36. truth be told

My friend Barry told me that my last post was a one-sided account and pointed out to me that it wasn't really fair towards our electrician not to explain his issues.

In my opinion his issues are so numerous that even an entire blog dedicated to them would only scratch the surface, requiring the sort of help that only comes with a prescription and a straightjacket but in the spirit of fair-game I'll try to highlight the two main problems he had on site (please bear with me as it is a bit technical):

1.  Our partition walls have a metal frame onto which plasterboard is fixed with screws. A LOT of screws. Now our diva found it very convenient to run and fix his cables in the grooves of the metal frame. His cables were now straight, no longer dangling, and that was probably soothing his OCD. Unfortunately when the plasterboard is fixed onto the above mentioned metal frame, the screws go through the grooves. So while Stéphane and I appreciate the entertainment value of taking down all the plasterboard to find which screw(s) went through which wire(s) and makes the trip switch go everytime we try to switch it back on, I thought of declining the offer and save the small fortune I would spend replacing wires and plasterboard and take Fox to the Valley of the Monkeys instead. So the cables were removed from the grooves, and our diva had a fit. Well, boo-hoo.

2.  Stéphane, seeing that our diva hadn't finish laying his cables on the ground, having taken up another job to which we hadn't objected to, and that the concrete was to be delivered and laid in three weeks time, he kindly informed him that he soon will have to lay the metal mesh that was to be trapped in, and solidify, our new concrete floor. Stéphane reminded him. We reminded him. I believe even Annie reminded him. And everytime he assured us that he would be there Monday, Thursday, tomorrow. A couple of days before the concrete was delivered, our diva turned up, found all 150 m2 of classrooms covered with metal mesh and complained. 

So there, you have it.

35. the electrician diva

a new squatter

There's been a bit of drama on site lately. I was coming back from work and as usual I went to the classrooms to see if everything was alright and talk to the guys. There I found our English electrician, having won us over with tales of flexibility, sudden unemployment and imminent fatherhood, packing. He looked at me and advised me to find someone else to finish the build, the way you tell someone to take an umbrella before setting off for a walk: calmly, almost with a benevolent smile.

Needless to say that his smile was more vicious than benevolent and that my immediate impulse was to wring his treacherous neck and give him a piece of my mind with all the appropriate expletives, French and English, that I knew (and God knows I know quite a few as anyone who's been in my company while driving will tell you).
Instead I asked him if he realised how deep in shit he would put us into should he leave, and enquiring about any problems I wasn't aware of. He was as much forthcoming as a guilty soul and I quickly understood that we were being held hostage in retaliation for his problems with Stéphane. Having not grown his own pair of balls yet, as regularly demonstrated in his silent dealings with his partner, a weird cross between the Dexter's Lab cartoon character Dexter and Barbapapa's Barbamama, nonetheless  he had the nerve to put our backs against the wall: effectively saying sort out my problems or I leave. I told him to meet me at the bar in a little while to give me time to talk to both Stéphane and Fox, who later assured me that nothing had happened during the day.

We invited him to the bar to talk, telling him that now was a good time as no one was in there. We saw him passing by and going to a friend's house on the place. The little turd kept us waiting two hours. Wringing his neck was back on my mind but Fox convinced me to go easy so when he finally turned up we had a little talk. I was calm, collected and in control, just about. I handled him much like the stereotype of the director handling the star having a fit, feeling insecure. In the end it was resolved, but what he failed to realise is that, when you start a business, reputation is everything, and so far, having disappointed most of his clients and insulted his co-workers, his is rapidly turning against him. We, for one, won't recommend him anymore.

mum keeps an eye on us

Then, shortly after this crisis, I walked in the classrooms to check things out and I discovered we had a squatter. A black redstart mummy decided to lay her eggs in a hole our diva had drilled to fit a double light switch. I feared he might kick a fuss when I asked him to work around the bird and try not to disturb her too much but he happily agreed. Last year we had swallows nesting in there, I think we might put up nesting boxes in the garden to avoid our house being overtaken by squatters. The school having been left to rot for so long, it is not impossible for the birds to have nested there before and returning. It's quite funny though, she lying on her eggs, keeping an eye on us but not taking flight. Now I check on her every morning and first thing coming back from work. You don't hear her complaining...

34. back to art

I've never been very keen on surprises. I hate being caught unprepared and hate even more being the centre of attention. And Fox does know that. So when he told me, a couple of evenings ago,  that he had forgotten to tell me we were invited at Annie's for dinner, I didn't make much of it. We got a bottle of wine, took Mooh for a little walk around the village and slowly the three of us made our way to the Galopin.
We came in and walked into my surprise birthday party. It took me a little while to understand it was all for me, including the children's drawings of the walls congratulating me on my fiftieth birthday. The little rascals. Although my first instinct was to walk out I must admit it was really sweet. Having been away for my birthday, my friends had planned a celebration a month later. Annie cooked my favorite dish, saag chicken, Alain had brought lamb curry and salad and the queen of the desserts, Marina, fruit tiramisus. Food heaven. Stéphane was on time and groomed, and I was really touched by his effort (anyone who knows him will understand. To get him to be on time is impossible, just like bringing my boss to orgasm I imagine).

