We have a rendezvous tomorrow afternoon and are looking forward to seeing how well the French workforce keeps time/ performs. The electricity supply is being changed from 3-phase, the amperage increased, and a new meter is to be fitted. It should be a good test of our linguistic skills but we think that we are on a roll after having conducted our business at the office entirely in French. Well, somebody did and it wasn’t
Month: July 2018
Burrata
I am exceedingly peeved that the photographs that I took of our beautiful supper are somehow not on my camera card. These wonderful tomatoes from Grand Frais were paired with a Burrata cheese from the same source. It was our first Burrata but it certainly will not be our last. In a simple salad with tomatoes and basil, drizzled with good olive oil and Balsamic vinegar, and served with a crusty bread – it was
Tales from a Crooked Kitchen
Today’s focus has been mostly upon the kitchen, not least because a delivery team from Boulanger spent an inordinate amount of time in there when rehanging the freezer door. It was also far too hot to go outside for long and the kitchen is a relatively cool space in which to hang out. Our first task after the delivery van left was to switch on the freezer and ready it for filling. Task number two
Grand Frais
A trip to the CPAM office in Poitiers brought about mixed results. Poitiers is the administrative centre for the Vienne and the centre was obviously very busy, far busier than the satellite in Montmorillon. We stood in the queue with sinking hearts and a recognition that a rendezvous was going to be needed… but it wasn’t. Once we had been directed to the correct queue a receptionist gave us a number, just like in Argos,
Not as Troglodytic as one might suppose
Our local supermarket, like all the others in France, sells an astounding array of alcohol, with some very good wines at exceptional prices. They also sell some very cheap and cheerful stuff. Without the heavy taxation of the UK, all the alcohol here seems like pretty good value but we are certainly not used to seeing wine on the supermarket shelves priced in the thirty/fifty pound bracket. So, quite a range… It gets better –
Go see CPAM? No-see CPAM!
Having secured a doctor, it was time to ensure that said Doctor can be paid without our going bankrupt. France has a good healthcare system, which gives 70% (more or less, am told that not all services are equal) for free. In order to use it, eligible individuals need to register for a Carte Vitale. As ex-pat Brits we are eligible immediately because I am very, very old and ancient and decrepit a State Pensioner.
Getting on with it
We visited Adriers, a nearby small town, to find and register with the doctor there. She has an excellent reputation and is much sought after by the ex-pat Brits as she speaks excellent English. We had been warned that “her books are full” and “she’s not taking new patients on because she is retiring” but we were warmly welcomed in Reception and our details entered upon the computer. The surgery took a bit of finding;
In a flap
Sunday got off to a poor start, with a rude awakening when a bird made its way into the stove pipe. The pipe from the woodburner in the living room runs straight up through our bedroom and beng hollow and metallic it made an excellent amplification device. We were unable to lie abed listening to the bird’s struggles so roused ourselves, grabbed disposable gloves and a stout bin bag and undid the access cap. Quite
Bounty
Yesterday as I was preparing to take Nell out for a walk, my lovely French neighbour tapped on the window – she had brought me another gift for the garden (this is the third such), a lovely sturdy Sedum seedling plant. She speaks not a word of English and I speak very little French but I think that the language of gardening is perhaps universal. I said my thanks and remarked that the plant would
A nice cup of tea
There are some expats in France who cling determinedly to their Britishness and their British habits, especially the dietary ones. Do not let the title of this post mislead you, I am not becoming one of those. Like many people, when I think of France I think very much of coffee (or café) and café culture. The French are a nation of coffee drinkers after all. Or are they? It turns out that the French