Out with the old...

In with the... same.

Unlike the Chernobyl nuclear cloud that stopped at the French borders, Jan 1, 2021 did not see the end of Covid-19. We're still wearing masks, still teleworking, still under a curfew from 8 pm (or 6 pm) to 6 am.

Looking back over 2020, it was definitely a mixed bag of good and bad, like most years, but last year, the bad was a shared global bad.

It started with a nasty shock for me in February. I was told to either buy the house I had been renting for 15 years or leave because the owner wanted to sell. I believe I went white, the agent was quite worried. In the end, he had a solution for me because I had decided to buy a house, just not the one I was living in (too expensive) and he had the very thing. I visited it, liked it and we went into lockdown.

Thanks to diligent notaires, a helpful bank, and technology, I was able to complete the process of buying and spent lockdown teleworking and packing boxes, sending my son on endless trips to the tip, and we moved at the end of May.

Despite the problems brought on by Covid-19, Fate gave me a helping hand with timings. After the luck with the house, we were able to go to the UK on holiday, and the confinement restrictions were lifted the day I had to pick up a rental car and drive us to Wales (which had just opened its borders). 

Glorious Rhossili with my mum

Having more online opportunities during lockdown, I explored the internet and found ways to add daily pleasure and exercise. The gyms were all shut of course, but I started doing exercises with Ballet Based Movement for the over 50s with Susan and her mum Elizabeth. Ballet is an excellent way to exercise even if you're not a kiddie or professional dancer, and with the gentle movements and lovely music, it was soothing and also fun.

I got hooked on total escapism with Korean series on Netflix which are wonderfully varied in setting, storyline and genre, often beautifully filmed and well acted too. My link sends you to a list of the series I've enjoyed if you want to try them out.

Last year ended for us with a bang, literally. A couple of weeks before Christmas, my son crashed my car. He was perfectly fine, but the insurance refused to pay for repairs, and we've been without a car since while waiting to find another. Shopping has been a challenge but luckily I have my motorbike and two large side-cases. I can get most of a weekly shop on my bike by keeping to a strict list. Carrefour have been doing regular deliveries too for the big shops. This year has been full of new discoveries by necessity.

Did anyone have the Christmas they were expecting? We certainly didn't. The UK was ravaged by a highly infectious variant of Covid-19 and much of the country was locked down over the Christmas period so we didn't spend Christmas with my mum. Instead I had to hurriedly create Christmas at home along with very many others whose arrangements were totally disrupted. This was a challenge as I'd had bookshelves delivered on the Monday so, together with the 20 boxes of books, there were boxes everywhere. I was thinking I'd have to buy a green marker pen and draw Christmas trees on the bigger ones! Luckily, the guy who was to put them up was able to do the work on Christmas Eve, and I spent the afternoon emptying boxes of books and putting up a few decorations. 

A big thank you to Schmidt for the fantastic shelves and helpful staff. What a relief to have a civilised room at the end of it. I even discovered crackling fire videos on YouTube. The one on the tele has acoustic guitar Christmas music playing. It was so beautiful and restful. Christmas was saved.

I had managed to get to the shops for Christmas food and in the end it was all okay.

We are still here, staying safe and, hopefully, well. I hope you are too. Fingers crossed 2021 will see a lifting of restrictions to civil liberties and we can see family and friends again.

Day 56 Covid 19 LAST DAY of Confinement

Theoretically. If we're too naughty they'll bang us up again.

Just in case anyone thought they could anticipate being liberated and sneak off to the beach, the weather decided to cooperate with the government and we've got a day of determined rain. Further anticipation is being dampened by having to continue to stay at home to telework, and no liberation parties of more than ten people (who are at least 1 m apart), in any case the bars and restaurants are closed until June.

We had our weekly barbecue yesterday when it was fine. They have been a great success, and it was agreed that they will be continued so that's a Covid-win. I have put on a kilo since the start of the confinement which is pretty good as the average is 2.5 kg.

How am I celebrating today? Packing boxes, that's how. All very tedious and boring, so here is some more Covid-humour.

One of the best things to come out of all this is seeing how creative people have been, and praise be for the internet for bringing it all to us in our homes!

I had all sorts of high hopes of doing interesting high-brow stuff like listening to serious podcasts but it all fell by the wayside in preference for light-brow humour and absolutely nothing that required intellectual effort. I think my mental charge was sufficiently heavy (what with buying a house in the middle to add to the fun) that I couldn't face anything more taxing than, for example, searching out my ten favourite albums for a Facebook meme.

