Back in France

Having had to stay in France to ensure some work deadlines were met, it feels as if we sneaked a few extra days in the sun while England sank under a torrent of rain. As a consequence we missed Rosa and David's wedding in the Lake District and I am still feeling very guilty about that but there is nothing I can do about it now. I hope they understand and look forward to welcoming them here for an on-the-house special break in the Languedoc.

The extra days didn't change the need to get our Renault back to the UK, so late on Friday evening we set off to drive the length of France overnight. It was a good plan in most respects - the roads heading north were mostly empty whilst the southbound lanes were full (the French holidays started at the weekend), there were no traffic jams around Paris and we arrived back in the UK early on a Saturday morning with no weekday rush hour traffic to contend with - as a result we were home by 9,30am. The downside as before is arriving feeling slightly out of body, awake but not aware, in motion but acting on autopilot, seeing everything at a distance. For Debrah this meant getting into bed and staying there for the rest of the day - quite right. Unfortunately for me it meant a couple of hours sleep before going into the office for a handover with Giovanna, the company MD, who was departing on her summer break early the next morning.

At least I had a quiet Sunday reading the papers, watching meaningless sport on the TV, cooking food and drinking wine - it's good to get a proper UK weekend into my life now and again - although this being summer there was no football on the telly and this being Britain there was no live cricket on the telly unless you have paid vast amounts of money to Rupert Murdoch for the privilege which I am still not prepared to do - so touring cars and rugby league it was - better than nothing, better than horse racing or athletics or big brother which were the other alternatives.

The point being that if I can't watch footie and cricket in the UK, I may as well be in France where I can't ever watch cricket and the standard of football is, well, modest, by comparison (not that it stops me watching it of course).

So on Monday morning I made the journey back here to France through Stansted Airport where, at the time of year when they have the most customers passing through the airport because of holidays they have the least number of security/scanning lines in operation thereby causing massive queues and maximum anxiety amongst travellers. Good effort BAA - which management school did you guys go to - obviously not one of the better ones which would have told you that more customers need more staff, not the opposite as you seem to suppose.

After three weeks of visitors and, most importantly, after three weeks of being here with Debrah, the appartment feels very big and empty without her. Don't get me wrong, I love it here. Today the weather was just as the last day of July should be in the Languedoc - it was cloudless and windless and very very hot. The market was full of the usual array of sweet smelling melons and peaches and fresh herbs and green beans and tomatoes. But Debrah wasn't by my side as I walked around the stalls. I acknowledged a 'bonjour' from the man who is always there selling fresh eggs and goats cheese even though today I bought nothing from him. I got the same happy welcoming smile and greeting as I always do from the young lady with the best melons in the market. Even so, it wasn't quite right - come back to France soon, honey - it's so much better here with you than without you.

Last night was the last night of the July festival with, supposedly, a concert by a group called Superbus, who have sold a surprising number of records (what an old fashioned term that is) and whom I was quite looking forward to seeing. Alas, on account of a lack of voice/sore throat the concert was called off at the last minute. The cynics (aka my friend Daniel who I bumped into whilst staring at the empty stage) suggested that having very recently had a number one hit in France and this being an unpaid festival the group had pulled out on account of not being able to get into their boots anymore. Who knows? - presumably they weren't available for comment as they couldn't speak - but apparently a new date is being arranged.

All of which meant I ended up spending the evening in the Place Carnot with Daniel and his lovely wife Cecile and their two charming childern and later on, Daniel's parents who had been up to the final concert of the official festival held in the Cite and performed by Joe Cocker - not for me which is why I wasn't there. Daniel and Cecile are a lovely couple, but are also one of those parnerships where roles have been reversed in this modern world - she is French and has a very successful career that involves quite a lot of travelling - he is English and has given up his job in favour of her and now looks after the kids at home. I suspect Debrah might be a bit cross about that but when she meets them, soon I hope, she will realise what lovely people they are.

In my last post I touched on the difficulties of understanding the locals - something which still taxes my very Parisian neighbour. Today I had a phonecall from somebody at the delivery company for our new double door American style super-dooper massive fridge (we bought it last week when it was offer of the week "affaire du semaine' and a good €400 less than list price - what a bargain). Well, I could hardly understand a word this guy said to me on account of his extremely strong accent. I asked him to speak slowly. I asked him to repeat himself please. I apologised and told him I was English and didn't speak the language well. This seemed to strike a chord because he said "Ce n'est pas grave" in a very matter of fact deeply accented way. Blimey - a Frenchman who thinks it's not a serious problem that I don't speak the language very well is indeed a man to deal with - and eventually I got the words 'demain matin' or in local dialect ' dermanurr matanurr' or in English tomorrow morning. Good -new fridge arrives tomorrow - fantastiqurr!

That's about it for today - except that there is a bit of a music competition going on in the street at the moment, brought about by the lovely weather, resulting in an open window as opposed to a closed shutter policy. My North African neighbours up the street have given up a bit early with the rap music - they turned it off of their own accord which suggests they are actually some well brought up boys who don't want to disturb their neighbours or certainly don't want anyone to tell their dad about it! The ladies directly across the street have been playing full on belt it out theatre music - phantom of the opera, striesand etc - did anyone say lesbian?, and the young lad with the karaoke machine seems to have a different entourage each night murdering a succession of unknown French hits and the occassional barely recognisable UK or US number one - it was never a classic but 'Don't go breaking my heart' will never be the same again.