Rémuzat And Friends Leaving

Rémuzat

The three days in Rémuzat for the boules tournament were just about perfect. The sun shone for all three days, the vultures came out to do their pitouettes in the sky, the food in the Lavandes holiday village was great and so was the company. Players and their sometimes non-playing partners came from Sarrians, Beaume de Venise, La Gaude and, of course, Mollans. The tournament was essentially a free-for-all, with the teams changed after each game so that you got to play with and against just about everyone. My personal score placed me somewhere in the middle, not as high as the fifth place I had previously achieved, but that didn't matter at all. In all respects it was a very enjoyable three days. The photo shows the view from my bedroom window.

Also, the latter part of the drive to Rémuzat is spectacular. Just north of Nyons, where the last of the olive trees give out, the road follows the river Aygues into a narrow cleft between high cliff faces which become sheerer as the river becomes narrower as you continue. Finally you enter a tunnel under the cliffs before reaching Rémuzat. In past times, before the road was built, the narrow shallow river must have been the only practicable way out of or into Rémuzat. The small mountains around are known as the «pré-Alpes». I jokingly suggested that this could be because there are «prés» (meadows) in the Alps but of course it is because these are the foothills of the Alps. The French seem to love «jeux de mots» (play on words) as a sign of wit, their beloved «esprit», so the joke went down well, although I personally find it a fairly easy and shallow form of wit.

On my return I found the grape harvesting in full swing. The crop this year is much smaller than in previous years but predicted to be of higher quality, a function of the hot dry summer. That may mean higher prices for wine next year but the price of good wine here is so low compared to prices in the UK that that won't matter much either. A further consequence of the hot dry summer is that the grapes on the vine over my balcony that I haven't managed to eat or give away, and which I usually just leave for the birds or wasps or to rot, have turned themselves into raisins. A friend some years ago gave me rasins seeped in muscat wine and so I have picked them and done just that with them. They should be good to eat with ice cream or a dessert of some kind.

I've bought some bulbs to supplement those already planted and am cutting back the growth in the small back garden to clear the stone steps that run across it so that I can get to the top without endangering life and limb. I'm also clearing out irises that have started taking over the garden in places and have given some away; the others I shall find room for on the roadside opposite my kitchen window. I've also bought some cyclamen which I shall put in pots where I can find spaces. I usually put them in the hanging baskets but those are still flowering, as are the solanum, fuchsias and michaelmas daisies below but I'll find space somewhere. You never know, the village council may actually decide to take up my suggestion to narrow my road.

Friends Leaving

Hallie and Mary, my American cook friends, are leaving at the weekend and so came round for a final aperitif this evening. They are the last of the summer visitor friends to go. Both give cooking lessons in the USA and bring some of their students to Mollans in the summer. Now, however, they have decided they have had enough of this small enterprise and have put their house up for sale. They propose to still come to Mollans in the summer but simply to enjoy themselves while here. I took a photo of them having the aperitif on my balcony, below. 

Autumn And School Histories

Autumn Has Arrived

The seasons have started early this year and that applies to the autumn too, although the leaves are not yet falling. Some of the high August heat usually spills over into early September but not this year, though daytime temperatures in the low 20s are welcome after the summer heatwave, even if the evenings are rather cool. Welcome also is the need to water plants perhaps only twice per week. Most importantly, the sun keeps shining, ensuring its average of ~300 days per year.

I see the difference in my fruit supply too. Apricots disappeared from sale some weeks ago and now the peaches, nectarines and melons are following suit, to be replaced by grapes and figs (and the perennial apples, oranges and pears, of course). Soon it will be mushroom time: chanterelles, lactaires, trompettes de la mort, etc. Autumn usually lasts into mid-December and winter (usually) is mercifully short.

