La Dentist

When we moved to France we thought we'd done our research but there was something missing from our checklist. A dentist!
Like most people, I think, we don't consider our teeth until they start to protest and then they grab our attention.
We had visited several Brocantes and fairs and were introduced to several locals and we both commented on the high rate of gaps. Gaps in their teeth were evident especially amongst the middle aged and elderly. A smile which resembled a broken down stone wall in Swaledale. Some tried to disguise the absent teeth by stretching their lips over the mouth which gave a sort of botched Botox injection look.
Even when we both commented on certain people we dismissed it as some sort of French Peasant thing raising a little chuckle.
Then as usual the tooth ache struck at the most inconvenient time. We located a dentist and the offending tooth was removed. Straightforward and a bit expensive about 200 euros with about 15 euros refund through the French Social Scheme.
Then came the follow up appointment expecting to see the same man but no.
The door opened to a new room as the catwalk model of an assistant invited us in.
In this ambient lit state of the art technological equipped room fitted with a dentist chair that look like it had been beamed down from the deck of the Starship Enterprise. Invited to sit in the plush chairs behind his family photograph adorned desk. From every angle 'perfect' children and family grinned back displaying their immaculate ivories. Even grandmother who looked a bit odd with the crinkly yellow aged face framing white gleaming teeth. There was even a large photo of the perfect family, without granny, hanging on the wall lit by especially fitted and positioned lights. The centre piece being the man facing us, his model wife and children all smiling. We'd walked into the centre page of some glossy magazine. I actually felt underdressed and intimidated. My concentration was broken by the Dentist dressed in a perfectly pressed white dentists gown which was offset by his Mediterranean tanned skin and chique French looks. A look of a French Adonis.
Speaking in his heavily accented perfect English he viewed my wife's x rays and records, which couldn't be much because we'd only been once.
He outlined in perfect English the work that he considered necessary to bring her teeth up to the standard of granny! which was a bit disturbing because she looked like she was fitted with someone elses teeth and I wondered if she was able to close her mouth or was the 1950's colgate toothpaste smile a permanent feature.
He showed us her x rays which revealed the little screws that held the tombstone rows in place. In actual fact granny looked better as an xray!
Charming his way through the presentation with the skill of a professional he made brief reference to the amount, which was the only bit that he mumbled and caused me to partially raise from my seat in an effort to catch the illusive figure when he uttered it again. I managed to hear 7 and settled back.
This dental salesman then skillfully slipped the credit forms onto the table with an easy payments plan! We could pay over 5 years at so much a month but still the amount was not revealed as he produced another picture of granny. ( This was a serious error on his part ) No-one would want to look like granny he should have used his stunningly attractive wife in this slick lecture. The illusion would have been complete and price would not have been an issue. But every time granny flashed across the desk it was like a hypnotist clicking his subject back into reality.
We were then smoothed into the Foyer so the model assistant could complete the paperwork. This would enable Prince Charming to recommence another lecture with his captured crowd in the waiting room.
Thankfully my wife and I are skilled at dodging the financial commitment bullet without having to discuss it first. In France you need a list of documents before you can commit to a financial commitment and on this occasion it was proposed to be 7000 euros spread over 5 years at 4.5%. Not likely grabbing the forms we left assuring the young lady that we would return the forms within the offer period, yes this was a reduced rate offer, allegedly.
So before you leave the shores of the UK consider your dental plan because there is no equivalent UK system in France. Perfect teeth come at a price. Most insurance plans do not cover teeth and those that do are prohibitively expensive.
Another thing I learnt after a while in France. Unlike the UK the French are generally polite on a one to one basis especially when you walk in and out of places 'bonjour' from complete strangers is the norm. If you did this in the UK there's a chance that you'd be ignored considered weird or open yourself up to some physical or verbal abuse. So if you are in this situation in France and people fail to respond or look agitated be very suspicious not of the person but of the institution. They are displaying their displeasure at the institution not you!
Which usually means that there's an expensive reason. We once saw a very petite lady official dealing with a monstrous sized man in the CPAM office at Angouleme who was complaining about his 'facture' bill to you and I. So watch out............

NAT Holidays never again travel

THE IMAGE IS ONLY FOR THE TYPE OF BUS AND NO INFERENCE SHOULD BE MADE ABOUT THIS COACH COMPANY

We hadn't been married that long and basically we were seriously broke, but this never stopped us going on holiday. We were catching on to the fact that as property owners we could lump it all onto to the mortgage, everyone was doing it. In actual fact we went more places when we were in debt than we do now and we don't owe a bean to anyone!

We decided that we fancied a holiday in the south of France, France the home of cheap booze and Christmas holidays. So we opted for the cheapest holiday and booked a coach trip. Armed with our travellers cheques of we went on very dull morning to Middlesbrough Bus station. We were taken there by a longstanding colleague and friend, he had actually been the first person I had gone out on patrol with in York as a Police Cadet.

Having successfully arrived at the coach park we quickly found our stop. No coach, but there were other expectant travellers awaiting its arrival and more importantly the best seats. Doesn't matter whether its a plane,train or bus there is a professional army of voyagers who are very adapt at bagging the best spot for their derrier, ruthless and determined.

We entered the smoke filled cafe with a view to buying a cup of tea but this was pointless because there's another group that always materialise and thats the undecided at the cafe group. Huddled together usually in groups of three or four and one of those is the hen pecked rements of their husband. If not them it is the complusory screaming brat who is charging around while their ineffective parents issue an equally ineffective warning of possible physical abuse if they don't stop.

Now the first group, whom I came across on a P&O ferry just recently, ignore signs like 'this food containes nuts' and this is 'gluten' free still go on to explain to the cabin staff that Cyril 'hasn't been able to eat nuts since his 1965 holiday in Blackpool; it brings him out in an awful rash, so would the Chef cook him something special, interspersed with an argument about what year it actually was and what was it that set off this digestive malaise.

Having secured the dish of their choice, they tun their attention to the gravy and "Is it gluten free?" This brings about another tale of woe from the 60's. Then to cap it all they decide against their original choice and pick something up thats ready prepared. This isn't the end of it because they wobble up to the cash desk and ask if they take Euros and of course the cabin staff say yes, only to be paid in Sterling after ejecting several bits of 'monae' alover the desk. By this time suicide beckons as one realises that the former hot dish you selected has turned into yesterdays leftovers.

So, choking, we awaited the bus.

Eventually,a head stuck itself round the door "Anyone 'ere for never again travel" ?

Everyone chuckled and, in our ignorance, so did we.

By this time the seasoned French Pilgrims were squeezing onto the bus as were their oversized cases, eventually we managed to get on.

Now I'm 6'1" and there was no way I was going to fit in the remaining seat despite the protestations of the courier advising 'shuffle in'. I couldn't have shuffled in with a shoe horn. Indignant and staring at me through her over made up face she marched me to the back of the near to the one and only toilet. Yes its toilet time again! 1 chemical toilet 60 odd passengers being plied with overpriced coffee and a 19 hour projected journey. If I thought the seat was bad it had nothing on the toilet. It had about as much space as a London tube at rush hour. Stood up one could only manage a pee by contorting your body and rest your face against the mirror. No chance of a poo, I would have had to opened the door and stuck my legs out.

Another problem being those in dire need from thetop deck were queueing on the bottom deck almost continually thereby preventing those who equally desperate on the bottom deck from securing their place in the bog grotto. Soon gone were the pleasantries of fellow travellers and in its place came a lot of huffing and puffing and jabbing of elbows. I only manage to avoid this situation by jumping in when two combants created an impasse.

Everyone was crammed on suitcases as well and the crew mounted the driver and his stand in an the stewardess. The driver who was popping out of his ill fitting almost white shirt with his tie tip coming to halt on the crest of his tummy which must be as a result of many a good night somewhere.

The stewardess started a head count and of course we were not all present and correct which lead to a hasty recount and much paper shuffling on her overloaded clip board.