I was only able to do that because I found my box of old LPs in the garage (moving is so handy in many ways...) and was able to rediscover my old friends which I had forgotten all about.

"Nice tests facial recognition"

Yesterday I was clearing out the kitchen cupboards and found the usual suspects right at the back such as pots of herbs dating back to 2007 - garlic, and fried onions all stuck together. They had to be prodded and excavated out so I could throw the glass pots into the recycling bin.

What has kept me going in all this? Gin and rosé, video-aperos, and regular phone calls, and of course many snuggles with Kittypoo who has established herself as head of the household and has us all thoroughly trained.

Kittypoo relaxing on the piano

Day 11 Covid 19 How do you pass the time?

Day 11 and I'm getting into a sort of rhythm which it will probably be difficult to quit once the barracks doors are reopened. You know the score... just when you're at cruising levels of containment activities, it'll be back to work and we'll be in shock all over again!

But that is all in the future, something to look forward to.

In the meantime there is telework, exercise and finding things to do.

Exercise
We are allowed to go jogging beyond the front door but I've always hated jogging, so I'm currently congratulating myself at not having thrown out the mini trampoline I bought over a decade ago and haven't used in almost as long. It's proving to be a merry little activity, bouncing in various ways for 10 minutes or so at intervals during the day. I've even got the instruction leaflet which I found when I was going through a bunch of papers. Glad I never invited Kendo Bled (?) into my home to throw out stuff that no longer brought me joy. You never know when it might bring you joy and much needed exercise relief in the future!!

Finding things to do

Housework is very very boring, and there is a whole internet out there to explore. I've drifted into a daily theme. One day I might be listening to some of the excellent podcasts on Radio 4, such as File on Four or Out of the Ordinary, with lots more to explore on Sounds.

The other day I watched video after video of Dame Emma Kirkby, enjoying the brilliant lightness of her soprano voice singing early music, plus a masterclass that she gave which was very interesting. There's a wonderful recording of the Messiah from 1982 with Christopher Hogwood and the Academy of Ancient music performing in Westminster Cathedral. Emma Kirkby's voice is that of an angel. Here she is singing some Purcell.

Another day the theme was ballet and I watched a number of beautiful performances and discovered the videos by a former Royal Ballet Company dancer Claudia Dean. I am no ballerina. I had some ballet lessons when I was knee high to a grasshopper but was convinced my teacher didn't like me. At the end of each lesson we finished with a butterfly dancing in the middle of a circle of the other dancers. I always wanted to be the butterfly, but her choice was based on who had been the best pupil, and obviously even at that young and tender age, it was clear that a career as a ballerina was not going to be my path in life, and I never got chosen. Even on my LAST DAY! I've never forgotten it (as you can see...).

Anyway, I'm sure my whole life would have been different if I'd had Claudia Dean as my teacher. She is motivating and fun. She is no longer dancing, but is now a ballet coach and she makes these merry videos not just of coaching, but dealing with ballet issues, messing about with her sister (who is not a dancer), and doing little tests. One that I enjoyed was testing the English way of dancing to the Russian way. I didn't know there was one, but now I do!

Starting the day with humour is definitely one way of beating confinement blues, and I have a good laugh watching Tripp and Tyler videos. If you have ever participated in a video conference, you'll recognise this:

Finally, I've also been watching L'atelier des Chefs chef Nicolas Bergerault who has been making cooking videos from his home. He is stuck at home, like the rest of us, with his family, and so his daughters are filming the cooking with a phone, and he cooks dishes that he can rustle up easily from the stuff in his cupboards. On day one he made a salad of frozen peas with lardons and a homemade curry mayonnaise. On another day he made a spinach lasagne, and on another day he did pasta with an anchovy and caper sauce. His daughters amuse themselves adding the odd silly filter and giggling behind the camera. It's all very homely and merry.

Fun times!

Day 7 Covid19 Lunch

I'm going to lose track of the days, I just know it. Unless I do something organised like count them off on a calendar. Or I could even scratch bars in groups of 5 on the wall... May not go down well with the rental agency when they bring round prospective buyers after-this-is-all-over though, whenever that may be. If ever.

Anyway, I told the boys it would be a good idea to share the cooking. My youngest immediately offered to do a barbecue. My eldest muttered something like 'yeh if I must' in one of those 'at your own risk and peril' voices.

We have a barbecue but needed everything else, so my youngest who can now drive armed himself with the Gestapo-approved food-buying attestation, hopped gleefully into my car and drove to Intermarché. He came back with everything he needed plus one or two essentials such as iced tea.

