Cycle of Crime

TH has, for many a long year, been a cyclist. He is getting a bit long in the tooth, and although I’ve seen a great deal worse, he’s probably well past the age where lycra brings out the best in him. Nevertheless, I’m almost as proud as he is of the seven or eight medals he amassed on his annual outing on the London to Brighton bike ride for the British Heart Foundation. We’ve laughed with him and at him: the latter, especially, when he fell victim to an irreparable puncture several miles from home, and had forgotten his mobile phone. I don’t think he enjoyed the walk back in his cycling shoes, but you’re never too late to learn a life lesson.

                                                                                       Bicycle Marathon by Vojko Kalan                                          

                                                                                   Image from http://www.publicdomainpictures.net

                                             

Then, about four years ago , he had an unfortunate experience in France whilst out cycling, where he was poleaxed by the Very Strong Gust of Wind. 

Having brought his pride-and-joy racing bike out to France, he set out one sunny afternoon, leaving me lounging by the pool, with the promise to return in time for us to go into the local town for a stroll and an early evening drink. I settled down with a book to await his return.

Some time later, my mobile phone rang.

“It’s me” said TH “Can you come and get me? I’ve fallen off my bike”

“Where are you?” I asked, fearing all sorts of things “Are you OK?”

“Yes, I’m fine, but hang on….someone wants to have a word”

With that, TH passed his phone to a Frenchman, and the conversation went as follows:

“Bonjour madame. Your husband had a nasty fall. We picked him up, but when we got to him, he wasn’t making much sense, so we rang for the SAMU”

( I did think, rather uncharitably, that the “not making much sense” might have been a little matter of language problems, but I was becoming increasingly concerned).

The Frenchman (or men, for there were two of them) had been working on a chantier next to the road, where a new dual carriageway was under construction. They gave me directions to the spot, and told me that the ambulance was on its way. I hastily gathered together my clothes, bag and wits and jumped into the car to hurry to the scene.

Upon my arrival, I found TH covered in blood, his cycle helmet looking as if someone had attacked it with a cheese grater, and his lycra top looking somewhat shredded. The SAMU had also arrived. TWO lots of them, for it appeared that TH had selected a spot for his accident that fell exactly halfway between the jurisdictions of two hospitals, so he was being largely ignored whilst the two crews had a chat about who was going to take him where. I managed to establish from TH that he thought he might have broken his collarbone, but that he was now pretty sure he hadn’t. I got the story from the two Frenchmen and thanked them profusely for their help, and then spent several minutes whilst waiting for the medics to make up their minds who was in charge, persuading TH that no, he was NOT OK, and yes, he did have to go to hospital and get checked out. Eventually, after I had answered all the necessary questions and forms had been filled in on TH’s behalf, the ambulance drove off with TH impressively strapped onto a spinal board, wearing a neck brace and a helpless expression.  His almost total lack of French, rather than his injuries, was the main cause of this helplessness.

I’ll spare you the blow-by-blow. Some few hours later, discharged from hospital and wearing an impressive neck brace, with a prescription for a year’s supply of Doliprane and Betadeine, I helped OH to the car. We did both wonder why, amid all the x-rays, examinations and ministrations, no-one had offered or tried to remove ANY of the blood in which he was covered, but never mind.

Anyway… Since that episode, TH has done very little riding outdoors. The bike – quite an expensive road bike – had suffered no lasting damage from the fall, and when we came back home, TH invested in a gadget which enabled him to use the bike as a static machine. This was installed in the garden shed, to which he has disappeared on at least 3 evenings each week, and cycled a good 30 miles or so on the spot. Something known within the family as the “Tour du Shed”.

Alas, overnight on Friday, and after having already over the last month broken into the garden sheds of both of our neighbours, the local  thieves finally decided it was Our Turn.

Up early on Saturday morning, I popped out to put some rubbish in the dustbin and noticed that the garden gate was ajar. Walking through the gate to the back of the house, I saw the shed door open and ran down the garden to check. The locked door had been forced open, and the beloved bike was gone. It had been chained to a huge wooden tool chest and fixed into the static rollers, but the chain had been forced apart with a screwdriver (ours) and the bike was no more, along with a few other items of equipment and tools. Luckily, and largely as a result of precautions taken since the neighbours’ burglaries, another three bikes, including a nice new road bike recently purchased by TH, were still there: he had had the presence of mind to chain all three together using some really heavy chain AND a D-lock. The police were called, and came to look. That’s all, just look. They won’t be doing anything – they said so. 