The driver shrugged his shoulders and lit up and lead to a period of awkward conversations and a lot of looking at watches. Deadlines came and went which began to get somewhat annoying and disappointing at the same time. The bus sprung into readiness and thick diesel smoke enveloped the car park. However, out of the gloom like contestants on 'Stars in your eyes' the errant passengers emerged, coughing choking and looking a bit distressed. Towing behind them a case which was put a maximum load onto the now bent metal chassis resulting in a wobble which threatened to unbalance their bolt across the car park. "Tonight Matthew I'm going to be that bastard that always holds everyone else up!"

Having been successfully crammed into the already overloaded interior because there was as much 'hand luggage' in the bus as there was in the hold. And personally I'm fed up with these people who complain that they were charged extra for what they jokingly call 'hand luggage' and then argue the toss that "No one told them" I get a great deal of satisfaction in seeing these travelling holiday wreckers getting short thrift from a girl a third of their age!

Off we chugged, or at least the bus did, which signaled the stewardess to 'welcome' everyone and name the two drivers who in the space of 10 minutes had broken one or two bits of Public Service Vehicle legislation not least the chain smoking driver. Also pointing out that the drivers were on a low wage and the plastic cup was for tips. Then came the itinerary we would be doing this stop and that stop because the drivers had to comply with the drivers law, why this particular law I don't know because so far they were not showing much interest in the rest of the psv rules. Then came the drinks trolley Max pacs on wheels to be exact and totally overpriced 70p each!

Eventually after weaving our way through the various estates of Middlesbrough, Stockton and elsewhere we stopped at a roadside cafe. The usual pecking order materialized those who sprint off the bus at all costs to get to the front of the queue because the bus had stopped at a Cafe that was too small and too understaffed it was obvious that the drivers were probably rewarded for bringing their passengers to this image of the 1960's. Hogging the counter the driver and his mate spent their time occupying the overworked staff only broken by an obvious attempt to 'chat up' the hostess. So we abandoned all hope of getting anything and the time constraints prevented us from dashing off to the Little Chef a few hundred yards up the road. However some of the more determined made their bid for escape to the empty cafe.

We turned our attention to our toiletry needs but this shack only had one functioning toilet and all access to it was blocked by desperate travellers. Going back onto the bus was not an option. The shine of our first holiday abroad was wearing thin.

After the allotted period the driver and co made their way back to the bus, but we decided that we would use the toilet no matter what and when we returned to the bus, the drivers mate mumbled something about Ferry Times, I chose not to reply and we made our way back to the seats under the gaze of accusing eyes. However, we were not the last as the distressed head count reveal and in the distance we could see the contestants who had sprung into some sort of action when they had obviously seen the blue smoke of the bus. Have you ever noticed that people like these with walking sticks never are synchronized with their walking and results in a Rolf Harris "I'm Jake the peg............" type of movement and the stick just becomes another obstacle to forward movement. A type of stop and hop. Arriving slightly out of breath the drivers mate was perfectly clear in what he said about the Ferry and everyone heard. Which didn't help because it only spurred the lumbering wife into a response as her husband withdrew his head into his open neck shirt.

19 Hours was the predicted time of our journey and I honestly thought that 12 of it would be in the UK. We wound our way through every back water until we got onto the A1 southbound carriageway where we managed to achieve an average speed above 12 mph.

The rest of the journey and ferry, which provided a great deal of relief, was uneventful.
As we approached France the announcement came that all passengers should return to their vehicles. The streams of the masses bundled their way down the stairs and onto the coach we got. And yes the 'head count' once again revealed that the veteran delayers were not on the coach. But they did arrive just in time to avoid being stranded on the 'Pride of Dover'

Paris beckoned and we arrived, apparently ahead of time which created a problem for the change over of drivers. It wasn't a simple case of one replacing another. No our driver was going back to the UK and we were to collect another driver from another coach on its way back up however we were an hour or two ahead of shedule suprisingly.

So they decided to go along the Chansalese in Paris to see the Eiffel Tower and announced their decision with glee like some unexpected Christmas present. However, things were about to take a turn for the worse because they decided to make a turn! Failing to read the height warning which flashed by they headed for one of those now famous tunnels. There was a sickening crunch and sound of breaking perspex and then another, the bus had almost made it underneath but the raise roof windows had been sacrificed. This had caused much distress and screaming as the bus forced its way to the end. The now flustered relief driver ran back and retrieved the panels dodging little white French cars and mopeds who readily blew their horns.

There was an eary silence from upstairs as our Hostess made her way to the top deck to check for casualties. There were no physical injuries but the people sat at the very front were in a state of numbed shock, the ride on the big splash had nothing on the sight of the parpit of spray painted bridge looming up at eye level. I suppose it was the discovery that their heads were still attached and the relief of survival that tempered their response.

The bus now with three open ports in the roof, giving a perfect view of the light polluted sky which obstructed a star filled night, limped its way to the rendezvous point. A frantic conference took place between the staff took place. It was obvious that they were selecting the person who should make the call back to base. The relief driver lost and he made his way to the lonley phone box in the middle of the space. After a brief struggle with the folding door he sweezed his large frame into the box, the openining and closing, well partial closing, of the door caused the understrength light to flicker on and off. He was punching the numbers in and then started again and this happened several times until he obviously made a connection to base. There was a fair bit of arm raising and body movement as he explained the situation, but with the light coming on and off it look like someones Dad at a wedding trying to impress with a drunken jig. The call finished and he arrived back at the bus, clearly under some pressure the group had another emergency meeting.

After which they decided to carry out some repairs and they found black plastic and yards of brown sticky tape and set about the repairs from the inside which were completed about 2 hours later. But this had an effect on the relay from the North of France to the South. The drivers needed to swap crews at certain fixed places and the next place was Lyon. Now the bandaged bus hobbled along at a much reduced speed due to the stress placed on the temporary repairs which under the pressure of the wind were very noisy and did nothing to steady the nerves of the traumatised passengers. But another unforseen problem was arising 'chattering' the chattering of teeth because those passengers on the top deck were largely unprepared for sub zero tempratures. The bus was barely adequately heated in any event prior to the instant making of three sun roofs. So dressed in short sleeved patterned shirts and cotton dresses was not protecting them from the elements

. Even the offer of more coffee at a post collision price was reduced 55p was not going to be sufficient. Emergency clothing was salvaged from the bulky hand luggage and like true Brits under seige they share their megre possessions with fellow passengers. Eventually shock and fatigue overwhelmed them and sleep was upon them. As was the case with most of the people down stairs.

However, I was not happy and when I felt the bus swaying for a moment I thought we were back on the Ferry. But no, it was 3 am in the morning and our driver was on a toll road and he was watching television. He had turned the screen so he could see it but he had to crank his neck to get a full view. So like someone sticking their head round a building to see if the coast is clear every so often he flicked his head round to obtain a better view and the bus followed!

A short while later I saw his head starting to rock, we've all seen it the movement made when someone is fighting sleep and the spine turns to jelly between the shoulders and head. The head rolls round snapping the person temporarily back into the real world. We had changed seats during the repair process and I was right behind him so I knocked his seat several times and this brought about some protest but it prevented his slipping into slumber and a French Moat which seem to line all their roads. Then he lit his upteenth fag of the day. And he contionued in a straight line peering into the half night and the dawn which promised a hot day. Which was good news for the upstairs passengers who were in an advanced state of criogentics.

We pulled into a roadside cafe which had a service station which allowed the crew to effect more repairs. But our stay was limited due to the accident. We chose some cereal but for some reason the French do not have cold milk with their cereal which is issue caked in chocolate. The staff busily point at 'lait chaud' and by the time we had paid it was time to leave. However, by this tiny pockets of rebellion were forming, two's and groups deciding to challenge the authority of the Junta by remaining until they had attended to their toiletry needs. Many warming up and consuming several warm drinks because the Max pac drinks on the bus had long since run out during the night as people used them more to keep their hands warm than as a drink. A very alarmed Hostess returned when she realised that there were gaps in the seating. Reluctant groups who were easily identified as the upper deck passengers snailed their way back to the coach draped in makeshift warm coats belonging to others either smaller or larger than themselves tied into place with blankets. Some wearing those two pronged woolen hats belonging to loved ones who back in the cold North East of England had argued so strongly about bringing 'nana's present' ( nana had since passed) and the wearer was in danger of an early reuinion saved only by the foresight and hysterics of their child. Clinging to their possessions the NAT refugess braced themselves for the continued Artic tempratures.

