‘Allo
mes amis, a new boating season 2018 has started.’
We
left on Tuesday 8th May after one of the hottest May days on record.
I
cannot adequately describe the pure joy of leaving behind the horror of the
nose-to-tail potholed rat-race motorways en route to Ashford, Kent and gliding
smoothly and quietly through the lush green countryside of northern France
where traffic density is virtually unknown and on perfect road surfaces. No
tailgating, no potholes, no aggro. And no litter! (have you been down the A1
lately?)We could feel the tension ebbing away as we motored less than an hour
to our country hotel to let Laddie and me stretch our legs in the large garden
before dinner.
I’m
sorry, but you have to drive on a French motorway to realise how appalling our
roads are, and how overcrowded much of
Britain is. OK it cost us 30 Euros in total by the end of our journey over two
days to central Burgundy, but worth every centime for our wellbeing (and
safety).
On
arrival in our home port of St. Florentin, we drove through the security gate
and pulled up by our boat, moored close to some picnic benches on the grassy
area nearby. There sat a group of 5 or 6 of our French friends (the usual
suspects, all in their sixties and seventies, who come down to the marina to
sit and chat most afternoons and generally chill out and have a laugh with us
when we’re here.)
Cries
of greeting came over as we got out of the car and I approached with arms
outstretched, braced for the inevitable kisses and hugs. Nothing happened. ‘Laddie!
They cried. Laddies back!!’ Once they’d stopped hugging and kissing Laddie it
was out turn and we were really made welcome, which was very flattering.
For
the next hour or so they threw the ball for Laddie while we started to unpack.
Today,
Monday 21st it’s another public holiday ( we’ve only just got past
the V-E day and Ascension Day holidays which bridge together to form a full
week) and the group have just arrived 2-30pm
and 25 degrees, to sit in the shade and play with Laddie.
When
I commented on the good weather one of the older guys asked me what the fog was
like in England. Fortunately I had a copy of last Tuesday’s Times with me and I
showed them the photo of thousands of people crowded almost shoulder to
shoulder on Bournemouth beach with the temperature at 27 degrees. ‘Ooh-la -la’
was the response - nuff said.
Every
day I have been asked if I am going to The Wedding, as it’s totally dominated
the news and the conversations over here. They are so jealous and full of
admiration for our Royal Family and full of regret to have lost theirs and part
of their self-esteem wit it apparently. TV coverage was immense although we
didn’t get to see more than 5 minutes as we can’t get telly easily. (Long story
but BBC officially not available). Lady Di is pictured frequently in the
newspapers even now.
I
was invited by my friend Vincent, the Port Manager to come and watch the
football and eat Pizza with other people in the port office last Saturday
night. Oh, you mean for the UK cup final? I said hopefully, ready to accept.
‘No,
it’s the final day of the French League’
‘Ah,
no thanks, we had pizza last night’………..
I
continue …….
Next
morning I set out for the boulangerie, around 8.30 as usual, and went to shake
hands (I have to do this with at least 6 people some mornings before I can get
to my car in the compound) with Vincent, a Marseilles supporter.
‘Eh, bien?’
Long face.
‘They
lost??’
‘No
they won, but so did the others (Lyon)’
‘How
was the Pizza?
‘Meh!’
‘OK,
do you want a croissant?’
‘OK,
breeng me one pleez.’
I
set off on my lucrative bread and croissant delivery run. As the supermarket is
on the very edge of the town at the top of a long and massive hill, and our Australian
neighbours and other visitors on boats only have small bikes they’re so extremely
grateful for me fetching the day’s supply of baguettes, croissants and pain au
chocolat that they throw extra money at me so they don’t have to pedal up the
hill before breakfast. A lot of fun as I get to speak with various
nationalities. This week it was French-speaking Quebecois (Canada), a Berliner
married to a Czech as well as Aussies and French.
We’re
currently waiting for a seal for the toilet which broke down and leaked on
arrival and still is, but the engineer shrugs and it will arrive ‘bientôt’ like
everything here. There is no such thing as next day or even next week
guaranteed service. The favourite word is ‘normalement’ it should be here,
followed by a false promise. In the meantime we learn to shrug, eat well, enjoy
the wine and sunshine and put our wellies on to go to the bathroom!
Yesterday
we saw two ducks near us while we were on top deck having breakfast so Sue
threw some bread for them and we went out for an hour or so. When we got back my
French neighbour opposite was desperate to tell me something. Apparently a huge
fish called a Silure had jumped up and swallowed one of the ducks in one go. It
was broad daylight and I don’t think he had been drinking so we had to believe
it. These fish are as big as a man with large mouths, obviously.
Two
things about France haven’t changed.
First
they kill themselves on the roads in a ratio to 2 to 1 with UK- 3000 per year
to our 1500. A 45 year old motorcyclist was killed in a nearby village the
other day when an 81 year old car driver came out of a side road without
stopping, because he had ‘prorité à droite’ which technically means the law is
on his side. The biker was the 9th to die in this area alone this
year. 16 ‘pompiers’ firemen/emergency ambulances and whatever attended
including some from towns and villages miles away, plus 6 gendarmes from different
places, plus the coordinators of all
these services as well as a colonel who was in charge. How come France has 10%
unemployment?
Two
days earlier I was driving in Auxerre on a main road between 2 supermarkets
when a car shot out from a 90 degree side road on my right without even slowing
down, or possibly even looking, and caused me to brake. When I looked up the
car had a sign on the roof ‘Auto Ecole’ and I could see a driver and passenger,
presumably instructor and pupil carrying on as if nothing had happened. They
are so determined to prove this crazy law is on their side they’re prepared to
risk accidents and possibly injury or death for themselves and others. Like the
gun lobby in the States.
From
1st July the speed limit on country roads will be reduced to 70
kms/hr so the backlash will be interesting, especially from truckers. The
alcohol limit in UK is 35mg, but 50mg in France. If you eat at a Routiers
restaurant in France along the main trunk roads it’s full of truckers and, for
around 10 euros, you get several courses of excellent home-made food (no choice
of menu). Jugs of wine are placed in the middle of long tables and can be
re-filled from a barrel on the side. No extra charge involved for the wine.
After 2 o’clock its back to the trucks and off we go again. Woe betide you if
one comes up behind you and you don’t accelerate (these are 2-way roads where
half the deaths occur so stay on the Autoroute where possible and pay to
survive.)
Once
you’re caught drink-driving and lose your licence, no problem, just go and buy
a small VSP (Voiture Sans Permis) – no licence needed and as one of our crowd
told me yesterday ‘It’s great you can just drive past the ‘flic’ (copper) and
stick two fingers up. These cars rattle like a bag of broken spanners, but they
are expensive. ‘Serves them right I said, they are criminals in any other
country’ I think they agreed with me! Tomorrow I will tell them I think
Macron’s wonderful and see what happens.
SAYING
OF THE MONTH : Les doigts dans le nez (not what you think)
Yesterday
I reversed the boat from our mooring alongside the canal, into a crowded marina
avoiding several expensive boats and smoothly into our berth inside the marina,
all backwards. Vincent told me in French you did that ‘the fingers up the
nose’. What??? Equivalent of ‘as easy as falling off a log’ or similar
expression’
Can’t
wait for another opportunity to use it.
Alors il fait chaud et j’ai soif. 29 -31 degrees forecast
this weekend.
A bientôt
John
and Sue
Blue
Moon
PS.
Pictures of impromptu BBQ organised by Vincent (Port manager) at 2 hours’
notice ‘because it’s going to rain for the next three days (and it did). Anglo
French ‘fête champêtre’ with much, much laughter and bonhomie.