I remember last year he and his friends wanted to do a barbecue by the river, so I took them to Intermarché, stocked him up with sausages etc. and drove them as far as I could. They had a great time and became great barbecue experts.

So it was with total confidence that I abandoned lunch into the competent hands of my son.

Barbecue champ at work

Actually, when I say 'abandoned lunch', if we were to eat anything other than sausages, it was up to me to rustle it up, so I kept it simple and did pasta and salad. Then we actually sat round the garden table and ate. You might think this is no big deal but my boys wage an anti-table campaign, extremely successfully, and meals are usually taken together but on the sofa. I wage other battles...

A rare experience

We had a nice lunch, talked and chatted and I said how lovely it was to eat and chat around the table, and was told that, yes it was nice, but I shouldn't expect it to happen too often because it would cease to be a pleasant, extraordinary event, and would become boring and annoying. So that put me in my place.

I am, however, grateful for small mercies and will treasure this rather extraordinary UK date Mothers' Day (it isn't until June in France) thanks to the little bugger of a coronavirus. Every cloud, as they say...

Day 5 Covid19 - Shopping

We were out of crisps, and running low on various essentials so instead of waiting until Saturday to do the weekly shop, I went on Friday thinking that there may be fewer people.

If you thought you could still pop to the shops for a quick shop, think again. The supermarkets have instigated a restricted flow of people, no more than a certain number inside at any one time. I had to wait with my trolley outside in a nice orderly line. This being France, you might expect a disorderly line, pushers-in and so on, but no, we were all meekly waiting with our barrier-trolleys ensuring a distance of 1m between us. The over-70s and infirm could legitimately jump the queue and were invited to by kindly security guards as they watched over us...

I waited for an hour to get inside. Luckily the sun was shining and it was nice and warm. I worked on dosing up my vitamin D levels and texting my son on which specialised shampoo he wanted.

Once inside the hallowed halls, we were exhorted over a loud-speaker to hurry up and get on with it so that the people outside could have their turn. No dawdling please, no perusing every single aisle. Just grab what you want (in sensible amounts) and go!

I found just about everything on my list, and chucked in a leg of frozen New Zealand lamb at the end because by that time, I'd been there for 2 hours (including waiting) and was aching for something to look forward to.

When I'd finished I went to the checkout. I had to stand at one checkout, and ping my little hand-scanner at the one next to it. When the woman ahead of me went to pay, she walked down our line, went through the security gate then crossed over to the checkout with the caissière in order to pay presumably so we weren't breathing all over her. She also had a plexiglass barrier between her and the customer.

I felt quite queasy after all the stress of a simple shop and could practically feel my temperature rising as I walked out of the side door to avoid the queuing shoppers. It's a brave new world!

Day 4 Covid19 - A Little Ditty

Coronavirus stalks the earth,
With current killer Covid-19
Targeting the old and fragile
Without discrimination.

We are 'en guerre'
Says Macron
Who speaks solemnly
And in as deep a voice as possible
(Though not so deep...).

No longer free to move about
We're confined to barracks
With outings just for food and meds
And a signed paper,
And fines for those who flout the rules.

The aged mutter of Vichy France
As they do their market shopping outside
Too close together.

Meanwhile, supermarkets
Are stripped of pasta, rice and
Toilet paper.
Just in case...

The neighbourhood is quiet,
A bit like Christmas Day
But with better weather.
Birds are singing and we can hear them
For once
Without the constant rumble of
Society in action.

When will it end?

Day 3 Covid 19 Confinement

Kittypoo (NotMyCat) teleworking

Thus spake the Prez unto the nation - thou shalt not go out except to purchase victuals and toilet rolls. It is now Day 3 and we are bearing up under the pressure of teleworking in our PJs, watching Netflix, Prime Video, reading books and playing computer games, etc..

Frankly, it could be worse.

Kittypoo has made herself very much at home and is enjoying the Covid19 crisis enormously. She is helping everyone with their teleworking, providing solace and a source of snuggles.

My eldest has set up a whiteboard outside propped up on the shutter catches.

Meanwhile, Wednesday afternoon is my afternoon off so I've made some waffle batter because it looks like we're going to take to comfort-eating and tomorrow is another day. Last night we tested out the pizza delivery options. There were none, but we could pick up at a distance swapping boxes for cheque in a parody of a dodgy spy scene.