However, the reverse was true as our journey towards Lyon continued. Heat quickly developed in the upper compartment and those who had just beaten then cold were now shedding clothes like a fat snake. Bundles of clothes were crammed into overhead holds which during the journey lead to little avanlaches of woolens and topped off with 'Nana's present'.

But this wasn't the only reason for the temprature to increase within the compartment, apart from a distant science lesson in my mind 'heat rises' . There was the 'Greenhouse Effect' long before it was associated with melting the polar icecaps, it was melting the passengers on NAT Holidays number 53. The hasty repairs carried out after the 'Paris Incident' (which again was very close to another 'Paris Incident' in 1997 )had sealed the air vents and prevented a circulation and the rise in temprature resulted in a Rain Forest type atmosphere wet damp and very sticky. It was further aggravated by the drivers refusal to operate the air conditioning because of its effect on fuel consumption. But never to miss a bargain the expired coffee stocks was replaced by bottled water at an equally inflated price.

We sweated our way to Lyon, where the next driver took over.

The two buses syncronized their positions in the car park and I saw large amounts of Booze and Cigarettes being put onto the bus which was returning to the UK, how I pitied those blank red and brown faces pressed up against the glass. Expressionlest, and somewhat bizzare in some cases where their sunglasses had protected their eyes but also the surrounding skin and gave them a look of wearing goggles. But there was a similar look of pity on their faces.

I knew I wasn't going to get on with the clean shirted fat slob who took over, replacing the TV watcher who was somewhat smaller than this Cholestoral Bank. His first action was to complain that there wasn't enough room as he rammed the seat back which only just stopped in time before my tortured knees. His clothing separated and we were treated to a view of hairy sunburnt skin that had all the appearance of Wild Boar!

The bus sprung into action and had each heave of the power assisted wheel this man 'farted' and it stunk. Sorry but thats the only way to described these obnoxious emissions. Only broken by a changeover from a non alflicted driver very shortly into the resumed journey. But our relief was short lived as the blob returned to complete the last part of the journey and promptly resumed his unfettered anal air expulsion. My wife and I were becoming quite distressed and my assurances that we'd 'soon be there' was not reassuring her that escape was forthcoming. Then he really let another part of his excesses from the previous night out. So despite his appearance of 'Giant Haystack' with a haircut action had to be taken. I leant forward and through squiggy piggy eyes filled with contempt looked back at me. I asked him if this flatulence was really necessary and he might be best stopping and going to the toilet at the earliest opportunity and until then could he restrain his bowel 'movements. Afterall this wasn't his living room! He looked hurt and delved back into his childhood to his defence 'he had to'But the frequency definitely reduced.

Finally we approached the Mediterrean and signs were everywhere.

Now even today my French isn't brilliant but even I knew we we going round in circles and more importantly words like 'haut' and 'pont'. However, the Hostess asked if anyone had been to Antibes before. I explained that I had seen several signs prior to this one and that he should consider turning around unless he wanted the top seat passengers to relive their Paris experience. To which I was told that 'I wasn't funny' But when I drew his attention to the sign and the the hole looming up which was patently too small I said ' I think they've been through enough don't you?' The bus turned off and with the aid of my wife we instructed the driver to turn right, turn left and tout doit until he recognised his destination.

We arrived and people spilled out onto the dusty carpark.

Then almost immediately there was the sound of sirens all around and streaks of dust rose like those from the film Lawrence of Arabia when they raided Akabar and in the background I heard the crack of a gun being fired!

We were later to learn that a French National Crime Squad had tracked a bank robber to our camp and he had been wounded in an exchange of fire.
We were sheperded to the rendezvous point by our new holiday reps who were armed with clip boards and dressed in blue coats with the holiday firm logo splattered over it. The pecking order soon established itself as people huddled up to her trying to gain favour with their new leader and they hung onto every word. We were (all of us) invited to a Hello meeting the following morning at some building. This is where companies ambush the unsuspecting into spending several pounds on a day trip to a Vineyard or local attraction when one could just as easily catch a bus for much less or indeed as we have done on other trips hire a car, but not on this one. These meetings are good for identifying interesting places to visit so we would attend this time.
However, at this moment in time we were more concerned with our tented accommodation which was flimsy as were the two duvets and totally inadequate. When the first 'orage' fell upon us, the temprature dropped dramatically.

We search for the rep. we named her 'The Comet' her name was Hally and she only came round once every 70 years! But she lost interest in us when she realised that we were not taking up on their overinflated day trips.

Later on we went to the 'Sports Bar' where we met and sat and had a drink with the Police Men, who were in uniform, and they told us about the earlier incident. Apparently, there is a Police squad that roams the country searching for the most wanted people and apparently the 'most wanted' people head for Cannes. The luckless criminal had been traced from Paris and had been wounded in the leg when he offered resistance. We had several drinks and they left.

We sat for a while not paying much attention to the group that was congregating around the pool table in the corner of the small poorly lit complex. But it became obvious that all was not well, the barmaid was fidgiting and there was occasional shouts and grunts which were followed by laughter. However, we continued, primarily we were oblivious that their attention and antics were directed at us and secondly the group comprised of young small fat youths.

Then the podgiest specimen stood at the end of the pool table and we were aware that items were now landing either side of us and then we realised that they were becoming more hostile. But we decided to continuw with our drink and by this time I had just enough to subdue any thoughts of being chased off and in actual fact I was on the point of going over to him. Then his backing group formed up behind him and they looked like a poor impersitination of one of those Motown groups. Although they weren't afro caribean by birth it was their wide open white shirts revealing black bushy hair and jackets along with tight curly hair that created the image.
However, my wife decided that we should leave and for a long moment I considered the options wishing that our previous drinking guests would return, but no. So we left without incident and never went back to that part of the complex again.

But fuelled up with several litres of bierre blonde which I had unseuccessfully asked for in French when we arrived, only to discover that the French Barmaid was not French but from Peebles area of Glasgow! We went off to a more populated bar now knowing that the staff understood 'lager' However I did not feel drunk! Then I decided to go for another, but without any sort of recolection instead of standing up, someone stole my legs and I found myself sat in a bemused state on the floor! In the middle of a very busy bar but people just walked around me as if I wasn't there. However, my wife was rendered helpless as she laughed at my predicament.
I managed to regain control of my under carriage and had another drink and then we returned to our tent. It was largley awful and provided no protection so we squeezed into the bag together to survive the reduced temprature.

The following day we successfully managed to secure more bedding from the reluctant Hally who looked somewhat rough after her previous nights excesses. They weren't happy with us for not signing up for the trips.

We had the previous night discovered the rail link from Antibes to Monaco and for a euro a stop you could get anywhere and if you were really lucky one could travel for days without the need of a ticket if you avoided the rush hour.

Now the Rich and Famous own Cannes and the beaches but if you.re lucky one can find a gap between the plage privet and we did but it was rocky. So under pressure I bought a plastic inflatable sunlounger a li lo. 4feet long I blew it up. However we discovered a problem and that was I couldn't deflate it! ( 10 years after the holiday I found the inflated li lo in my loft!) Jumping on trains I kept my better half 4 feet away from me throughout our stay and I had to peer over it to speak with anyone. It took up another place and made rude noises if brushed up against. Which was quite humerous when the debutants squeezed by and it made the 'noise' which mometarily broke there perfect facial image. If I wasn't careful I could nudge people off the train a stop or two early. However it did stop the passengers from pushing us around. Everywhere like a plastic friends I had this bum saver under my arm and it used to get tangled up with umbrellas and rushing across roads wasn't an option.

There were some pretty weird passengers on that train! Some with 1970's suits that hadn't been taken off by the wearer since then. Hair matted and filthy with their American Accent they looked like some failed 'ambulance chaser' Two sat opposite us and one leant forward his matted hair pushed back revealing several layers of broken scabby skin that was long passed being dandruff, he looked and said 'hey you smoke the same cigarrrettes my friend' to my wife. Turning and wiping several passengers with my rubber inflatable I looked for a way out but we were trapped and the li lo was our last line of defence from the human health hazard. His friend had the appearance of the Hells Angel from the last scene of Electra Glide in Blue. I suppose originally they were drawn to the area on the off chance of making a fortune. Plus they probably, as many were and are, mistaken in the belief that France is a cheap place to live.

