Inspector Montalbano

I don't know about you but I like watching police detectives at work in foreign languages. Wallender springs to mind, in the original Swedish with subtitles. French tele doesn't seem to have discovered it yet, but thanks to my Sky Digibox, I can enjoy it unfettered by a dodgy dubbing into French.

Yesterday evening, by pure chance my TWDB and I happened on an episode of Commissaire Montalbano, the Italian police series. It was being shown on BBC4, with subtitles. Set in the Sicilian town of Vigàta, the series is filmed in Ragusa, Punta Secca and Licata with scenery that has you itching to get on the next boat.

This evening, amazingly, France 3 was showing another episode of Commissaire Montalbano, dubbed. How bizarre is that? I discover it on Saturday evening and see it for the first time on French tele on Sunday evening. Quel coincidence!

Anyway, if you don't know it, and like Wallender, do catch it if you can. Montalbano is a cool detective, as Wikipedia says:

the fractious detective's character and manner encapsulate much of Sicilian mythology - brooding philosophy, whip smart dialogue, rugged beauty, superb food - and astute detective work. 

What is there not to like? I must admit, it was much better in Italian with subtitles. The character loses something dubbed into French, especially as French tele only seems to have half a dozen dubbing actors so you know all the voices already, most of whom you already associate with a particular film character. It's most disconcerting.

I will also look out for the books written by Andrea Camilleri, and they may even give me a reason to go the local library although I'll check out Kindle books first...

Scenes de menage

M6 has created a little bijoux of a 'shortcom', 'Scènes de Ménage', a weektime daily series that goes out at 8.05pm.

I tried to resist watching it, but it's so piquant in its humour, and so Frenchly true (and maybe even universally accurate) that it's plus fort que moi.

Three couples in their thirties (mixed - him black, her white), fifties, and seventies, are portrayed in short 'scènes de ménages' which are based on arguments, but not always. For example, in one scene, the elderly woman asks her husband if he appreciates her for her beauty or her intelligence and he replies 'For your sense of humour'. That is typical of the sometimes vicious humour that they aggress each other with. Of course, being French, they indulge themselves in a lot of shrieking and shouting, but ultimately they are solidly married and stay that way.

It's very funny and so true, and there's nothing like it anywhere else on the tele. It makes a change from a standard soap like Plus Belle la Vie too. Talking of which, Canal+ has made a series called 'Pigalle, la Nuit'. I suspect they are taking the piss but I couldn't detect any parody in the preview.

According to SeriesLive.com, M6 has joined up in a partnership with Vie de Merde.fr, the website where people write in to recount shitty happenings in their lives. Apparently, people will be able to vote on the best VdM story which will be made into a SdM scene. The successful contributor gets to see his or her story on tele and sees it being filmed too.

It's all very silly, but a good laugh. Of course, some of the language is a bit fruity, but nothing that your average French adult wouldn't say in the course of a haranguing match. 'Merde' comes into it quite a lot...

Shame it's on at prime eating/chatting time though. I get the impression sometimes that there's a conspiracy to stop me living the sort of civilised life where people have intelligent discussions over a delicious dinner. Yeah, I am taking the piss. I have a male ado at home. Any hope of a semblance of civilised discussion over dinner is wishful thinking and just an illusion...

Cold Remedies

For some reason, my Sky Digibox isn't working at the moment. I can get the menu but a message tells me there is no satellite connection. So I missed last night's episode of FlashForward. A bit of a bugger but I can catch up later if I get a connection...

Instead I watched Capital on French tele's M6. It's one of the few programmes I like watching because it gives some good information on a variety of topics. Yesterday they were talking about improving the insulation on houses which has become big business due to the increase in fuel prices. Many companies have jumped on the bandwaggon and offer a complete service ranging from replacing windows, insulating the roof and walls, and installing the right heating system.

It's incredibly expensive though. One retired couple with a fairly large old house (210m²) were presented with an estimate of 210,000Eur to completely renovate the house. Horrific!

One of the selling points that sales reps ram down the throats of prospective customers is the magic 'credit impot' which is a tax rebate on some of the money spent. What people don't know, however, is how it works, and much fury has been engendered by people discovering too late that they didn't get as much as they were promised by the slimy rep.

To start with, you'll only get money back if you use a professional to install the equipment. BUT you only get a rebate on the cost of the equipment, not the installation. Also, the Fisc (French tax office) will only give a rebate up to a maximum of 8000Eur, or 16000Eur for a couple. The couple paying out 210K would not get any more than one paying out 20K. The level of rebate is not the same for all types of equipment, so while a pompe à chaleur (heat pump?) gets 50%, insulation material is rebated at 25%.

There are all sorts of other conditions too, so if you live and pay your taxes in France and want to insulate your house, check up on the French government tax site (then Les crédits d'impôt pour dépenses d'équipements dans la résidence principale) to find out exactly what you're entitled to.