People on Facebook have been sharing useful sites where you can watch rare films, shows from l'Opéra de Paris currently free online, and virtual museum tours. Maybe later... Plus things to do with kids inside. Not my problem any more. My youngest is watching an action movie with the woofer connected which is shaking the house to its foundations (and the neighbours' probably), and my eldest is on the XBox. Thank goodness the internet is Covid19-proof!

Here in France there is no going out any more unless you have a signed paper which states your reason - and it had better be a good one! Going to buy food, okay; going to the pharmacy, okay; going to buy cigarettes, okay... but not okay is wandering aimlessly about in search of inspiration. You can do that at home.

I have set myself a little challenge to do 30 minutes of exercise per day. I found an exercise mat when I was sorting out the very dusty top of the cupboard in my eldest's bedroom and it has some suggestions printed on it. So I'm doing a mélange of those exercises, some yoga and the plank. I tried to do some press-ups yesterday. Managed two lots of 3, then tried to do a series of 5 and collapsed at four and a half. Something to work on...

Time for a cuppa and a waffle. Stay safe and well and tune in again for another fascinating insight into a life on hold confined to barracks.

Birthday weekend chez les Horizons Unlimited bikers

I'll certainly remember this birthday weekend!

Bike ride Home to Loupiac, and back via Severac le Chateau - 645 km round trip
Click on the photo to see it better

Horizons Unlimited is a website set up by a couple of adventure bikers. Over the years they have organised meetings for other adventure bikers. The French branch had its meeting this year in Loupiac near Rocamadour.

View from the campsite

Although I'm hardly an 'adventure biker', I love hearing about the adventures of incredible people who have travelled around the world. For me, getting to Loupiac is an adventure. I left home at 8.30am, stopped for coffee and lunch and got to Loupiac at about 3pm. The bike meeting was taking place at the Camping les Hirondelles which is where most of the other participants were staying too. We had a mobile home (with hot shower) so it was la luxe!

Proud little 125cc in front of the chalet

Many other hardy bikers were camping... by choice.

Definitely a biker take-over!

The BMW is the adventure bike of choice for many.

What impressed me most was that you could talk to anyone, including the presenters. Lots of people knew each other from previous meetings, but there were those who had come alone and for the first time. We all ate at long tables and of course the chat was essentially biker-oriented but it could veer right off. I met retired university professors, a Welsh fire safety inspector, an Aussie, a croupier, a restaurant chef, a graphic designer...  

I watched a presentation by Eric Lobo called Arctic Dream on his amazing journey both physically and spiritually across Russia and through Alaska with the aim of riding the polar ice road to Tuktoyatuk, a road which ceased to exist from this year.

He faced minus seventy-four degrees C, a polar tornado, and recalcitrant authorities, but with help from unexpected quarters, and the addition of skis to his Harley Davidson bike, he made it. Everyone who watched his film left it moved by the experience.

The Harley (with skis) that rode the Arctic sea ice

I watched other presentations by bikers who had travelled across Europe and Asia to Mongolia, and even Japan; one who had ridden to and around Iran; and another who had been down South America. It didn't matter where they had been, they all said that the encounters with people along the way was what marked them the most.

They came back with the most amazing, stunning photos, and films shot while riding or from drones. Some showed scenery that stretched as far as the eye could see across the steppes, others showed problems encountered along the way - bikes that had fallen down, or broken down, terrible traffic, an accident... One of the most important things about adventure biking is how to deal with issues and problems, especially when on a tight budget!

During the weekend, some bikers were taken through their paces on the campsite on a little course among the trees that included a large sand pit that they had to navigate with the help of a professional trainer. That was great fun to watch. I did not join in as I'm hardly experienced enough, and don't even have my biker's licence.

Gently does it over the (Saharan) sand...

I expected a lot of ribald joking about my little Honda 125, but everyone was very nice, and said they had started on something similar, and what fun they'd had. The most popular bike was of course the BMW GS1200 but there were all sorts although only one 125!

Funnily enough, on the way up, I was riding along the road about 150 km from Loupiac when a biker who had been taking a break took to the road in front of me. I wondered if he was going to the meeting, and I suppose he did too, because we ended up riding the rest of the way together. He very kindly held back because I respect the speed limit and go up hills with difficulty. We got to say hello once at the campsite where I introduced myself. I thought that typical of the esprit de biker of the meeting.

The journey back home was very similar to the one there, but I went via Severac le Chateau and stopped for coffee in Millau. Lunch was taken next to the dinkiest little single track bridge along the road.