Alternative School Histories

A round of emails exchanged with old school friends triggered a thought in my mind. Many schools have a long history and, with that, a tradition. The tradition is often cherished and, just as often, largely mythical. The tradition is sometimes described in books about the school. My own old school, Rutlish, had been a private rather than a state school before WW2 and seemed to try to hark back to those days. There was a notuceable amount of snobbery among staff who dated back to the private school days or who had been pupils at the time. One of the changes the school had made was to switch from playing soccer to rugby; as one teacher putit to me when I enquired about the change, «if we played soccer, which schools would we play?». What he meant was that the school, with it's private heritage, had to somehow distinguish itself from the new county grammar schools, brought in by the 1944 Education Act, and which played soccer. What horror to be confused with them!

But schools are primarily about education and teaching so, obviously, Rutlish would consider itself superior on that score too. However, my discussion with former school friends turned at one point to the subject of which of our teachers (they actually stuck to the term «masters» rather than the term «teachers») were actually any good at teaching. A few, we all agreed, certainly were but Rutlish also had a good share of duds. There were also a good number of unfortunate or downright chaotic episodes in classes in this very formal, conservative school. All of which made me think: why don't people write alternative school histories; how schools actially were rather than how their tradition would have you believe they were? I'm not sure if a website to hold such stories already exists but there must be hundreds of thousands of people worldwide who would love to debunk the traditions of their old schools and expose the myths. Any takers?

Letter To The Mairie

I ocasionally get the urge to extend the area I can grow flowers in around my house and recently thought how nice it would be if the road out front, although already quite narrow, could be made even narrower. I would then have more room to plant either side. My excuse would be that it would slow traffic. Anyway, the following very tongue-in-cheek letter has gone to the village Council.

Chers membres du conseil,

J'ai apprécié les efforts que vous avez déjà entrepris pour embellir notre cher village, ce qui m 'a fait

penser à un autre projet possible que je voudrai vous soumettre aujourd'hui. Le voici avec les trois

avantages qu'il entraînerait .

En dépit du gendarme couché dans la rue du faubourg, les voitures y roulent toujours un peu trop

vite. Il est vrai qu'il y a d'autres petits ralentisseurs (des gendarmes cadets couchés?) mais ceux-là

servent à peu de chose. Ce que je propose est de rendre la rue devant ma maison (n¨39) plus étroite,

peut-être juste suffisante pour laisser passer le camion des poubelles. Dans l'hypothèse où le

goudron de chaque côté était enlevé je m'engage à entreprendre la plantation de fleurs et d'arbustes

dans l'espace ainsi libéré. Cela serait beau, n'est-ce-pas? En complément on pourrait introduire un

péage à cet endroit, pour récupérer les frais de cette modification et éventuellement en faire

bénéficier les écoles. Il y a déjà eu un précédent pour le péage. Il me semble que c'était à l'époque

où il y avait un pont-levis sur l'Ouvèze. En conclusion, on pourrait par la même occasion ralentir la

circulation, faire rentrer de l'argent et embellir davantage le village.

Voilà ma petite suggestion. Nul besoin de réponse à cette lettre; je vous laisse y réfléchir et prendre

la bonne décision.

Veuillez agréer, Mesdames, Messieurs l'expression de mes salutations les plus sincères.

Ian Hugo

Back From Scotland

Back From Scotland

I left for the UK on the 28th of July, visiting London on both weekends and spending the intervening week in Scotland. The imperative was to see my grand-daughter, my daughter Natalie and son-in-law Andy in Glasgow but also to see my son in London and as many friends as could be accommodated at the same time. As it turned out I managed to see only my friend Margaret, with whom I stayed in London. The weather was suitably British, cool and often rainy, slightly warmer in London than Glasgow but anyway a welcome break from the heatwave in Mollans.

I had intended that my visit should allow Nat and Andy some time out together but I was too early for that, grand-daughter Eilidh being still too young to be left with me. But there were plenty of photo opportunities, for me with Eulidh and Eilidh in her Chelsea kit, as shown here. I knew that Andy wasn't particularly interested in football so thought the Chelsea romper would be uncontroversial; I didn't know that both of Andy's brothers were Liverpool supporters but that probably just means that Eilidh will be getting a Liverpool romper as well.