I'm not sure how people are going to be able to pay such astronomic prices though, unless the government implements some sort of equity release programme like the UK. My parents benefited from that and their house is now as snug as a bug. Of course, the sum paid will be taken off when the house is sold, but if they have to go into a care home, that'll eat up anything that's over anyway.

I think children these days should renounce on the prospect of inheriting their parent's home. By the time the care home has fleeced them dry, there'll be either nothing left, or no more tuppence ha'penny of which the government will take most in death duties.

Admit it guys, we're on our own, and if you need your parent's money to get somewhere aged 50+, let's face it, you're a loser.

Tele Target Practice

I'm having a 'poor me, I'm ill' day at home today. Not swine flu, no, just a simple common or garden cold. Happily it coincided with the day my new tele was redelivered.

A couple of weeks ago I bought a new tele from Carrouf, special offer, last day only. Of course when I say 'I bought', I mean in the non-literal sense of 'owing money on the purchase of' said LCD pretty big Philips screen. It was delivered last Tuesday morning.

By Tuesday evening I had noticed what looked like a target bottom left. It hadn't shown up on the blue programme search screen but it did on the paler colours of a poisonous lake. In fact, it's all I saw.

Furious, I asked the boys if they had bashed into it or something equally disasterous. Beyond giving it a hug (!) they had not touched it. I didn't really think they had, but if one is to go back to the shop to make a fuss, one has to be standing on firm moral and guilt-free ground.

The next day I went into Carrouf to the Accueil and told the woman there was a problem with the tele. She suggested I bring it back in. "I don't think so," I replied, "it's too big" whereupon she lost interest and told me to see After Sales. It was about 1.40pm. I explained my problem to Mr SAV (service après vente) and he said I'd need to come back at 2.30pm because the tele guy in charge returned then.

Seething only slightly, I went away and came back some time later after 2.30pm only to be told he was actually due back at 4pm. I stayed calm, something of a feat, because Mr SAV was clearly embarrassed and wanted to help out. He sent me to see the tele department and explain my problem.

We live in a connected world of computers and 'labour-saving' technology. Don't we? Well, it took an hour, yes sixty minutes of going through the procedure of producing the paperwork to do a simple swap of my defective tele for a new one.

Then when I got to the till it started all over again because the promotion had ended and there was 100Eur difference between the prices marked on the invoices. I told the guy on the till that if he thought I was going to pay anything he was wrong because it was more than dodgy to sell a defective tele cheap only to slam the customer for the extra when it had to be replaced by the same evening.

He agreed and called his supervisor. By this time all the other customers in line had given up and wandered off. I felt sorry for them but it wasn't my fault that Carrouf has such an incompetent set of procedures. I just wanted a tele without target practice.

I didn't, in fact, have to fight too hard to get the new tele. They put it down to 'faute d'emballage' which I'm sure it was - a packaging issue, or unpacking issue, or something nothing to do with me, or the boys. Apparently it was a pixel or two that had blown and was busily causing short circuits in the surrounding ones thus provoking the rather interesting target practice effect.

You can be sure that when tele 2.0 arrived and was unpacked, I had a VERY good look at all the pixels to make sure none of the little buggers were giving up the ghost. For the moment at least they seem to be holding up.

Unfortunately, although my tele has an integrated TNT (Télévision numérique terrestre) thingy, I am in a shady TNT spot which means I can't receive it. Down the road they've got it, at Carrouf they've got it, but chez moi, I haven't got it. Bugger. Don't worry, said my first tele installer heartily, they've got to cover the whole country by 2010. Unfortunately, said my tele seller, they are very behind and it won't be until 2012 that everyone gets it. Great. I'm stuck with crappy analogique pictures until we move probably.

As I've said before, thank god for satellite Sky!

Screen Speak/Real Speak

My eldest is a fan of 'Poubelle la Vie'... oops, I mean 'Plus Belle la Vie' which is a tele series on France 3 at 8.15pm on weekdays. It has a certain charm, mostly because it's not set in ubiquitous Paris, but in Marseille.

I don't really follow it, but if it's on, and I'm sitting down facing the tele, then I will, for want of anything better or more energetic to do, watch it.

What always amazes me when I watch French people talking French on tele not in real life, is that they sound nothing like French people do when they normally speak French. I'm not sure whether this is down to crap acting (which it probably is) or is an acting school technique to show how difficult it is to be an actor because you've got to sound totally different and totally alien to real French people.

On the tele, folks are always mumbling, gabbling, sulking, shouting, being cross and basically sounding like they have memorised their lines and want to get them out as quickly as possible: 1) to show how well they know them; 2) because the lines are so bad the actors would be cringing if they had to say them any slower; 3) because they have to cram everything into 30mins which means either they say them within their allotted span of time or they get edited out.

I work with a bunch of French people and they never sound anything like actors do on the tele, or even very often in films. There seems to be Screen Speak, and Real Speak, and ne'er the twain will meet.