However, we managed to squeak our way off at the wrong stop and managed to squak back onto the next one franc train for the last leg of our journey and ironically we were obliged to buy a ticket. Had we waited on more stop with our former friends we would have avoided payment.

On one of our non li lo days we decided to go to Monaco and Veronica wanted to go to the famous casino much to my horror. I felt totally outclassed as I saw the French high and mighty sweeping past imaculatly dressed doorstaff. Bathed in precison lighting we approached and I bottled it! But Veronica didn't and approached the biggest of the doormen as I read or attempted to read the panneau. She came back laughing again she had only tried gate crashing a Government meeting. All thoughts of instant cash diminished as we retreated to the slot machines. Then we made our way back to the train and only just managed, again thanks to Veronica, located our train en quay 13. On board there were some American sailors and two of them were huge and very abusive.

Then I saw the ticket Inspector who was small and skinny and totally lost in his oversized uniform and his cap looked like something from a Russian Police man. I thought he was doomed as he approached the rowdy mariners. No, the French are very good at not displaying their emotions and looking like a pine tree on the side of a mountain the guard stood his ground as Mighty Jo from the Illinois looked down. There was a definite tension but he gave way and produced his ticket and two others had to pay up! I was totally shocked. We managed to get back to Antibes just in time for drinks but this was delayed when our 5 franc note was refused because it was a forgery. And this was another case of Veronica swinging into action! Back to the ralway station where she confronted the bar staff and demanded that the girl who gave us the note exchange it but her initial je ne compron pas went nowhere and she yielded and refunded our note.

The smell of overheated urine coming from the inappropraitely positioned toilets and that of tomato pizza will be lasting memories of our stay. Every night the initially impressive dough thrower braving his ultra hot wood fire commenced his act of producing the thinnest crusted pizza coupled with a scattering of veg overpowered with garlic and tomato sprang into action.

Washed down with a litre or so of lager.

Our guide had long since given up on us for continuing to avoid the over priced trips. But what she didn't know. We were on a fixed budget and had it not been for the one franc train our first exploration of France as a couple may only have extended to the car park!

In the last week a Scottish man just like Rab C Nessbit and his bedraggled offspring emerged in the bar area. He was foul mouthed individual which put end to me watching the programme.

Every night he was warned by staff as he became drunker and his thin neglected wife became more nervous as he swore and made lude remarks to the bar staff. I thought well at least we won't have to put up with him on the return journey. Wrong! He drank his way through his cheap booze which lead to an ugly scene halfway up the A1 when he realised the rest of his journey was going to be alcohol free! and a cup of hot chocolate was not going to make it.e

Never again did we take such a trip which was topped off when we had to ring our lift up at 1 am in the morning because he had forgotten the correct date! This was only after we'd spent several hours of 'he'll be here in a moment'.............

back soon

well as i stand in my empty almost empty living room. Well it should be empty but the woman who is supposed to be phoning EDF and RESE with the final readings has not shown up. She hasn't had the same memory since her accident but she does like a drink or two. But the problem is what do I do with the table and chairs she's bought that sit in my living room. I hand the keys in today!

So I won't be posting for a couple of weeks I have to sit tight until the 6 months have passed for the dogs and cats rabies injections, but the saga of pets passports isn't over yet.

Forthcoming Posts:

France Holiday by coach, never again!

Pets Passport, be suspicious very suspicious



Now I have to ponder the problem of buying a top box for my car or just throwing everything out and starting again because my cats will not appreciate an 800 mile ride on the roof of the car

Pets Passport the return.............

Pets Passports.

This simple process is pitted with potential pitfalls in a system which is basically simple.
If you want to return to the UK from the EU with your cat and or dogs then you need to be up to speed with the requirements of the system.









The authority for the perfect passport is the Defra website,http://www.defra.gov.uk/animalh/quarantine/pets/procedures/support-info/guide.htm, and this should be read. Had I not read through the procedure when we were a few weeks from our departure date. Then I would have faced another 7 months while the rest of the family were already back!





I'm not going to repeat the website but things to watch out for:





Make sure that the basic rules are followed.





Microchip


Vaccination


Blood test


Subsequent vaccinations





And don't lose the lab result!





Make sure all details are correctly recorded in the passport, it is your responsibility.


It will ensure that you don't face being turned back at the port.





It will save you a lot of time and the awkward conversation with the vet " I do zeeis for a living" and having his side kick chirping in " he does know what he is doing!' While a room full of people and frothing pets stare you out of the place. An english person arguing with a French Vet whatever next!





French dogs and cats can, at the moment, be micro chipped out of sequence if they are tattooed and this can cause problems. They must be registered at 4 months of age. A pet must be micro chipped before it will be allowed to enter the UK.





Also if you have several pets make sure the vet completes the record at the time and accurately records the entry especially when you are having the final tick and so on procedure is being done. Times should be in 24hr clock.





All amendments have to be signed and stamped by the official veterinary surgeon.

Driving

The best way to describe driving in France I have mused over this, but the only way is to accept that the French have the mindset of being first! Yes no matter, how old, the driver, the car, No matter what size, the driver, the car the lorry the bus, the French driver has to be first. No matter where they are, driveway, footpath, supermarke, doctors, hospital and anywhere else Madame et Monsieur will ensure their right to be first.

Couple this with one of the most confusing set of roadsigns and road rules which try to combine the 21st century with the 10th Century, it all makes for a very dangerous time for the unsuspecting.

My favourite road rule is the one where you are supposed to giveway to traffic coming from the right. Except where the signs dictate otherwise, normal broken white lines. But the one to really watch for is the yellow triangle with or without a black line through it. With a black line it means traffic from the right has priority and they will appear on all manner of roads and on some main roads. So the next time you see a car zooming up from your right don't just presume it is going to stop because if they have priority then they will take it.
We were once near the N10 in Mansle and a car came across us at a marked junction which was driven by Grandfather Times Uncle and they have not updated themselves !

And lets not forget that there is a sizeable proportion of the driving population who are drunk.

And if you saw our former English neighbour who wasn't a sizeable proportion but just a raving drunk then you would also exercise due caution around your former Country folk, some of whom view drink driving as a way of life in France.

When I was a Police Officer and someone was disqualified from driving it meant exactly that, the person was banned from driving. Not here! they allow them to drive a very small box with a 950cc engine within a certain radious of their homes, because there is no public transport in France. So when you are motoring along with the latest nutcase trying to get as close as possible, its not Agricultural vehicles that you are most likely to encounter. Its a little metalic box churning out blue smoke as the overwieght occupants who have been crammed into it, try and achieve 20 kms.. They also have the annoying ability to hog the centre white lines and have lights which would take an Owl to detect because they are so dim. Then couple that with the car about 5 or 6 vehicles back who has no idea of whats going on attempts an overtake in the face of oncoming traffic.



We were once travelling in a thunderstorm and for those who have not experienced the 'orage'

its Biblical and dumps a mind boggling amount of water in very short time. Usually accompanied by lightening, high winds and the wipers can't clear the screen.

We were on the N10 near Angouleme and every sort of vehicle was speeding by into the unknown the nil visibility being hampered further by the water being thrown up by lorries and the vehicle in front. I was glad to get of that road.

On another occasion I had a HGV tight up behind us on a back road near Cognac it was an accident waiting to happen. I saw an open piece of land to my right and with the same precision as an aircraft landing on the deck of the ship I turned onto it, without slowing down and came to a halt. Thus allowing the 45 tonnes beast to move onto the next victim, I've seen what HGV's do to cars and I've no desire to give it a go!



'vous n'avez pas priorite' is a sign on roundabouts, it is meaningless or should be treated as such. The code securite outlines the correct procedure for roundabouts and unlike the highway code you are liable for a fine if you fail to give the correct signal. I've seen the Gendarmes who roam in packs swooping on roundabouts for this very purpose.

On one or two occasions I've had people trying to pass on the inside as I was crossing, I don't travel fast. My dogs and wife don't appreciate a roller coaster ride.

La Toilette

La Toilette, the toilet!

