Having chosen to live in France, I try hard to live French. I really do not want to be that Brit – the one that moans how they can’t get such-and such in France or that some-other from the UK is better… Certainly, in my humble Brit opinion, there is so much here that is better than back in Blighty. Bread and butter for one two things, for instance. However, I do have a beef:
In common with much of France, Maison Celle does not have the luxury of a household rubbish collection. We have communal bins in the centre of the village, to which we walk our Poubelles in black bags and also our recycling bags. Glass is not permitted in the clear recycling bags and must be taken to a glass recycling point, the closest of which is in the centre of Saint-Rémy. A wide variety of items
My copy birth certificate has finally arrived. A trip to the CPAM in Poitiers is now in order. I should have my Carte Vitale in a few weeks now. Just as well, as Mr L needs mine to be processed before he is allowed to have his. A trip to the doctor last night cost him 25€ and a month’s medication was just over 49€. This would be refundable (70% of the GP and all
Imagine, if you will, a small village in South West France. Scarcely more than a hamlet, just a farm and a few houses. It sits astride a quiet Departmental road.
I need to report that Beetroot with Raspberry Vinegar is definitely A Thing. Over here it is rare to find raw beetroot. It mostly comes ready boiled, though not pre-packed. This is a bit of a shame as I do enjoy my beetroot roasted. However, it is highly convenient to be able to pick up a ready boiled beet and just skin and chop it for a salad. Tonight I conducted further experiments with the
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,