French films are often about shouting. French people, according to screen writers, are always cross with each other, so they shout and sulk and storm off or fling insults at each other. My TWDB does none of those things and neither do any of the couples I know. They all talk to each other normally, so what is it with Screen Speak? Why is it so unreal and so bad? Has no one else noticed how excrutiating it is listening to these same actors becoming the same person over and over? No wonder the best ones work hard at their English so they can expand their horizons.

Before you think I'm being horrid and critical about French movies, let me assure you that there are some that I like very much. Le Diner des Cons is an excellent movie with brilliant social observation. I also have a penchant for the earlier 'Taxi' movies because of the car and the first 'Visiteurs' movie. However, in all three, you'll notice much shouting, pouting and bad temper.

To me, it just gets a bit predictable and boring. Give me lively, funny, jolly 'Men In Black' any day!

Singular Bliss

Last night I enjoyed what I can only describe as one of those 'single moments'. Sitting on the sofa quite late at night, watching tele, zapping a bit, then seeing that BBC2 is doing a 'catch up' evening of 'Heroes'. It's already 10.30pm and there are six episodes but you think, hey, what the hell, I'll catch up.

And I did. All six episodes except that I'd seen the last two so went to bed around 2am in the middle of the last one.

There are all sorts of pros and cons to being in a relationship, but the most glaring con in my opinion is that there is always someone else around, and they have expectations of you.

Say, for example, on Saturday nights you usually go to bed after a certain show. If you wanted to watch all six episodes of 'Heroes' you'd have to think about it, worry whether the other person would throw a strop because he was wanting nooky or go to bed without being disturbed in the middle of the night, and you'd have to explain, reason, justify.

You couldn't just sit there and do it. Sometimes you don't want to explain, reason, justify, negotiate; you just want to 'do'. But the other person expects you to behave in a certain way, because you usually do, and when you feel like doing something else, you are in fact setting up a chain reaction of spoiling things. Spoiling their expectations of you and thus their cosy rapport with you, and spoiling the thing you want to do because there is no particular reason for doing it other than just because you want to then and there, but having to think about it ruins the pleasure.

So my enjoyment of those episodes was all the sweeter because I was free to watch or not watch or stop watching half-way through. Singular bliss!

Tele On

The tele works, but has to be kept on stand-by, or switched off at the mains. The repair guy huffed and grunted his way around the Christmas tree, presents, wires and other sundry objects preventing him from perfect access to the box. In the end, he found he didn't have the right bit, or not enough bits, gave us a bag of bits he'd removed telling us not to lose it under any circumstances (which I fear we've done as I have not seen it in 24hrs) and is coming back next week to finish the job.

At least we are able to watch 'House' again. It's my favourite programme at the moment. Hugh Laurie behaves so badly in it, reminding me a little of the sarcasm and ridicule Baldrick suffered at the hands of Blackadder. It's a very clever series, uses big words (oooer) and, especially for an American series, is totally gripping. Actually, that's not really fair, is it? There are many good American series around at the moment, such as 'CSI', 'Numb3rs', 'Special Victims' Unit', 'Medium' and so on. Still, 'House' is the best, with Hugh Laurie's amazing American accent, and excellent straight acting. It's not a comedy, but he manages to make the odd brutally witty remark even so.

Talking of entertainment, this evening we tried to get to the opera to see the Mercredis d'Opera Junior. I was sure it was at 20H, today, the 20th. I had a desire to get back to being the little culture vulture that I had been before I encountered the world's least culturally interested man and entered a period of cultural life akin to a desert. My parents had taken me to various concerts, ballet and theatre shows when I was younger, and it seems natural to me to expose my little darlings to such events.

They were less enthusiastic. My eldest told me the only music he likes to listen to is rock and could he take his Gameboy? Answer: no. I had to drag them out, a bit on the late side, and make a mad dash into the centre of Montpellier. We parked and then literally ran to the Opera Berlioz.

It was looking remarkably empty and unwelcoming. How odd. Maybe the concert was in the Salle Berlioz of the concert hall on the Esplanade. Another mad dash, madder, in fact because we were really getting to the limit of the hour of 7, and arrived, puffed out, to find it shrouded in gloom with a definite air of shut-ness. Even odder.

There seemed nothing for it but to go home. Hanging around the Place de la Comedie with a sagging credit card and no cash was not inviting. However, the prospect of mulled wine and a good dose of 'House' on the tele at home was, so we made our more leisurely way back to the car, and arrived home. The whole shebang took us 40minutes.

Had we been members of 'Spooks' we could have called up HQ and put in a request to find out what had happened by whatever means they had at their disposal. As it was, I had to wait until we arrived home, then drum my fingers while the Firefox update did its thing, after which I could access the Opera site to find out where we had gone wrong.

The wretched concert had finished. It had started at 19H, not 20H. Oops. It had cost, prepaid, 21€ too. Plus 2€ parking. Oh bugger!

I'll have to get more organised if the boys are to experience a little culture other than admiring flashing glimpses of the city centre at night and standing before the closed doors of the Montpellier Opera House.

Ah me, I should have checked. Obviously 20/12 became 20H 20/12. Doh.