Not a subject which I gave a great deal of thought about when we scanned our newly renovated property. The new fittings, the new loo all looked 21st Century. After all going to the toilet in the UK is a presumed Human Right and one can go through life without giving the Poe a second thought. (apart from our former neighbour who had a rather smelly time cutting out the roots of some exotic tree from his sewer ).

See I remember on that school holiday that everyone has in France going to the public loo which was a hole in the ground surrounded by some cast iron trellising. And after being reassured by the teacher that it was a toilet peering down the endless hole in amazement.

If you come to France do not be surprised to be followed into the place that most Brits view as a gender sanctuary by a member of the opposite sex. Also be prepared for some pretty unusual pieces of ceramic equipment. For the less agile I would not be tempted to use public toilets in old villages. The bum shaped ceramic is below feet level and further physical restrictions for the over 45's include them being semi partitioned off. Which in reality means:

1. dropping ones clothing,while facing said item

2. lowering the clothing to almost ground level ( not all the way the floors can be awful and you will be somewhat uncomfortable and a bit smelly if you fail this part)

3. shuffle round while still standing, this again is a hygiene issue

4. reverse until you are about 6 inches from the ceramic area. Do not try and hover over the hole in an attempt to limit the effect of your bodily needs!

5. Slowly supporting yourself with the free hand slowly squat to the ground ( it will be at this point you will hear strange voices making their way towards you from outside! Be warned not all toilets have doors and some have twin stable doors)

5(a) once you've been here a while you will learn to ignore the presence of a completer stranger only a matter of a few inches away from you.

6. This should have been number 1 take your own toilet paper with you!

7. Once you have done the deed make sure you don't loose control of your grip on your Sunday best!

8. Secure clothing, wash hands.

9. Compose yourself resist the desire to leave like you've just committed your first Post Office Robbery!

Some more top tips...................
Do not use the toilets at the various Brocantes unless you want to expose yourself to the Plague and you should view the sausage seller at the Bar b cue with suspicion.

Public loos in towns are generally a nightmare. Covered in Graffiti one doesn't need a degree in French to translate. The floors are water logged and there is no privacy. The French will continue to use a public loo even though it may be obstructed.

Well no more about their Public loos


But back to France, what lurks below is just as important as whats on show above!

Apart from the numerous regulations which cover the cleaning out and requirements before sale of a fosse septique. "Whats a fosse Septique" well this is a biodegradable system that filters 'waste' through a series of tanks and pipes and eventually filters out underground somewhere in your garden. Yes you effluent ends up in the garden. The system has air vents around the hows to feed the microbes that are working to degrade the 'matter' into a liquid form before it spills over into another tank and then off it goes. In actual fact its gone off long before!

Now if Chez Vous has a Fosse Septique then you need to enquire further and if doesn't have one you need to enquire further! Not every house has a sewerage system. I was told the story of someone who went and bought a thoroughly modern house with everything new and gleaming. But the buyer failed to check the system and only discovered afterwards that it emptied straight out into the courtyard of the property next door. Apart from the embarrassment to you and your new French neighbours there is a cost implication here because the siting and permission to place a sewerage system is heavily regulated. And yes it shouldn't have got passed the various authorities but it did and in France 'buyer beware' applies.

A Fosse system has to be certified and do not be tempted to buy one without a certificate, it is your responsibility to bring the system up to scratch if you buy the property. Immobiliers ( estate agents) generally will whizz passed the loo on a visit and when I posed the question I was told 'its not a problem' Ummmmm?


It has to be a certain size for the occupants per head in ratio with the number of rooms and there is a minimum tank size. So if you buy a small house then invite the tribe over it could put your system to the test! I know this for a fact. Our next door neighbour had a new tank put in, prior to us buying our home, and every time his extended family popped up from Spain the air round our house took on a rather unpleasant pungent smell. So that's another tip where does the neighbours fosse track?

To reduce the odours escaping from your own system there are Carbon filters, we used to try an arrange viewings when it was quiet, rainy windy days were good, not only could you convince buyers that your roof was in good fettle, the chances of a gas attack were further reduced.
We spent a small fortune on sweet smelling powders to freshen our system but again if your neighbours are less than hygienic as were our Anglaise on the others side. The wine swilling lumps disgorged their waste anywhere.

It can be an adventure maintaining the system which need regular input of activation powders to help those little microbes do their work. The general tip is if you can eat it don't put it down the loo. Also do not be tempted to use yards of paper break it up into the individual sheets and use French Paper! It is designed for their toilets.

I was showing a couple round the house one day, in an effort to sell, and in our quaint natural stone dining room I could see over in one corner that water, moisture, wet was rising up in a straight line and I knew this was the waste pipe! However, my guests had not spotted this new water feature, mainly because have you noticed that when people view houses they mainly look up? I spent a very uncomfortable time shuffling them around away from the problem, they must have thought I was very strange as I tried to disguise my alarm and snatching the odd look at the rising water! The viewing speeded up as I shuffled them on and out, they didn't buy it!
But on closer inspection of the system I found dried out toilet paper had blocked it up and it had been blocked for a very long time. Disgusting!

Bear in mind that the water based system was not designed for the modern 'white' goods so put down the activation powders more frequently. I learnt a lot of my French from 'Mr Muscle' in the 'Rayons' of Auchan once I had located the merchandise I discovered a whole library of produits. (While my wife wandered around pursuing Frances only real hobby for the English, shopping) I studied the backs of bottles and boxes for the best concoctions.

Now when we sold I convinced myself that we would have a 'tout le gout' (mains drainage) in our new house, as well as having a heating system that was not dependant on wood!

I viewed the prospect of a modern sewerage system with affection and when I was told that our new home was 'tout le gout' I was almost overwhelmed, right price and a functioning toilet. No more strange mutant creatures coming out of my plug hole anymore, oh yes that's another downside to a fosse big black leggy insects love them and occasionally want to share your shower with you! I nearly died when I first sighted a frothy topped thing displacing our drain filter!
There we were in the Notaires listening to him read out the terms and conditions on the final stage of our new purchase. He announced that the house should be connected to the mains but they just couldn't find it. Now this set momentary alarm bells going but what could I do we would be homeless. Reassured by the sight of the former owner unscrewing the cover to the sewerage tank pointing out the float for the pump. He told me that it occasionally became stuck and in that event the sewerage would spill out. But he tapped it and the brown sludge disappeared.

However, one sunny day after purchase I saw the waters rising and I went to tap the arm of the pump which did not work! What was I to do? I had no idea how it work and it was Friday afternoon and a couple of calls revealed the unwillingness of the French to come to our aide at that time of day 'semaine prochaine' That was totally unacceptable we couldn't hold onto our bodily functions for a week!


I managed to get our French neighbour to understand and she had a cousin who is a plumber and he arrived. Looking at the submerged pump he advised me that I had to empty the tank before he would attempt any repair. So armed with an old sauce pan and several plastic containers I emptied the contents of the tank. Now common sense would say there was nothing wrong with emptying the contents directly into the sewer. Well there is and one can be fined. Now when I say the sewer. I found out why the Notaire told us that they couldn't find it. Our house is surrounded by a huge row of leylandi trees overgrown and brought about cries of protest from our supposed deaf vendor when I asked for it to be cut back as a condition of sale. Not an unreasonable request when one considers that they did Gardening as living, well his wife did, he watched television for a living!

I made lots of new acquaintances hacking that hedge down to size large chucks of it bouncing into the road. And little French ladies risking death and injury by walking underneath on the footpath ,which had been concealed for decades by the advancing foliage, were now like adventurers staking their claim to this 'chemin' and muttering things as branches brushed by. That wasn't the only risk they faced the other was the mountain of dog poo left by our canine friends who were not so restricted by the hedge. Barracked by the local claiming I'd killed the hedge and should seek the advice of an Artisan at the local Garden centre before hacking on any further. I had to ignore him after his umpteenth visit to make me aware of my folly in chopping too much off.
I much amused when at a public meeting about a new sewerage pipe for the road he was hissed at by some local women because he talked all the way through the presentation.
Later the local Marie (Mayor) magazine announced that the completed work made the road one of the best, however within 3 months the whole works have subsided along its kilometer length bringing out groups of very concerned people in hard hats and yellow coats, who point a lot.