Things could, of course, been a lot worse. However, TH is bereft. There is unlikely to be much money from the insurance, as a separate insurance for a bike is almost impossible to obtain, but although this is not a piece of expensive jewellery or a family heirloom, that bike was an old and trusted friend. TH and the bike have been through a lot together. No more Tour du Shed….

A little ray of Sunshine!

Well, here’s a shock ! On what seems to have been one of the hottest days of the year, I sat down in the early evening cool and opened up my laptop to discover that one of my fellow bloggers has kindly nominated me for a Sunshine Award. 

The Fly in the Web, whose wonderful “French Leave” blog I was lucky enough to discover through another fellow blogger, has listed my blog among her nominees for this award which is given  to “bloggers who positively and creatively inspire others in the blogosphere”.  I’ve come over all unnecessary: not least because the last time I “won” anything it was a 10 shilling postal order. I think that gives you a clue as to the frequency of my successes.

As we had burglars over the weekend, and I also had to spend the day flat-hunting with son#2, neither of which were especially uplifting experiences, this was a doubly cheering piece of news!

I was initially rather lost as to what I should do, but Fly had spelled it out in her blog post, and although her kind nomination came with the caveat that there was no obligation to do anything at all, I shall, because I think it’s fun! However, being new to the blogging world, you will have to bear with me a bit…I may not quite reach the requisite number of nominations as I’m still building my list of regular reads! Thanks to the award itself, it looks as though I’ll have a number of new blogs to check out, which is great news. However, in the meantime I’m going to attempt to fulfil half the brief..

Here are some of my favourite reads:

 Hobos in France…written by the lovely Chrissie, this blog documents an incredible story of injustice, incompetence and, well…fraud. Not, you might think, the stuff of “sunshine”! Chrissie and her family have, however, shown me and many others that it is not only possible to rise above some of the cruellest injustices that life can throw at you, but to do it with serenity and a sense of humour. Their story is an emotional roller-coaster but shows what genuinely wonderful people they are.

Then, there’s Perpetua at Perpetually in Transit whose initial forays into the world of blogging have now become a real passion – for her and for her increasing band of regular followers. I’ve really enjoyed her blog since she first began, and she has been a great source of encouragement to me in my first tentative steps into the blogosphere.

One of my newer discoveries is Doris Brazil Speaks Out. A great, quirky read which shares my sense of humour.

A blog which isn’t really a blog in the conventional sense, but raises a smile with me every day, is Craftastrophe…a regular look at why some people should never, ever, venture into the world of selling their home-made creations, and which has made me realise that some of my own efforts, although I’d never offer them for sale, are better than my hyper-critical eye has given them credit for!

Another new blog, and one which speaks to my experience of living in France, Ma Parole!,  Zoe’s accounts of her life as an Estate Agent in La France Profonde.

Now to tackle the brief, part deux..

Favourite colour....My head says cornflower blue. My wardrobe says black.
Favourite animal...Lebowski the cat. Despite his wonky tooth and his habit of leaving mouse entrails in the hall.
Favourite number …Why would anyone have a favourite number?
Favourite drink....Probably tea. I’m such a lightweight.
Facebook or Twitter...Facebook. I shouldn’t, but I do.
Your passion..... Would that be today’s passion, yesterday’s passion or last week’s?
Giving or getting presents....I like both.
Favourite day.... The day my holidays begin
Favourite flowers....Ones that TH can’t kill through over-zealous gardening.

Shalalalala means "I Love You"

And "Ohlalalalalalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah" means "no".

The people who both installed and have subsequently, year by year, opened and closed our swimming pool, disappeared last year. No, not an odd choice of words, they just went. In the much-vaunted style of French customer service, they were there one minute and gone the next. No warning, no "we're retiring/closing down" no message on the answering machine or any kind of e-mail reply.

So, this year, I have had to start hunting for someone to open our pool. TH can't come to France right now, and there are all sorts of electrical/mechanical/technical things to do which are beyond my ken, so I need a man who can.

I was given the name of a man who could by my neighbour. They know him, their son knows him, and, as is so often the way in La France Profonde, dropping the right names is the key to getting people to come and do work. I learned this once, when trying to locate a plumber over the Christmas holiday period on behalf of some friends who had a serious water leak. "Do I know them?" He asked, when I phoned "I don't know" I said, "but they live just round the corner from you". "I don't know them" he went on "and I'm on holiday. Can't they get the person who installed their plumbing to come?" "Well" I replied "He may no longer be with us. The plumbing came with the house, and the house is over 100 years old". He wouldn't come. He didn't know them, and that was that.