Dinky bridge for a perfect picnic spot

I sat on the bridge and watched the fish and the ducks and enjoyed the peace and quiet away from the main road.

The view across the dinky bridge

 Seen along the way, a menhir 3.5m high.

My bike with its tank bag and Rok Straps, and the menhir de Bélinac

I got stopped along the way too, by the gendarmes who checked my papers and made me blow into a breathalyser near Arboras. The gendarmes were out in force - I saw three lots within a short space of time!

The temperature was very different in Hérault and I was very happy to arrive home and shed my leather jacket and trousers, and grab a cool beer from the fridge.

It was a fab weekend, with some great people, new friends, lots of ideas and even more dreams. Certainly a birthday weekend to remember!

The New French System of PAYE

On January 1, 2019, the revolution that is PAYE will hit French taxpayers. Up until now, we paid tax on income from the previous year's tax declaration. The main problem with this is that it is inflexible in the case of major life changes, like redundancy.

So from next year, if something changes, we will be able to reflect this immediately in our tax payments. All good.

Except that, and there's always an except that, it's not all good. Last year, I enjoyed the services of a cleaner. She was employed through a service agency and thus made social payment contributions, got holiday pay, sick leave and all other advantages of the legally employed. I got half the money I paid to the agency directly taken off my taxes.

It's one of those French tax niches that are widely popular, and that the government have been trying to reduce. It meant that instead of paying, for example, 200EUR/month for the cleaner, with the tax relief I was effectively paying 100EUR because my monthly tax direct debit was 100EUR/month cheaper than it would have been.

Now though, with the new system, the reimbursement will not occur immediately, but will come as a lump sum twice a year. The result of this is that I will probably never be able to have a cleaner again.

Why? Well, if I pay, for example, 400EUR/month in tax, I will not be able to add a further 200EUR to pay for the cleaner. It's just too much. Even I get a reimbursement in a lump sum, the monthly total is just too high.

So does this mean that the government has found a way to kill off the niche? By making it impossible for people like me who are not rich enough to pay full taxes AND a cleaner, or gardener, or any other regular personal service?

I should think the people employed in the previously flourishing personal services industry must be horrified at the (intended?) potential consequences of this nasty little tax manoeuvre. And it makes the tax system a system of finance rather than economy. Obviously it gives the government the opportunity to use the tax income before paying out on the 'credit impots', but doesn't take into consideration the probability that the personal services industry will take a huge knock, and jobs will be at risk. Jobs done by those who are often in a vulnerable situation.

So thanks Macron. WBanker extraordinaire.

The Big Snow 28 Feb 2018

Yesterday we had the heaviest snow fall since I can remember, and I've been here for more than two decades.

It started when I was at work. We didn't worry, it was supposed to turn to rain in the afternoon. As midday approached, it showed absolutely no signs of turning to rain. The temperature stayed obstinately low and the warm air from the south was stuck out in the Med somewhere.

View from my window at work at 11.30 am

People started leaving. I hung on for a bit hoping for things to improve, but finally at 1.30 pm it was leave or risk not leaving because obviously I had left my tyre chains at home thinking that as usual, the Orange Snow Alert would be exaggerated.

It wasn't, so I brushed the 10 cm or so of snow off my car and crept out onto the road. It was actually not too bad if taken carefully. I made it to the bottom of my road, a steep hill, and parked. There were no tyre marks going up the hill and I knew there was no hope of success.

Near my house at 2.30pm

I climbed the hill, got home and immediately dug out my fluo pink ski suit, snow boots, and gloves, found the plastic sledge I'd bought when the boys were younger (which coincided with the last time we went sledging...) in the garage and went back out to sledge down the hill. I wasn't the only one out. There were kids throwing snowballs with their parents, and bigger kids attacking each other.

After lunch, I went to find my sledge which I'd left outside, but my son had taken it, so found the old sledge that I'd had when I was a child. It hadn't been used since a feeble attempt on a thin layer of soggy snow some years back which it proved too heavy for. The several centimetres of dry snow was perfect for it, however.

My old sledge which had been red but was repainted by my dad years ago and not been used since

It took some steering, but eventually I got the hang of it, and instead of banging systematically into the snowy kerb, I got all the way down the hill, slight bend included by using my feet. I felt quite the Winter Olympic Luge champion, as there I was flat on my back on the sledge dashing feet-first down a steep hill. Fun!

I was the only adult on a sledge, to the embarrassment of my eldest. One of his friends skied down the slope, others used my other sledge, and then they went off. I'm not sure if this was in the natural progression of things or to get away from an embarrassing mother on the instigation of my son.