Back to the access drain we, hacked our way to it and discovered a similar sight to that which must have greeted our former neighbours in the UK! Our hedge was pot bound.

Our little French plumber prodded and poked at it releasing a fluid which had the consistency of a drunk bring back a pizza on a boozy night. Shake of the head and off he wandered.
He arranged for a lorry to come the following Monday and it duly arrived and after an initial fear that the high pressure hose was too big for the hole he commenced the cleaning. Gurgling and making loud burping type noises the system was clear and 154 Euros later I discovered that the pump was knackered mainly because of the lack of maintenance and the effects of the calcium.
I wandered round to order a new pump and the gum chewing assistant paged through the magazine but we failed to identify the replacement and decided that I should bring the item round. Into the tank I went following the method employed by the Cousin and removed it, washed it off and concealed it in a plastic back and commenced the trek back to the Bricolage which is just far enough away to make it a long walk but too close to take the car out. These things weigh a bit and by the time I reached the shop the handles on the bag had stretched to their limit! The shop was also, to my dismay, very busy. Waiting my turn the gum chewing assistant with the blank uncaring look that only the French can achieve, wandered round and I opened the bag partially revealing the pump as if it were some form of contraband, totally unfazed she ripped open the bag like it was some long anticipated present. It stood dripping in the centre of the floor as she once again return to the magazine. Writing down the price, because she had given up on my limited language skills. ( I've never come across the phrase 'how do I replace the sewerage pump' in any of the stuff I've bought) So aware that it was going to be 'semaine prochaine' before the new one arrived, I did the return trek with the pump, which I managed to get working to a fashion, the technique being to smack it on the top every morning before the tank became overfull!

So when you buy a French House you really need to do some serious investigation to the existing system and legal requirements because as I've said before 'buyer beware'

I also suspect that all French Toilets are seconds because the holes which are supposed to accommodate the bolts for the seat never quite align properly. And beaware of the cheapest seats because as one is grappling at eye level to the rim of it just at the point where ones overstretched fingers are gaining enough purchase to secure the seat the plastic bolt or its nut will break. Thereby rendering it useless! Substitute bolts just don't seem to work and the temporary arrangement leaves one open to toboggoning of it with seat attached to one's backside at 3am in the morning. In other cases the seat sticks to the backside after a succesful mission and slams back down causing a near heart attack. I've seen loads of seatless toilets in France and I now know why!

And taps there are all manner of taps, conevential, unconventional, where one has to wave at it and unless you have the speed of a rattle snake you will miss the opportunity to wet your hands.
Rods, buttons autmatic heat controls no two public sinks are the same! and then of cause there's the straight forward vandalised ones.

Water, Water everywhere.

When we went to France the last thing on our mind was water, I actually thought it would be in short supply. And in anticipation of this I invested in Mosquito netting and set about constructing the frames. I wasn't even suspicious when the girl at Bricolage virtually had to empty the stock room out into the road to discover the overpriced netting. I could have had a pair of silk curtains made for the same price. Plus I ignored her obvious confused look as being a problem with my poor French skills. However, in retrospect I now realise that there wasn't one house on our route from home to shop that had net screens!


However, I was prevented from making the screens because it wouldn't stop raining and raining and raining. The region known 'micro climate' and this means that an 'orage' can whip up at any moment. Mini tornado's that erupt backed up by tons of water being dumped in minutes and they are a regular occurrence.

Earlier when the weather was improving we made our way to Geant and the sales 'soldes'. 'Soldes' in France are really good, they are regulated by the Government and can only occur at fixed times of the year ( that would put a stop to the endless sofa adverts in the Uk!). However, still in the frame of mind that we would soon be frazzled we bought a sun screen awning for the front of our natural stone Charentese house.

The equipment was about 20ft in length and secured to the building by brackets and the the framework was hollow metal. With great effort and a balancing act that would have entertained circus audiences we wobbled the fragile frame up to the wall. One had to construct the whole frame and levitate it up to the wall and it was at this point I realised that the frame was fragile and bent at the first hint of misalignment! But we did it with seconds to spare I secured the bracket as my wife resisted the pull of gravity which would consigned her to a metallic fate if it had won. Secured on went the canvass which was secured by ties and rolled up when not under constant observation.
Even then I realised that the weather could inflict untold damage if the canvass was not withdrawn when there was anything like a breeze. It used to inflated and rattled and bang.

One night we returned in the teeth of an Orage which had erupted and I could see that tonnes of water were trapped in the canvass and the whole frame was buckling and the wind which was getting stronger was sending mini tidal waves along the length. Desperately I tried to release the canvass straps to allow the water to escape but the water had pressurised the knot which gave way reluctantly. Just at the potential point of success the tornado struck and literally within seconds the whole structure was picked up and screwed up into a piece of discarded paper and thrown back to the ground. With me underneath it! The debris had blocked our door so I made my way to the second door. The screen now looked like a crashed first world war mono plane.
Wet through and bleeding from a minor head wound I stood at the door beckoning my stunned wife to let me in, I must have looked like one of those people you see on Thrillers where the maniac strolls up to the unsuspecting future victims. !

Then later on some other French expats told us that they had suffered a similar fate when their Gazebo had taken off, no mention of this when we bought the thing though!

After we moved to the Charente Maritime I resurrected the large umbrella contraption which I had bought as a substitute shade after the calamitous experience of the house bracket. This was a very impressive thing with the calibre of a missile it had four feet like the base of a missile launch pad, these had to be pinned into the ground. As we found out it was also necessary to roll back breaking pieces of rock across the garden to prevent its departure despite the rolling head which was supposed to ease the risk of take off. And these problems always arose when eating and drinking and a bit tipsy which made further preventive action difficult as other people intervened in similar states to assist.

Having learnt from previous events I drilled holes and secured the base with impressive bolts but Mother nature is a tough bird and on more than one occasion I thought the patio was going to break, but it didn't the bolts gave way and it fell over!

This results in another disaster the instant reminder from my nearest and dearest that I nearly killed our dog with a previous DIY calamity! And shouldn't I learn and ask an expert!

Undeterred by the scorn I set about securing the base with bolts and left over brackets from our newly fitted kitchen ( newly fitted by someone else) I bolted the bracket to the ground. Swinging my excess weight on it 'no movement' Then in with the Umbrella and normality was established.
After a few weeks I even received public praise from my wife and all was well.

Then one day we had just popped out to the shop and failing to follow my normal routine I left the umbrella up. Upon our return we were greeted by the sight of the umbrella which was bent in two and the pole looked like a broken limb. It had bent in the middle, the base was fine but the stress on the pole had been too much!

I will never buy anything like that again!

Internet Forums in particular French/English ones.

Chat Rooms, web sites and Internet Forums have evolved over the past decade into something unrecognisable from the early days of the Worldwide Web. Once the sole resort of the youthful, such activities have been joined by the silver surfer and the early retiree, who have settled in France or returned back to the UK and willing to impart their advice.

Advice and information which is literally so potentially invaluable for the enquirer and for the ever increasing searcher who is looking to 'go it alone' .

However, these places are not occupied by a totally benevolent and benign contributor or owner in these 'rooms' which in some cases you enter at your peril!

After serving 30 years with the Constabulary, I have experienced the good and bad that society had to offer . Some of those experiences were just as bad within the organisation and I looked forward to retirement. We moved to France, arriving in 2006 my eyes were opened up to a hitherto standard of human behaviour amongst the expatriate British community, via the Internet and in particular Internet Forums. This article is about those French experiences.

(There are obviously other Forums and my warnings are not restricted to ex pat sites only I've read some pretty awful material on Christian and Buddhist Forums nowhere is free of this behaviour.)

I acknowledge and respect the established Internet web sites that usually have a large port folio of French property and associated adverts and advice. Their forum sites are normally efficiently regulated against bad, offensive behaviour and illegal adverts. But they are not a 100 % safe! They certainly aren't beware that nepotism is rife amongst some of the site moderators.

Starting out life in a new country involves basically the 4 'F's'

Family. People want to know about local schools and amenities. Health care and all matters associated with family life. Young families want to know if their current lifestyle can be matched or improved.

Finance. .How are they going to survive in their new home, in France.