Yesterday, then, I called the pool man. "Could you possibly come and open up our pool?" I asked.
"Oh la la la la la la la la la laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah" he said, laced with all the gravitas and intonation necessary to convince me that this was impossible. "Look, it's not urgent" I said "I'm still in the UK at the moment, and I'm not arriving for a couple of weeks" "Oh la la la laaaaaaaaah" He said again " I'm snowed under for at least the next month"

I can't face any more Oh la laaaa- ing, so TH and I have agreed that the pool can stay closed until TH can open it in another month's time.

Thank you : I don’t need your help !

I have long ranted about the use of online translation tools. To be more precise, I have long ranted about the danger of using them. Trawl around the expat forums and barely a week goes by without someone either asking which one is best, extolling their virtues or advocating their use. Usually this is for the most inappropriate of situations: disputes with public bodies, making complaints, requesting detailed information…

Just today, having noticed some weeks ago that Facebook has now “thoughtfully” provided the option of using one such tool (Bing, to be precise) in order to convert non-English posts to English, I thought I’d give it a whirl. And, coincidentally, one of my ex-students posted a message in her native Japanese.

The context (she has helpfully already explained this in English to her wider network of non-Japanese-speaking friends) is that she has just got a job working at the Tokyo Skytree: the tallest tower (and the second-tallest building) in the world….

A: 22nd May, The Grand Opening!
Tomorrow I'll be there in uniform; D Today was the last training day.
And tomorrow is finally open! First, to work confidently in their locker and go from gumball.

A's friend: Good luck to you! Power of the River from a distance.

A: Thank you-! From the Singapore looks close? What about huge but I'm too invisible?.

A's other friend: Ms. cherry blossoms looked for do the training of new staff in the news yesterday, but we unfortunately didn't know > <? good luck!

A: Thank you -I is in heaven wants deck restaurant 634 recent Concierge! But still a feeling State of your job gumballs!

And, lest you believe that the simple explanation lies with the difficulty of providing an accurate translation from Japanese, here’s another example, posted by a Hungarian friend. 

"The összevisszaságban find the simplicity and the hangzavarban of the harmony. Among the problems is the possibility is always there. " (Albert Einstein). 

Now, I know Einstein demands a certain intellectual rigour, but that one’s beyond me!

Meanwhile, a Portuguese friend says:

Without doubt the greatest phenomenon that has seen the Library! Not completed 3 months of contract and it seemed that there was already a year! He left there guria miss! And when you have a barbecue or any other event saw consider yourself invited! And no excuses! XOXO

STEP AWAY from the online translation tool!!!

Military manoeuvres

Well, this weekend, Nowhere-on-Thames has been crawling with troops and members of the press. Nothing exciting has been happening in N-o-T itself, you understand. It’s just that Somewhere-on-Thames has been largely sealed off as the neighbours (or, as they are better known, HM the Q and the DoE) have been hosting a couple of celebrations for the Diamond Jubilee.

On Friday, we were largely left to go about our normal business, although there were periodic traffic hold-ups as the Crowned Heads of here, there and everywhere turned up at the castle for a spot of luncheon, and Nicholas Wychell and the BBC news team cluttered up the pavement outside WH Smith to report on nothing very much at all.

By this morning, however, we were effectively imprisoned in our homes as the whole area was sealed off and 3000 troops plus their families and friends arrived for a Jubilee Armed Services Parade.

TH is anything but an ardent royalist, and my feelings towards the monarchy are best described as ambivalent, but TH was persuaded to venture out and watch the proceedings on the basis that there was to be a flypast of some 70-odd aircraft, and that’s a man thing.  Besides, we couldn’t go anywhere much by car, as all the roads had been closed, and what traffic there was in the village was largely made up of people trying to find a way around the resultant impasse.  

We set out to walk down the road to the castle, hoping to get a reasonable vantage point at the gate where the parade was due to enter the castle grounds for the final part of the proceedings. As the grounds have been churned up anyway (last week was the horse show), they’d obviously decided to make the most of the upheaval by creating a stadium on the same site to accommodate all the invited family members. The start of the parade was 10.30 a.m., but these poor folk had been told to take their seats by 9.30, and so were being entertained by a military band as they waited patiently for the parade and the royals to arrive. Thus, as the sound carries some distance, we walked down the centre of the road to town to the accompaniment of a medley of themes from the James Bond films floating over the river from the castle. 

We managed to squeeze quite comfortably onto the end of the crowd outside the gate, in a prime spot next to a bank of photographers from the press.  Having seen the TV news coverage of the event, it seems we were lucky in our choice of spot, as the main part of S-o-T and the starting point of the parade were very crowded indeed.