This morning, March 1, the snow has started to melt and is already too deep, soft and soggy for the old sledge, the the modern plastic one has not reappeared. Good thing I made the most of it yesterday!

For more pictures of Montpellier and the region in the snow, the local newspaper, Midi Libre, posted a good selection sent in by readers here.

Lost in Oppidum

An oppidum is A Roman provincial town built often on high ground which is fortified and walled. Hérault's most impressive oppidum is at Ensérune but there's another one at Murviel-les-Montpellier, one which I've been wanting to visit for years but never got round to although I've been through the village many times.

Yesterday I found myself with a couple of hours to spare in Murviel. My first thought was 'coffee' and I went in search of a café in the tiny medieval quarter of the village. The stone houses all nestled together were charming, and there was many a cat dozing picturesquely or out on the razzle, but café there was none.

That was when I remembered the oppidum, and, thrilled that I had at last the opportunity to see it, and remembered before it was too late, I followed a signpost that indicated the direction. Little did I know but that would be one of a total of two useful signs.

I was starting to wonder at the distinct lack of directions when I met a man, who turned out to be a local Brit, and was very helpful and told me that all paths lead to the oppidum. I just had to climb to the top of the hill, turn right, and I'd be overlooking it in all its splendour.

The path was steep and rocky, and promised to provide quite enough exercise for the day without me needing to go to the gym too.

Steep path up

A couple of faint blue lines on a rock indicated a circuit of some sort, but without a sign of any sort, it was impossible to know whether it was going to the oppidum or not. Still, I followed it, and turned right at the T junction at the top where I saw a 'useful' sign.

'Useful' sign

Don't try and search for information on it, there is none. There probably had been, once, but now it was just a post with a white board on it. I couldn't see through the trees either to overlook the alleged oppidum. Maybe it was there, maybe it wasn't...

After walking through a tiny olive grove in the middle of nowhere (it seemed), I found some ruins.

Roman ruins

Was this the oppidum? Was there an information panel to tell me? They were pretty underwhelming as far as Roman ruins go, and, in the absence of a useful signpost, I decided that I probably was not looking at the oppidum.

Thick Roman wall which may or may not be part of the oppidum.

I was enjoying my walk in lovely undulating countryside, with garrigue plants and trees and delicious smells of herbs and pine despite not knowing where I was. Another signpost did nothing to help, and I could see I wasn't the only one to experience mounting frustration, because someone had expressed his/her annoyance with a clear message on the blank panel: Information NULLE !! Justifiably so.

Disgruntled visitor message: 'Information NULLE !!'

The faint blue lines had also long since disappeared, so it was with interest that I finally came across something clear and precise. Almost.

Clear signpost with a fatal flaw

A map! At last! A lovely map showing all sorts of useful bits of information. Except one. The 'YOU ARE HERE' spot. What a tease. I was obviously not the only person to spot the fatal flaw because someone had written on it: 'On est où ?' - Where are we? The mystery continued.

Bushy 'access-friendly' path

I continued taking random directions, and noted the different types of vegetation along the various paths. They were solid proof of the diversity dream.

At one junction, I met a jogger who optimistically asked me the direction to the village. He was lost too. He had been following the faint blue paint marks until they petered out. We struck up a matey chat of fellow lost-ees until I cracked and got my phone out to consult Google Maps. The jogger decided to try one direction and, while I was still waiting for my return itinerary to load, he came back to try another as the one he took just stopped.

Tree-lined stony path

Thanks to Google Maps, I discovered I was a mere 15 minutes from my point of departure despite having been walking for almost an hour going up and down and along. No sign of the oppidum, natch, although I thought this immaculate olive grove very impressive.

Immaculate and very posh olive grove

I didn't quite follow the directions correctly (and got reprimanded by The Voice), but did discover an abandoned home with a well nearby, which brought up images of a wizened old farmer's wife trekking down the hill in the depths of winter to draw water.

Abandoned well 50 m from abandoned house

I got back on the right path to The Voice's relief (it was palpable).

Another picturesque path

I never did find the oppidum. I suppose it's there somewhere, and next time I have a couple of hours to spare there I'll try again, this time having printed off directions and a map, because I know you get no help once there!

This is what I didn't see (to some lovely music):

Shrinkflation at AMETRA

Modern life is full of examples of lowering standards for no change in price (except upwards), such as the decreasing size of Quality Street boxes of chocolates, the removal of two Cadbury's Fingers from a box of biscuits, lighter weight packets of Walkers crisps, fewer wipes in a packet of Dettol wipes, and so on. Economists call it 'shrinkflation', according to the Daily Mail.