The journeys both ways were easy and uneventful. I hate large airports, in common with most people probably, so flew from Avignon to London City, and was through airport formalities both ways in no time at all. I wonder how long that will be possible if Brexit happens. Even the hurly-burly that London can provide passed me by and I found people generally aimiable and kind. As ever in the places in London where I end up I was surprised at the sheer variety of ethnicities. Round the corner from my friend Margaret's house were restaurants specialising in Chinese and Caribbean food and a coffee bar run by Somalis. And on one bus ride I overheard a conversation between a passenger and the driver in Russian. Who wouldn't want that diversity?

I met my son Carl in my favourite Zédel brasserie just off Piccadilly Circus, very good food, wine and impeccable service at well below central London prices. The restaurant, as large as a ballroom, is three floors below ground level and was an air raid shelter during the war. Carl, as ever, was up to his eyeballs in IT and looking tired, obviously having been burning the candle at both ends. However he seemed happy with it.

I had the requisite, on trips to the UK, fish and chips in Glasgow and pints of bitter in London so it was a successful trip in every way.

The heat seemed stifling on my return to Avignon where I collected my car 30 yards from the arrival/departure lounge in the free car park. Does anybody know another airport that has free car parking, let alone 30 yards from check-in/arrival? Then it was back home to continue the watering that friends Steve and Jo had kindly been doing while I was away. They'd managed to keep my plants alive and, a day later, it rained heavily almost all day which gave me a couple of days' grace before I had to lug the watering cans around again. I was glad to be able to indulge my passion for fruit again, now including the grapes from the grapevine over my balcony which were well ripe and the damsons from my neighbour's damson tree that overhangs my back garden. So it's back to fruit, boules, mussels and chips outside the Bar du Pont on Thursday evenings and meeting again the many summer visitors to Mollans that are friends.

High Summer

High Summer

It's high summer here now. The official start of summer here is the Feu de la St Jean, on the 23rd or 24th of June, with a bonfire on the river bed and music in the square in front of the Bar du Pont. I usually love this celebration but was disappointed this year. The square was virtually deserted until after 9.30, perhaps because there was a pancake stall but no other food on offer, and when more people came I found only a handful that I knew. Also the music provided turned out to be a hard rock band and few people got up to dance before I left, early. Fireworks were added this year to the ritual bonfire and they were good but there seemed little reason for me to linger after they were set off.

The high temperatures that started in June have continued with only infrequent cooler days, which has meant watering plants front and back on most days. The two photos here show most of what there is now in front of my house, the jasmine on the balcony and the honeysuckle and clematis by the front door, and there won't be much more for the rest of the summer. The few sunflowers I have nurtured from seeds dropped by the birds at my feeders into various pots have finished blooming so I shall root them out, leaving the heads for the birds to feed off again. Lavendar is in full bloom all around but I have only a couple of those plants by the bench opposite my kitchen window. Come August and it will be oleanders and geraniums and not much else. I feel I need an oleander in front of the house but can't think where to put it.

And it's high season for fruit too. Strawberries have all but disappeared, a few weeks earlier than usual, but apricots, peaches, nectarines and melons abound in the shops and markets. I eat far more than I ever did in England and particularly love the melons and white peaches. The flat white peaches are particularly good and cost next to nothing. And the grapes overhanging my balcony are ripening nicely and should be ready to eat in a month's time. I had never imagined livong anywhere where I could sit in the sun/shade (as I choose) on a balcony and simply raise my arm to grab a handful of grapes but that is what I will soon be able to do.