Future.As pensioners will they receive the right allowances and health care?

Friends. France is a foreign country and is huge compared to England and can be a lonely place and the search for new friends drive them onto forums.

The Internet has all the advice that one needs to start a new life in France. If one simply follows the official sites from the UK such as Customs and Excise and other Government web sites then you can link into other official web site in your new Country.

However, the majority of people have problems with research, limited by time, knowledge, language and total ignorance of everything to do with their chosen country and as a consequence become vulnerable.

In general people trust the Internet! Proper anti virus, firewalls, child security have lowered our natural suspicion of strangers, but we are denied an essential part of communication and that is the Person themselves.

Unknown to most of us, having your own web site and forum on the World wide web is not an expensive business. For less than 100 £ set up fee and 20 £ a year web maintenance, you can be up and running in days. Coupled with a punchy web site name and description, your new web site ( as I have found out with my fledgling art site) and forum can be on the top of the Google Search engine within days. There are even sites that offer free forums.

(I would point out that the companies offering the facility are in no way responsible for the persons who take up their offer. Bear in mind there is no vetting procedure.)

I was surprised at the cost but this means that some very un savoury characters are keyboard touch away from entering your life.

These Forums usually have a British connection and invite new members openly.

They normally don't have associated adverts but that doesn't mean that those forums are totally safe. The other feature of these forums, where danger can lurk, is that they don't confine themselves with advice about setting up life in France. They have 'Threads' these are subject matters which invite responses to an original posting on a given subject. It could be anything at all.

People hold an image of an ex pat as being a 'fellow' traveller escaping all that is bad of the UK and maintaining the standards of a lost era when Britain was the flagship of the world. Coupled with this is an expectation that a fellow 'Brit' is a kind sole with your best intentions at heart.

This is not the case, many are struggling financially and the 'newby' is fair game. There are those with serious alcohol problems who will cajole themselves, initially into your confidence but later turn on you with venom!

This further reinforced with their avatar which is a forum picture of the poster that they have chosen to represent them on that forum. These can be actual photos of themselves or property they own. Some can be funny, animated and have a punchy message, which can mask the true character of the poster. I recently had a discussion with someone who reckoned that they could learn a lot from a persons avatar. I disagree, it can be a deception in the pursuit of alleged Friendship.

There's those who treat your inexperience with contempt and want to announce to everyone your 'stupidity' a common response is to reply in French when a question is posed and the member has limited language skills.

I once posed a tax question for some friends and the person who responded, an administrator for the site, called them 'Idiots' and 'Stupid' Often reinforced with 'emoticons' of little round faces, happy, angry,confused and the list is endless, but used enforce the message in the absence of human presence.

These people are safe from you due to the fact they are writing from their own home and possibly many miles away! They can be anyone they choose to be and the unsuspecting can be subject to a verbal assault, which as a Doctor once told me, a mental assault is no less serious than a physical one. And once subject to one your new home becomes less secure.

It's like you've been burgled.

Up until just recently these vile critics of everything have escaped any libel laws but there have been recent actions.

That brings me onto how these sites are managed. They are in chief self regulating and have a list of rules as part of their conditions of membership. This in our experience has been efficient of the larger sites I have referred to at the beginning. . In one instance my wife received an abusive email from an established site in response to her thread about the cost of Immobiliers. This person had their account suspended immediately. We later found out that the person was a former detective who represented an established firm of Private Eyes. He was awaiting alleged trial for alleged assault and threats. We contacted the firm who were still marketing his services and they did nothing.

So don't expect the website or forum administrators to protect you under all such circumstances. However the smaller cheap sites are not so caring

A moderator/ Administrator is supposed to be the guardian of the forum but this is not always the case on these 'chez nous' 'anglo' this that and the other sites. Formatted by like minds they respond accordingly. My wife has been an administrator on a large website forum for years and recently she joined a new Anglo forum. They quickly enlisted her help because of the difficulties they were having with another such site. Yes these sites invade each others nests, like ants, with the intention of bringing the site down under the pressure of 'spam' and malicious threads.Having assisted, the site administrator threw her off the panel after a dispute involving a member who had commenced a campaign against her because she had only just arrived. But since then the Administrator and co owner of the Forum has been abusive.

The problem one has with a malicious Administrator is that they have access to more information about you than other forum members.

We quickly discovered that the Forum and a hardcore of its members harboured serious prejudices and were racist. One thread wanted to know how long Britain was going to tolerate the Asian presence in Birmingham and this evolved into a breathtakingly racist attack that if repeated in public in the UK would lead to your prosecution. I felt instead of having member titles such as 'hero member' these are allocated on the number of posts made, that they should adopt Grand Magician and Klu Klux Clan Avatars.

Having expressed the alternative opinion on many of these rants I have been subjected to scorn and threats from the website and its administrator.

Some people set themselves up on the back of presumed and well advertised expertise. The expert who concealed in his lair issues edicts to his followers. The followers have been fooled into believing that the advice impartial and based on self sacrifice a bit like one of those religious extreme camps. The danger from these people is to those who fail to follow their teachings!

Supported on a Forum which seems blissfully ignorant of his actions on other forums. They discipline anyone who might upset their resident star. They have 'camp followers' and unfortunately some of these 'dazzled' followers have low grade administration rules such as 'topic support' I read a recent report from one such person who was berating someone over an agricultural issue and in the reply told the unfortunate victim that they should 'leave it to experts because cows like to eat clover' ! They will step in to support the star and post in a similar vein. These 'topic supports' can be shallow and just like anything shallow can be dangerous if you dive in 'head first'!

Get a feel for the forum first and do not trust the self proclaimed expert. There are some very knowlegable people but they tend to post factually with supporting links and certainly never enter into a personal arguement.

So please do not trust anyone on these sites, you wouldn't do it in the UK why do it in France.

(I would like to thank the well known Francofile website whose name I will not reveal, except that is, the title is two words "sum of the amount" and a large Country sandwiched between Spain and Germany!, for the way in which they dumped my wife more recently after 3 years of trying to help their website.)

This electronic cottage hobby have a standard format for their site.

Having found the forum there is a 'Welcome' section where the 'newbie' can introduce themselves and give a bit of an autobiography. And people do! supply everything to with their lives. If someone walked up with a clipboard in a public place and asked the same of you, I would speculate that you would refuse. Furthermore there is a 'profile' section which in some circumstances is compulsory. Personally, I'd restrict what you leave on that page and the information I leave is usually innaccurate. Don't supply your normal email address that everyone else in your family or workplace use. Set up another address and don't use your surname in that address.

I was staggered a few weeks ago when a couple of our Friends had actually invited some Internet Friends to their home. The experience wasn't good, they drunk all the wine they had and bordered on being anti social to say the least. Although initially in our first year we made a similar error and the person transpired to have some serious problems. Again be aware just because the person responds on a forum in a jolly friendly matter or apparently shares the same moral standards means that they are good people. It most certainly does not and I would advise that opening up your home to them is a potentially serious mistake. Not least for those who after a short while offer to do work for you on a daily rate.

Forums can be useful places but they can harbour some seriously damaged individuals and I would caution the unwary about trusting someone based on a few words and a warm, jolly picture on their profile. (or their religious beliefs). Remember if you employ or take the advice off a forum there is no quality control. You will bear the responsibility. Thats why I would urge you to verify all information via the official body concerned. The French are bureaucratic but they are helpful and efficient, eventually....................

Buying and Selling 'Chez Nous'

Personally from experience of our own and others, I think the majority of the British abandon all sense and precaution when buying a French Property. None of the restraint or caution displayed when carrying out the same process in the UK.
Survey! never been heard of in France and apparently you can't stipulate a satisfactory survey in a 'Clause Suspensive'
Clause Suspensive, these are conditions that can be included into the initial contract of sale the 'Compromis' with the agreement of all parties. The most common one being the get out clause if there is a problem obtaining a mortgage. I often wondered, what was the benefit of a cash buyer?

Well simply after receiving the Compromis the purchaser only has 7 days in which to retract without penalties. Where as with a mortgage there is a 10 day cooling off period once the written offer has been made by the bank. A mortgage in France is a different affair to that in the UK.
In our case the couple buying our house have split the mortgage between them and the offer is subject to the completition of a number of documents. Not least income and a record of how they pay their exisiting rent or mortgage. They must have life assurance cover as well.
The bank 'value' the property again not in a UK fashion. They come round and make any suggestions, in our case he did some of the tests but didn't tell us who he was!