Natural shrinkage?

It's happening in services too, and I have one glaring example from my own experience. In France, it is obligatory for employees to have regular medical check-ups from the médecin du travail. I have been out of the UK for a long time, but when I started work, there was no check-up; perhaps things have changed?

Anyway, a few years ago, we used to have annual check-ups at AMETRA, a national association that specialises in work-place health. It used to be a legal requirement to have an annual check-up by a doctor, with a preliminary consultation with a nurse who asked us questions about our workplace, made us pee into a cup and passed us on to the doc.

Then, we stopped getting summoned to AMETRA, and no one cared a jot about our health for three years. THREE! So naturally, we didn't get the invoice for services non-rendered, right? Wrong! There it was, every year, a bill for 2500Eur or so. For nothing.

In the end, I complained. I was told that the company was having problems (no kidding!), and they were restructuring. Fine, I said, but why are you still invoicing us, and can we stop paying? Of course not! If you don't pay AMETRA you get into all sorts of trouble, a bit like with the impôts. It turns out that it's obligatory for us to pay, but if they can't deliver a service, we can't complain.

So I complained again, and looked around for another provider. There isn't one. They have us by the short and curlies, as it were, and as with any totalitarian state worth the name, you shut pay up or get into trouble.

Eventually, a service was resumed, of sorts. They had worked out their little problems, and the status of our health was to be checked again, but now every two years instead of annually. Was there a change in the invoice? Of COURSE, it was split in two!!

Joke.

We were sent convocations. We all went to see the nurse and then the doc. The nurse did not ask us to pee into a little cup. Pee's off, but there was no change in the invoice.

When I went to see the doc, she asked me lots of questions, checked my sight and took my blood pressure. She asked me what I had for brekkie (I can't remember how it came up), and I said I had a boiled egg every day. Horrified, she told me that I was eating WAY too many eggs, and that I should have no more than two per week. I tried to tell her that there were new guidelines, but she was having none of it.

I don't think she does much revision at home...

When I got back to work, I forwarded a mail to her from a reputable source stating that eggs were good and we could eat two per day with no problem. No need to thank me (she didn't).

A few months later we got another letter from AMETRA. From now on, when we get the summons to go every two years, one year in two we'll see just the nurse, so we'll only see a doc every four years. Is there a change in the invoice? Yeah, right.

So there you have it. A flagrant lowering of standards for absolutely no discernable benefit to the customer. Welcome to the modern world.

A Great Place for Boys - Pont d'Issensac

Summer is well and truly here. The temperature during the day hits 35°C and we're keeping the shutters 'entre ouverte' which describes how they are almost shut but not quite so letting in some all-important light - enough not to have to turn the lights on which would just add to the heat and be extremely depressing!

I went and sweated several litres at zumba on Saturday morning; it is really unpleasant exercising in such heat. In fact, I swear I'm less fit in the summer than at other times of the year because it's just too hot to move.

Of course, if I took advantage of swimming in the river when I take my youngest and his friends there, it might help... We went twice this weekend to the Pont St Etienne d'Issensac. The boys love this spot and they are not alone.

Pont St Etienne d'Issensac

None of the lads who were jumping off the river bank cliffs or indeed the bridge itself were much concerned by its fourteenth century history or by the fact that it enabled a link between the Cevennes at St-André-de-Buèges and the low country at Valflaunès. Nor that it has been much restored so there is little of the original medieval stone left, but it was always sympathetically done, to the point that it was declared a historic monument in 1948.

No, what interests them is the fact that they can jump into the water from cliffs of varying heights and be sure that the river Hérault is deep enough to break their fall rather than their neck.

On Saturday I took four boys aged 14/15. We arrived around 4pm, and found a shady spot for the car nearby. I had to cross the very narrow bridge (2m wide) in order to do this as there was no space on the Montpellier side, and saw signs to an 'obligatory' car park on the other side although I didn't park there in the end, but on a side road.

The boys went off to do their thing while I sat down to read my Kindle, dabble my feet in the cool river, and watch the entertainment. A 'mindful appreciation' of my surroundings had me listening to the buzz of happy conversation, the splashes from bodies landing in the river from the banks and the bridge (which is forbidden), and the realisation that young men made up 80% of the people there - students mostly. They were accompanied by a few lovely lasses in teeny bikinis and well-advanced tans who were there to cheer on their hero(s) and look suitably impressed. None of them were jumping into the river, maybe so as not to mess up their hair... There was a really good atmosphere too - what the French call 'bon enfant' or everyone having a nice time without being a nuisance.

