Reality Check

I slept longer than I had planned and woke up a bit late this morning. I guess with Chris having gone, sub-consciously I knew I didn't have to be up and ready for anyone else.

Chris clearly made the right decision to drive to Paris. Overnight, some militant strikers sabotaged a large part of the TGV network. Personally, I don't think it was a very shrewd move - the country has been struggling to get to work for six days and negotiations between Government and Unions were due to start this morning - if they wanted to turn public opinion against them they couldn't have done a better job - talk about shooting yourself in the foot. Anyway, I had a text from Chris to say he was boarding his plane, which was good news.

After yesterday's slightly heady bit of euphoria, the reality of everything still to be done - by me, on my own, between now and Christmas - hit home today. I think I said no more sanding, but when I looked a bit closer at the office ceiling before under-coating could commence, I realised that it needed a bit of work on it before it looked even reasonable. So, there I was stood on a scaffold, sanding plaster above my head once again, realising that it was just me in this vast apartment and while this bit of plaster was being sanded, nothing else was being done - which was a bit deflating to be honest.

But it got done, and the under-coating of the office ceiling and walls and all the new door frames and skirtings that were fitted yesterday also got done. Actually I think I could do with a day off but I'll push on through one more day of work here before I go back to London on Friday - then I can have a weekend to relax with Debrah which will be wonderful.

On a different tack altogether, when I took some more rubbish out to bins earlier on, I noticed that the starlings are back - not in such great numbers but definitely there doing their dusk time swooping and swirling. So much for false falcon noises and rockets - seems like they just moved somewhere else for a week and then came back. Oh well, another unsuccessful French campaign.

I love France and the French and their ideosyncratic ways but it does amaze me how they have survived as a nation - not since Napoleon marched all over Europe have they really had anything to shout about (and he was a Corsican). You might think I'm stretching the point a bit but I'll happily argue it. For years the TGV and French railway system has been held up as a model of efficiency and wonder, but the truth is you can only use it when the drivers decide you can and successive French governments have ignored the fact that they can't afford to pay for it so continue to put the country further into debt.

It will be interesting to see if President Sarkozy can introduce the same reality check on France that I experienced today in my apartment.

Startling starlings

The first we knew about it was a strange noise passing by outside, sometimes loud, sometimes faint. It was definitely coming from a vehicle of some sort and felt like one of those odd movies where a car keeps appearing or crossing at a different junction just out of sight or just behind you - which in the grid of streets that make up the bastide town is very plausible. It sounded like a very bad impersonation of Donald Duck being throttled.

The next morning, Chris was awoken before seven by the sound of explosions at random intervals. He thought to himself, and I quote, 'What the fuck are those mad French bastards up to now?' Quite.

I told you about the extremely spectacular but slightly scary flights of thousands of starlings at dusk - well, there is apparently a more unpleasant side to the evening show of aeronautical prowess. Shit. Lots and lots of bird shit. Also noise. Walk anywhere near the squares where they congregate in the trees and the noise of chattering and cheeping birds is deafening - must be a nightmare to live right next to it.

There is no mistaking that there is a touch of the Alfred Hitchcock about the whole thing and 'Le Mairie' has decided to do something about it. A 'fauconnier' has been hired.

Once upon a time, a falconer would have turned up with a falcon to scare the shit out of a mass of starlings - not that the town needs any more shit to come out of them. These days he turns up with a new Renault Clio, a loudspeaker and a recording of a falcon played on a CD. He drives around the town at dawn and dusk, from one nesting place to another, playing his strange falcon / strangled duck tune and every now and again he sets off a big blast type banger, which is supposed to scare the starlings, but actually gets everybody in town wide awake from whatever dream or nightmare they were in at 6.30am or makes them spill their pre-dinner pastis at 6.00pm. Neither does much for the nerves - god help the war veterans.

There is a time and place for modern technology and I suppose we should embrace the new world, but I bet everyone I know would rather see a team of falcons let loose above the skies of Carcassonne in an orgy of culling after which they would turn up on the menus of the towns restaurants, which is probably what used to happen several centuries ago and was, no doubt, regarded as a great delicacy. Our sensibilities are far too refined these days to consider killing the birds, never mind eating them, and there is probably some directive that says you can't turn up with a real live falcon because it would be cruel to let it loose and behave in a totally natural way.

Instead some fat French bureaucrat drives around in his, government provided, car all day, playing his stupid tune and letting off fireworks every now and again. It's probably the closest France has got to celebrating Guy Fawkes night - one event in British history that they remain totally in ignorance of - as opposed to all the events that they either deny (defeats) or twist into glorious resistance (pleas for help).

And what will this new humane method of startling the starlings achieve - it will make them go somewhere else where they can't afford to pay for the fireworks and yet another member of the civil service - and then they too will have a shit problem and an evening display of mass flying power. Well, maybe.

So far, two days into the operation, the starling numbers look undiminished and the aerial displays continue. I bet the 'fauconnier' has negotiated a daily rate with no guarantees of success. No need to set a 6.30 morning alarm for a while then.