Before you can wonder who is who you have to sell and there is a mountain of advice out there at varying costs.

You can engage as many Immobiliers on 'sans exclusif' madates and advertise privately. But it's a lottery and I think 'price sells'.

We have had an army of British to bothe properties we have sold.
The first couple appeared to be on the run and stated they could purchase if we found a job for him.
People wanted to know about International Schools, whether our splash pool would accomodate her husband who swam kilometers a day, wanting to purchase the farm next door. Wanting to know if we could find them any other houses. One thing they all had in common was they all promised to reply soon and never did. One couple announced that they were hayfever suffers and here we were in the middle of Charente countryside

There is a surge of affection in the UK for the wood burner, DON'T!

Most people who come to France are either retired or facing retirement and do you really want to start hard labour. Woodburners are time consuming, they fill your home with dust, require constant feeding and cutting wood is a chore. Also the price can vary and personally I don't yet understand terms steere, chord or metre it can vary 30 euros.

Time for school

It became apparent that to live in France then a command of the language was going to be essential.

I like many others had spent a small fortune on various courses, video, books, CD and in the early days cassette tapes. End result limited ability. These courses do do not prepare you for the Doctors, Vets and everyday life events like signing up for a contract.

We found a local cafe which was run by an English couple, who eventually returned to the UK, and a local Primary School teacher who came along and tried to teach us French. The problem with this for me was the fact that some people there, were far superior and didn't actually need to be there. But they hijacked the class. Despite the coffee and polite chat the atmosphere was one of intolerance.

I found a teacher through our Gardeners family she was in her 80's a former interpreter and willing to teach us.

Off we went, and her house was massive inside and full of models of Ducks of every shape and size. The floorboards creaked where the untreated woodworm had got a grip.
To be good at a language one has to understand the basics of language, adjectives, verbs, past and future tenses.

We struggled through and she was very patient looking with desperation on occasions and allocating homework. Which by the time I returned had not been completed and she had forgotten what we had been set! So we spent a good proportion of the time revising.
As time went on the price went down but she found other little tasks for me to complete.
Fixing lights and mending computers.

What surprised me in France is their relationships.

One would think, or at least I did, that by the time you reached 80 then one's relationships would be pretty stable and uncomplicated. This was not true, my teacher still received telephone calls from her ex who rang to complain about the way he was being treated by his new wife of 20 yrs his junior.

When we moved house I found out that our neighbour wasn't married to the pleasant Charentese man but had moved to the house in fit of rage. She had followed her ex following the divorce and moved only a few doors down from him! Then she discovered that the road was noisy because of the 40 tonne lorries that bounced down it every morning at 5am. She became even more depressed when she discovered that we had sold for a price considerably less than what she had paid for hers. But she couldn't understand my explanation about the exchange rate and house prices in the UK.

Well back to the lessons, it was approaching and Monique was about to start her pilgrimage to her family in Bordeaux and afterwards she reported to a health farm for treatment. Her neighbour an English couple normally took her but on this occasion they were elsewhere. I agreed to take her.

She assured me that all her luggage would have preceded her by courier. However when we arrived she had several bags which were bulging and only secured by silk scarfs because the zips had given way under the strain.

Off we went and she tried to extend her teaching to driving wanting to know why i was driving so slowly for on the motorway, she had failed to see the ongoing mobile roadworks which had reduced the carriageway to one lane.The French provide their citizens with a driving licence for life ! Monique once took 2 days to drive 76 kilometers and then she crashed on the way back.

We arrived at Angouleme railway station and the car park which was a severe test of driving ability. We juggled the bags to a row of rusting chariots and after much effort managed to release one and balanced the bags which were now beginning to discharge their load. I found the platform which meant a long walk to the end of the platform. Given that her walking speed was something under several feet a minute, her announcement at the last minute that she had to go to the toilet was a bit distressing.

Because of her speed and the stairs then not forgetting the several layers of clothing she would have to peel off to perform the function and then re cover this was going to take some time. And it did. She arrived on the platform just in time for the train whizzing by and sucking all the air off the platform making my ears pop!

I located the correct carriage at the front of the train and the doors slid open and people pushed on and off the train, with good cause because these things don't wait. My hobbling teacher arrived breathless and mounted the train with a great deal of assistance from everyone because she was struggling under the pressure of her disability and too many clothes. I pushed the baggage on and followed her into another carriage controlled by another set of doors. I had an impending sense of doom and panic as I bundled her into place. My wife who could not drive was on the platform and I had instructed her to stay on the platform because I knew I was going to have to move fast to get off the train. However, it was too late the hiss of the doors sealing and the engagement of the clutch I knew that a trip to Bordeaux was imminent.

No money and no cards how was I going to get back?


The doors failed to open despite my best efforts, my teacher was still being assisted by other passengers who were looking me over with some suspicion, who was this person who had thrown this old lady into the train? The train started to move and that's when I struck, the desperate look on my wife's reddened face, apparently she had just run to the front of the train in an effort to prevent its departure,I pulled the emergency lever and it stopped. After a few moments a very distressed official opened the doors, with difficulty, and the accusing passengers soon identified me as the culprit. However, luckily for me, just as he commenced his tirade Monique had regained her composure and was explaining to everyone what had happened and the accusing faces melted and they allowed me off. The official was not impressed but by this time three more officials each one more rotund that the next arrived and each separately related the story and as they did each one looked in our direction. When the last one wobbled up I took the opportunity to depart and advised my wife that we should leave before they composed themselves which surely must result in a fine or worse! So we melted away into the crowd and Monique departed for her Christmas Adventure.

Mans best friend

France is over run with dogs homes and dog charities.
Most if not all are privately financed.

We spent ages scouring the countryside looking for a companion for our Carli an English boarder Collie cross.

Where to look?

Off to the Vets we went and with my extremely limited ability to speak French I posed the question. And now with the benefit of hindsight I feel sure the girl was telling me about the dogs organisation called S.P.A near Angouleme. I spent ages looking for a village called 'spa'!

We went up to Limoges and across to Cognac and it was near Saintes at our last port of call where we found 'poppy'.

France is hunting mad and as a consequence there are all manner of hunting dogs which come into these homes. The staff are dedicated and try to home each pet. But by the time we got to our last call we were some what shocked by the sheer number of inhabitants in these homes.
Be warned if you go when it is hot the odour is almost overwhelming. Some would surely be better off if they were euthanized. Clearly mad running round in circles cutting further into the soil their eyes popping out as they bounce off the wiring. It is distressing.

We arrived at Saintes and the view was the same.

However in the distance I saw 'poppy' poking through the wire, despite the girl stating there were no puppies. I asked and it transpired she was found with 13 other dogs of various breeds and ages, who were all present in the cage. A tramp had been illegally squatting and the Gendarmes had evicted him and his canine companions. The latter were brought to the kennels until a judge decided their fate.

I handed the pup to Veronica and we made our way back to the office and en route the girl said we could register an interest in her and if we were allowed at future date we could come back for her.

Thankfully there was a woman who spoke English and as soon as she had discovered that we were English announced that the dog was ours! They had no intention of handing her back to her former owner in any event. She was tiny and frail, some sort of Belgian Griffon cross.
We weren't even charged for her, I don't think they thought she would last.
And at the time neither did I but Veronica had by this time concealed her under her coat.

We made a donation for her and made our way back to the car.

When she met Carli she sprung into life and has been the same ever since.
I nearly killed her with a botched DIY job in the form of some cupboards which fell off the wall one night. I was convinced she must have been crushed, but no thankfully she had survived.

I took her almost straight away on all walks there were no other dogs so after her first injections off we went. I had to watch she didn't go into any drains and kept an eye on those birds of prey because she was so small.

I learnt that it is not a good idea to have the Anti Rabies jab done either when they are too young or when they were having the other jabs. The Anti Rabies jab can cause problems let alone failing to reach the necessary levels for the passport. I suspect it also caused our Poppy to fit a very worry episode.