Fox has set up a temporary studio in one of the bedrooms on the first floor. When we were in London be bought quite a lot of small canvases to start a series of landscapes. I feel extremely proud and happy to see him going back to painting, I just cannot imagine him not doing it. I must also admit that I felt extremely jealous. 
Once he was set up I went downstairs and I looked for my cameras. I picked up my old Nikon, it was covered in dust  and I felt a bit ashamed to have neglected it that much. There is still a roll of film inside with very few pictures taken. I just can't remember the last picture I took with it. I miss having a darkroom at hand, and it will be a long time until I can set up my own at home. For starters, almost all the equipment is still at papa's home up north. Then there is no place suitable at the moment. As for renting one, there's nothing in the region, I checked. I'll just have to be patient. So in the meantime, to keep me occupied, I bought a domain and some space on the net to rebuilt a website where I could show my old pictures. It's not ideal but it will have to do at the moment, if I ever manage to find the digital copies I made of them that is.

And talking about creativity, there is a new blog about the adventures of Mister Blisters that I urge you to read, and to follow. It's funny and witty, I hope you'll support him wholeheartily. Take a peek! http://misterblistersunemployment.blogspot.com.

33. one year on

It's been a year since we traded crazy London for the not-so-sleepy Poitou. Progress has been slow but are now seeing our dream house emerging from the chaos of the renovation. The heat-pump stands proudly in the front garden, the partition walls are up, plugs and switches are sprouting on them, a little bit more everyday, in tune with spring. Next the ceilings will be fitted, and all the electrics will be plugged in the - very expensive - fuse box, followed by the laying of our underfloor heating. Another layer of cement, and voilà! A ready-to-decorate house will finally be ours. But cautiously, relying in my newly acquired experience of French tradesmen, I do not expect to sleep in the house before at least September. Once bitten, twice shy.

Having the inside walls up is giving us a sense of the volume of the rooms. We were worried about the bathroom, the walk-in closet (that became a walk-through closet as one access the bathroom through it) and the library. But now that we can walk in each of them and have a feel of the space, we are relieved to see we made the right choices. I often walk in there while drinking my morning coffee, before going to work. I appreciate the light coming through the huge windows as the sun is coming up, and I imagine how the garden will look like once the tarmac will have been removed. 



It has been a trying year for both of us albeit a very positive one. Fox had to undergo a third operation and will have to go back to hospital soon for corrective surgery. Seeing double and having a poor sense of depth is driving him up the wall but we are all too aware that he could have lost his sight and his eye, so we're trying to put things back into perspective. Being cooped up at home is no fun though, and Fox is impatient to drive again to go to one of his favourite places around here: the déchetterie. The local tip. Indeed. 
As for me I've been told off by the cardiologist. I was in the right place mind you for I nearly had a heart attack when I climbed onto the scales: 94 kg (a bit over 14 st). Overweight (after seeing my face he knew the shock-tactic of telling me I was obese was unnecessary), smoking 40 a day, a stressful job and an artery already clogged up by cholesterol at 30%, I needed to change my ways. And my diet, of course. The one and only cheese and bread diet. It felt like being kicked in the bollocks, really. And this wonderful news came just one week before my birthday. I would have slapped him if he hadn't be really nice and friendly.



The big house opposite us, that was once a hotel and a restaurant, has been sold. It won't come as a surprise that the new owners are English. He came to the Galopin to introduce himself few weeks ago. We had a drink and got talking about the village and I just could not resist to make use of a little piece of information Alain had given me a little while ago once he mentioned that it was once one of the seven hotels in the village, by asking him if he knew that it had been a knocking-shop too. It was a bit cheeky but his face was a treat: shocked but trying not to be by laughing it off. Naughty me. They seem to be lovely people though, and we're happy that more people are coming to our village. That makes two more children as well, which is lovely for little Gaby, he'll have playmate during the summer.


One year on I'm still not used to the road kill. My heart still breaks every time I see one, or kill one myself. Well, I don't so much kill them as being an instrument in their suicide. It's birds mainly. They're like Kamikazes. You'd be driving to work or to the shop minding your own business when they suddenly dart from one hedgerow to the other one across the road and all of a sudden you hear a bang! and see a cloud of feathers. I'm on my fifth. I'm deadly, me.

32. acts of kindness

Sitting at my desk,  firmly committed to do absolutely nothing (New Year resolution, do the strict minimum for the Nazi bitch), I remembered something my dad's girlfriend said to him when he suggested settling in our little village. She was afraid that, should something happen, they would be left to their own devices, far from everything: hospitals, shops and all. So she would prefer living in a town.


But when I reflect on the last few weeks and on poor Fox's misfortunes, I realised how unfounded her concerns are. From the moment our troubles started there has been a spontaneous and generous rallying around us. Mooh was immediately taken in and cared for by Annie and Alistair during our time in Poitiers for Fox's operations (and anyone knowing Mooh will tell you, this is a feat of endurance looking after her), and let's not forgetting the numerous meals she cooked for us throughout that time, Stéphane, our lovely builder, lit a fire for us on both occasions so we could come back to a warm and cosy house, Marina and Philippe are picking up our laundry to dry it regularly and have dropped cooked meals as well so we could chill out a little. And a lot of people have popped in quickly, not wanting to intrude, to see if we were alright and to ask us to let them know should we need anything.


In a village anonymity is non-existent and privacy is difficult to keep and I know that sometimes I moan when people are popping by for coffee and a chat (often in groups!), and they do that a lot, particularly at meal times when you're about to eat (they must have a sixth sense, "Hey! Marie! They're cooking I can feel it! Quick, get the car!"), but if this is the trade off for being part of a community that cares for its members the way our little group does, then I'm all for it.