Shameless And Sordid.......And Education

Shameless And Sordid

Strong and stable became weak and wobbly and has now become shameless and sordid. When the Grenfell Towers disaster happened everybody rightly praised the fire and paramedic services for their heroic (I can't think of a more apt word) efforts to contain the disaster. They put their own lives at risk. If anybody ever deserved a reward, they did. What did they get? They got Parliament voting to deny them a pay rise above 1% which, with inflation running at close to 3%, equates to a pay cut of around 2%. That is shameless. What is even worse is that some members of the government were reported as cheering when the result of the vote on an amendment to pay them more was rejected, only through the intervention of mercenary DUP MPs known as bigoted. That is not simply shameless it is also sordid. Any decent Britons who voted, in good faith, for what has been revealed as a bunch of bigots, mercenaries and conscienceless power seekers should now be ashamed of their vote.

What is the aim behnd this nefarious enterprise? It would appear to be a determination to hang on to power for as long as possible to ensure as hard a Brexit as possible, the dream of the extreme right, and to make it as difficult as possible for any succeding government to undo their work. Short of a 1968-style French revolution, I don't see any immediate remedy in the UK. It may be that the UK will have to rely on the goodwill of the EU, which has the whiphand in Brexit negotiations, to resolve this problem for us.

It may be worth recalling that the beginning of this whole sad story was a result of an internal spat in the Conservative party, a referendum to appease the extreme right wing. The extreme right wing won that and the tail is now wagging the dog, showing itself in its true colours, red (paradoxically) in tooth and claw. Appeals to patriotism, «the last refuge of rogues», or party before country? Either is despicable.

Dubito (again)

Daniel and his most recent lady friend came to eat this evening and we got to talking about the Internet for some reason I can't remember. Daniel surprised me by saying it had made things very difficult for him (and other teachers) because students could come up with model answers for tasks/projects, answers that they had found on the Internet. In fact I was really shocked that this could be considered a real difficulty. My immediate reaction was that, as a teacher, you investigate the student's basis for the model answer and should quite easily be able to ascertain whether the student had worked this out for him/herself or simply «borrowed» it. Daniel's response was that that required a lot of work on the part of the teacher, more than was involved in evaluating an original answer. I realise that teachers' time is scarce but «Tough», I said, «that is what you have to do».

In fact that is what I now believe teaching at the senior level should be all about. It is less about what you think you are supposed to know about history, geography, economics or whatever but why you think you know it. I quoted Descartes at Daniel and he blithely quoted Descartes back at me with the «dubito» and «cogito» the wrong way round. In his subject, French literature, that probably doesn't matter much, which is no doubt why he made the mistake, but in education more generally, in my view, it matters enormously. The «dubito» has to come first. It may not be easy but it is essential if people are too be truly educated. And, in current circumstances, it may even be essential for the future sanity of the world.

The first time I formed a company in the UK I had, as it turned out, a very good lawyer who proved his worth again when I signed my first office leasing contract. He said he could do the necessary paper work for me but suggested I should do it and he would approve it (or not). His stated reason was that if I did it I would understand the process intimately and therefore be able to answer any questions on it, rather than referring them to him. That was education; lawyer by trade, he was also a teacher and I'm immensely grateful to him, even if I can't remember his name (Leopold something?). It also gave me an insight into law which was analogous to computer programming: you need to know the precise meaning and implications of every statement and clause.

House Of Cards

House Of Cards: A Conspiracy Theory

We live in interesting times, particularly in the political sphere. As I've said before, I regard the referendum result as an opportunistic extreme right-wing coup. If that is indeed so, for how long has it been going on? Think: House Of Cards, that wonderful TV series of yesteryear in the UK and book by Michael Dobbs.

After the 2008 crash everybody accepted the need for a period of austerity, even if the degree of severity was debatable and not everybody swallowed the easy catch-phrase «we're all in this ttogether». As it happened, the UK embarked on more severe austerity than any EU country other than Greece and, well, the rich didn't suffer quite as much as the rest of us; theywere given a few tax breaks. What almost inevitably suffered most were public services: the NHS, of course, care servies, the police, fire services, etc. At around the same time the UK government omitted to sign off EU directive 2004/38/EC, which placed controls on intra-EU immigration.