Jumping off the bridge

On Sunday, I took my youngest back with two friends, and found that the demographic of the merrymakers was completely different. We arrived at roughly the same time, parked in the official car park which in is a huge, shady space on the river bank, and made our way back to the bridge. I found a space to sit near where I'd been the previous day with a good view of the goings-on. The students were absent, replaced by families, gypsies and young maghrebin men. They were all having a good time too, but someone had brought a ghetto-blaster which pumped out Arabic music, over which the lads had to yell to make themselves heard on the other side of the river and by their mates on the bridge... There was a much higher nuisance factor that day.

Lads on the highest point of the cliff

There were girls jumping in the river on Sunday too, including one with long hair that she swept from side to side as she tried to pluck up courage to jump from the highest cliff. She monopolised that spot for about twenty minutes as a crowd of lads built up behind her. My three ended up by jumping half a metre or so away from her and then from another spot until she finally made it in. I gave her a round of applause and noticed that she didn't try it again... to the relief of everyone else no doubt.

They're queuing up to jump

If you want to go there, I recommend going on a Saturday... park in the official car park (unless you have a camper van or caravan - there is a very tight u-bend) and take everything you need - there are no snack vans, toilets or other facilities.

A Dedicated Mothers' Day

It was Mothers' Day in France last Sunday, a fête which was officially added to the calendar by maréchal Pétain in 1941. It became a national tradition in 1918 in tribute to all the women who had lost a son and/or husband in the trenches. Ten years later, in 1929, it was used to encourage women to have babies as part of la politique familiale to repopulate the country.

I enjoyed it, for once. My eldest is now old enough to take charge. Mothers' Day is tough for single mums because there's no dad to chivvy the kids into drawing a picture, buying a flower or two or supervising the making of tea.

As I'd just asked for a little word on a piece of paper, I was agreeably surprised when I was presented with a red rose and card at lunch time (nems from the best nems-man in Montpellier plus a glass of rosé, Carrouf Magnum for puds. Simple, delicious). Gobsmacked, you might say in fact. Made my day. We had a delightful lunch outside, sitting at the table with table cloth and no tiger mozzies.

Feeling on top of the world, then, I decided I'd go into town and see what was happening at the book fair - the 30e Comédie du Livre.

It wasn't exactly on the Place de la Comédie but on the Esplanade, thankfully under a series of marquees so we, including the books, didn't all roast and curl under the sun
.

The rest of the Place da la Comédie was empty

There was a whole range of books on show, and authors. If you like books, it was the place to be. There were sections on travel books, poetry, religious books, novels, culture, and a foreign section where Le Bookshop had a books-in-English stand.

If you were looking for children's books, there was even a whole marquee for them many of which looked super. I lamented again how I have boys who dislike reading. They don't even read comic books, or BD (bande déssinée) which are wildly popular in France, and were on show en masse at the fair.

On one of the stands, I saw a BD about Montpellier, called Balade à Montpellier by 'Gaston'. It's a humorous tour of the city that manages to distil the essence of Montpellier by pointing out its clichés (gay capital of France, red car on Rock Store wall, etc.), and guides us rapidly through its history. I had a look through and loved it.

It's obviously been written by someone who loves the city and knows it well. The author, 'Gaston' or Alain Rémy is an accomplished cartoonist who's worked with Disney and Spielberg, and is a script writer for Ubisoft (on 'Rabbids Go Home').

I noticed that he was dedicating the books purchased on site with a little cartoon! I had to have one too! I'm a sucker for a dedication.

Gaston dedicating his book for me

It was my turn, so I sat down and he started asking me about myself (how cool is that?) in order to find inspiration. I told him about coming to France to be with my future ex-h, and after we divorced I wanted to be with someone who spoke excellent English. There was a bit more chit chat, and he started drawing in the book I'd bought. This is what he came up with:

My dedication from Gaston. That's me on the right in my stripy tee-shirt. :)

"V.O." is a French expression for films and tele programmes that are shown not dubbed, in their original version ('version original'). Isn't it great? He has a talent for grasping the essential spirit of something/someone and whipping up a cartoon about it/them. He does it on the tele too.

Not only did I get the book dedicated, but the sponsoring bookshop (Librarie des 5 continents) was offering a dedicated card too, so this is mine:

*Chuffed*

I positively floated home.