Sadly, even that didn't show here.

Feu De La St Jean

The 24^th was the official start of summer, a bit late as I have commented before, but that's Provence for you. Tell people that there's going to be a knees-up on the 21^st and they will come on the 24^th. There was no food available in the square in front of the Bar du Pont this year but a marching band arrived as advertised around 9.45; a lot of drums plus some brass: a tuba a saxophone and a trumpet. They marched through to the other side of the bridge and then I went to see the fire lit on a dry part of the river bed below the bridge. There was a long delay and I suggested to the people around me that the matches had been forgotten, which got a laugh. I added: “or maybe they are just waiting for Jeanne d'Arc to arrive” which caused some sharp intakes of breath; the French will never forgive us for burning Jeanne d'Arc.

When the fire was finally going the band came back into the square and played again. Not many people danced but the moppets did, three of them aged about 4-6, all energy if a bit short on coordination. I love to see them dance, totally unselfconscious and uninhibited. There was also a dog that was clearly bemused by the nusic and dancing and seemed unsure whether to join in or bite someone. It made a pass at both but was on a short lead so achieved neither.

Early Summer Thoughts

It's Summer

Summer doesn't officially arrive here until the 24^th of the month (the fete de la St Jean) but the weather says it has. We have had very hot days of sunshine and, today, a tropical-style storm. The pansies that have done such a good job since last November are exhausted and the bulbs have bloomed and died so I've been buying plants. They should ensure a decent summer display, front and back.

The warm summer evenings have allowed me to indulge in my favourite late-evening past-time of a Calvados on my balcony while I engage in some navel-gazing, encouraged by the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine and to the background of the frogs' chorus from the river. My son, Carl, has started to show an interest in philosophy so I've sent him some books. There's not a lot I know and can tell him other than of the importance of the “dubito” preceding Descartes oft-quoted “cogito ergo sum” and Wittgenstein's suggestion of the ultimate futility of the subject. But that's the end and he is at the beginning.....and there could be insights along the way.

And there is something else that preoccupies me and my Calvados.................................

Testing Times
Rules are rules. It may be the backstop of every Jobsworth and the rules may be against any common sense or human understanding but once they are made they (supposedly) have to be observed. So, do we worry much about how and why they are made? A story in the press caught my attention.

Here is the background. A 37-year old woman who was born in Germany of a German father and unknown mother, who came as a child to England and has lived virtually all her life there, is married to an Englishman and has two English children. She applied for a passport for a holiday abroad with her family and was refused it; not only that, she was told that she might have to be deported as an illegal immigrant. The remedy? She could apply for British citizenship by passing the citizenship test. This was the response of the Home Office which otherwise reportedly said: “Rules are rules”. Being tautological this must be correct; who made the rules, to what end and subject to what tests are just a few of the important questions that are begged.

So what's in the citizenship test? Questions on English history and the flag are prominent. You might think that ability in the language and knowledge of, for instance, the status of women and the role of education might be more pertinent but I could not possibly comment. What would your (legal test) “man on the top of a Clapham omnibus” suggest as criteria for the test? I don't think it would be questions on English history and the flag. So who created the test and thus the inferred rules and to what criteria (subjected to what tests)? No answer to that, I'm afraid, except that “rules are rules”.

There have been few occasions in my professional life when I had to create a test but I was conscious when I did so that I had also to create a test of the test. Anyone can create a test in the abstract and fantasisers clearly often do; what also is needed, and what fantasisers don't create, is some way of demonstrating that the test will produce the practical (as well as the theoretical) results that it is designed to. The test of the test should do that. One criterion is that examples supposed to easily pass the test should do exactly that. So, could all existing bona fide English citizens easily answer questions on English history and the flag? I don't need an answer; I merely wish to show that the citizenship test clearly fails its own test.

A more difficult case concerns human rights. The UN has created a charter stating what they are and the EU has a court to ensure that they are upheld within its territory. It is difficult to argue against this worthy statement of what should be but what is the practical effect? It may help some Syrian refugee, possibly starving and in danger of physical assault, that he/she has a right to education, health, food, clean water and free speech but I doubt it. In practice, and I stress the word “practice”, the UN Charter on human rights becomes primarily a playground for lawyers and those with money or influence. Was the Charter itself subjected to any tests of its effects in practice? Not to my knowledge. And here, rules are rules only if anyone sees fit to observe them.

The root problem, I think, is that it is too easy to sign up to statements of intent that are full of good intentions and, indeed, often impolitic not to do so. Why would you not sign up to good intentions? The answer is because, once rules are inferred, what is easily practicable and an obvious solution to particular situations is ruled (sic) out. So the Home Office can't simply be told to get a life and grant the passport application; and convicted criminals and terrorists can hope to escape their just desserts.

Dare I say it? Perhaps we should reject all invitations to sign up to statements of benign intent, however impolitic that may be, unless they have been subjected to appropriate tests of their practical consequences. In the case of human rights, if you live in a country where democratic human rights are generally agreed and observed, any breach of them is far more likely to be because the rules, implied or explicitly stated, are not observed by the relevant authorities rather than because of anything in the fine print for lawyers to argue over. The remedy is not in further statements of rights (and implied rules) but in forcing (shaming?) authorities to face up to their responsibilities. A free press should do that and that will nowadays generally happen, over the Internet if not by locally paid-off media.

So let's get rid of rules unless they are accompanied by tests created at the same time to demonstrate that they will achieve the effects that they are designed to. Otherwise, use common sense. On the other hand, if we really want cloud-cuckoo land, there's a citizenship test I know of ready to be used.