Now, consider that you are a member of very rich, extreme right-wing cabal angling for power. How can the ground be prepared? Given the target of the UK as an offshore tax haven, austerity is good. It guts public services, which an offshore tax haven doesn't noticeably have; so austerity has to be continued, even increased (we can always promise that it is necessary so that conditions can be better tomorrow). What about the EC directive? Implementing it would require increasing the number of Border Agency staff, currently being cut. Not implementing it means we can continue cutting Border Agency staff and control of immigration will be aggravated as an issue, which is what we want. What we now need is a referendum on EU membership. We have virtually all the popular media under our control, what else do we need?

It's pure speculation of course but not beyond a House Of Cards.

The problem, of course, is to know what to do if the grand plan gets a bloody nose, as it did in the last general election. Except that it is not really a problem for the cabal; the plot failed so they simply walk away and try elsewhere. It follows inevitably that there is no plan B, as is blindingly obvious now. Any kind of compomise is of no interest; that is simply politics as usual. So what happens next? Who knows? Except that Brexit is now looking to be a tired issue; is it really worth all the expense, fuss and bother? What does a soft Brexit achieve for anyone? And public services are now at the forefront of the political agenda.

School Celebration

School Celebration

This Saturday saw the planned celebration of the village school take place, with an exhibition of old photos of the school and former pupils (three members of our English conversation class started their schooldays together here), various children's games, an evening meal in the 14th of July square and friend Jo's impromptu choir. I «sang» in the choir. Bass, tenor baritone? Maybe a mixture of all three at various points or maybe just undefined. No one ever bothered about these nice distinctions on the terraces at Chelsea. We sang four songs. Sacré Charlemagne accuses Charlemagne of ruining kids'childhoods: Qu'as tu appris à l'école aujourd'hui is an ironic take on what is taught at school: L'école est fini is an end of term celebration and Adieu monsieur le professeur a rather sad tribute to a retiring teacher. All were sung lustily and received enthusiastically, which hopefully rewarded Jo adequately for her efforts to make us sing properly. The whole event served, among other things, to raise some money for the school.

Schools here, as in the UK, are strapped for cash but to nowhere like the same extent as in the UK. Mollans with 1000 inhabitants has a school as still does nearby Brantes, a village of about 200 inhabitants stuck on a mountain side. Scholarship is still valued here and blatant cynicism still rare. The Minister of Education does not sneer at those who have acquired enough knowledge to be labelled experts, especially before becoming Minister for the Environment, having previously voted against all environmental measures. Different countries, different values.

Raoul Balurdin

Movement in the village has been disrupted for the past two weeks because a film is being made in the rue du Faubourg, my street, a hundred yards further along from me. The first inkling we had of this was when plastic trees and foliage started appearing on the fronts of houses along the street. I asked what was going on and was told that they were props for a film entitled Raoul Balurdin that was about to be made. So who is/was Raoul Balurdin? Nobody seemed to know anything other than that he was a bicycle repair man who couldn't ride a bike. Mention of a bicycle repair man immediately called to my mind the Monty Python sketch, the spoof of Superman: «wherever in the world there is a bicycle in trouble, bicycle repair man will be there!» Friend Daniel enlightened me a bit more this morning when I had a coffee with him, saying the story was from a novel that nobody seemed to have read. Nobody other then myself seemed interested in knowing anything more either. That doesn't augur well for the film but I guess a good film could overcome that handicap, even encourage more people to read the book.

Grandfather

My daughter and son-in-law, Nat and Andy, have now informed everyone they wanted to about the birth of their daughter, Eilidh, and so I am free to announce this in my blog. 

She's beautiful, of course, and I already have plans for her as a future captain of the Chelsea ladies' team and so have sent a teddy bear, a romper and a bib all in Chelsea colours. She'll undoubtedly show herself to be a good dribbler in the coming months. I've installed Skype so I can see her over the next few weeks until I go over around the end of July to see her in the flesh. Proud grandfather!