And so began a Long Wait…not as long as some, it seems, judging by the camping chairs and supplies of food and drink that were in evidence, but then we hadn’t had far to come. After what seemed like an age, but was only about half an hour, the procession began to arrive. Not before a flypast of nine Tornadoes, which caught me and the press corps completely by surprise, so my first photo opportunity was missed entirely. After that, I reached an accommodation with the person just in front of me, whereby she would lean to her right and I to her left, thus avoiding me taking several dozen snaps of the back of her head.

                                                     We even had our very own pensive policeman.....

Hats off to the Army, Navy and Air Force! If there’s one thing we seem to do extremely well in this country, it’s a parade. And this one was no exception.  Like a well-oiled machine, the troops trooped away for what seemed like ages, resplendent in their best uniforms, all shiny and ship-shape. It was a fabulous sight. 

  

After quite a long delay, the Royal Couple drove by in their car, followed somewhat incongruously by a few people in a silver minibus (I assume this wasn’t the other Crowned Heads who’d stayed on after the luncheon) and we were faced with a wait of almost 40 minutes before the flypast.

Local Knowledge being a good thing, we realised we’d probably see the flypast better from another vantage point closer to home, so we began the walk back, stopping off at the park to wait for the planes. My photography skills were tested to the limit for this bit, as trying to spot the approaching tiny grey specks in a vast expanse of almost equally grey sky was quite tricky, and these planes don’t exactly hang about for a photo opportunity, so my thanks go out to the Red Arrows for alerting me to their position through the judicious use of coloured smoke.

                                             Thanks for the help, Red Arrows!

After a brisk walk home (this time to the accompaniment of the National Anthem and a selection of Rousing Military Tunes) it was time for a late lunch, and to settle in for the long wait until we were free to go forth by car once more.

That’s it now until the next Great Upheaval.  Apparently they’ve sold 30,000 tickets for the Olympic Rowing. Guess where the spectators will arrive in order to be conveyed to the venue?

Fish Soup...nearly!

Today was my day off..sort of. It has turned out to be more “off-day” than ”day off”.

Rising slightly later than is my normal habit, I was taking my time, briefly tuning in to the breakfast news, when I happened to walk past the fish tank.

I am not a great lover of fish tanks, I have to say. However, when we bought our current abode, the previous owners had made some structural changes to the house. Among them was the removal of a wall to open up what had once been a corridor running almost the length of the house.  This has made the living room much larger, but has resulted in what was once an enclosed corridor becoming an open corridor, with a floor level much lower than that of the living room itself. In order to prevent the unsuspecting from hurling themselves over the precipice from the living room into the corridor, they erected a sort of planter, which for many years was filled with plants, for that was its purpose.

As time passed, and planters became increasingly associated with open-plan offices, TH and I deliberated what to do with this unwanted “feature”, which cannot be removed without a great deal of effort and upheaval. Eventually, we decided that we could sit a fish tank on top of it, which would divide the room a little, and sort of look as though it was meant to be there: which it does. However, in order to cover the offending planter in its entirety, we had to buy a rather large fish tank. It takes 300 litres of one of our scarcest commodities, and requires quite a few fish and plants to keep it looking as it should.

And so, this morning, as I strolled towards the kitchen, I noticed that it looked for all the world as if the fish had also decided to have a lie-in. They were all at the bottom of the tank, not moving much. I then noticed that one of my kissing gourami – a large fish, as it has been with us for several years – was lying on its side and looking quite unhappy.

I rushed round to the other side of the tank, where the thermometer caught my eye, and realised that the thermostat had gone haywire, and was slowly heating up the tank into 300 litres of bouillabaisse…..

Having rushed to the kitchen and found a bowl, I scooped the gourami into it and ran back to the sink, where I added some cool water. The fish, obviously unaware that I was trying to save its life, perked up a bit and started trying to leave the bowl by the nearest exit, so I clamped a plate on top. I know it’s only a fish, and therefore not able to think rationally, but I wasn’t going to have it commit suicide in the kitchen sink after I’d gone to the trouble to save its life! There then followed a good hour of me shuttling back and forth with bowls of water, as I ladled the hot water from the tank and replaced it with cold water.

Having reduced the temperature (it took about an hour of ladling and replacing) to something closer to normal, I returned to the kitchen and lifted the plate, to find the gourami had made a full recovery, so I released him back into the tank. He’s now swimming happily around with his fishy chums. Hopefully there won’t be any lasting after-effects!