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anotherbanana

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    How do you move to the UK ?

    in The Complete France Post Bag

    Posted

    My impression of UK after 24 years away this time and 2/3rds of my life is that I am not sure I know the place or that I could be happy there for the last years remaining.

    Much of what I see and hear annoys me or simply I dont understand.

    ALBF, I am not sure how long you have lived in France but remember that cultures are divergent and the UK may only be superficially worse or better than France in any way.

    So, you would have to treat the place ans a foreign country and see yourself as an expat.

    Would your wife like it?

    Some insight into why France has fallen behind in medical research

    in The Complete France Post Bag

    Posted

    I notice that the writer did not include Oxford amongst the Universities making huge progress.

    Add Cambridge, Manchester as just two unis which have huge industrial spinoffs which constitue in many ways the future of the the UK.

    France usually buys or steals what it needs. Benefit they spent some of the money chucked down the drain in good living, wasted administration, foreign wars, cash down the EU drain....... one could go on.

    Memories: Praying for Sunday

    in The Complete France Post Bag

    Posted

    This memory comes from a few years ago when weekly strikes of one day seemed the norm. But we are at that time of year again.

    Hatred of Sundays contradicted

    Normally I hate Sundays with a passion but not this year.

    Sunday round here is usually like the grave, depressing, still, silent. Apart from the hunters’ guns which crack occasionally somewhere in the distance or too close.

    Even cars seem not to move, as if some Higher Power flattened their batteries by divine Prote- or Catho- laying on of hands, for 24 hours. The only real sound is the neighbour going down to the village to fetch bread on his trial bike which he never uses at any other time.

    And if you go out you almost feel you're breaking some unwritten Shabbat law about doing stuff on a Sunday. People seem to look you a bit oddly, a cold judgemental stare.

    What people do with the day is unclear. No one seems to go out, garden, do anything, though occasionally odd strolling groups can be spotted round the lake or wandering gently along the nature paths, rather like those flocks of fat geese that crash land here for a few days on the way somewhere else and stumble round the fields feeding and flapping their wings, just being social, catching up with the feathery news.

    My theory is that the locals get up late, eat lunch, then snooze all afternoon, get up, eat, watch the film on TV then go to bed. Without speaking.

    But this year is definitely different. I positively prayed for Sunday, couldn't wait for the silence to fall. Which is partly the fault of the strikers (it doesn’t matter which as someone is always on strike here!) and partly the fault of the calendar as the day, the great day fell on a Friday, thus between the strike day, Thursday, and Saturday. No, not the first day of Spring, welcome though it was, but another much more significant day, always marked in the community as a day of rictual and effort and noise.

    It was, of course, as everyone knows, Grasscut Day, that great annual rictual of the First Cut, when every mower for miles around is dragged out, kicked, fuelled and started, hopefully. Then the man of the house pushes it round every inch of the green sward, smoking, protesting, striking stones, killing any live creature in its way.

    And woebetide any mower that fails to start for it is sworn at, kicked again, disassembled, and more often than not, replaced by the latest FI lookalike. All that sir needs is a helmet.

    And sir, rolls of flat wobbling from winter indulgence when the teashirt shrunk by at least one size, jeans too low and unbuttoned, hunter's boots shiny clean, sir waddles round getting sweatier and sweatier, swearing because the grassbox clogs up, sticks his hand in to clear it and collects a dry dog turd.

    Madame usually bends herself over a flowerbed and pfaffs around, her even larger derrière stuck up in the air, revealing the top of a string, and sickly pink, mottled, winter flesh.

    But this year, the fest lasted not one day, which is quite acceptable, but three; on the first day, the strikers (plus skivers) cut their grass, on the second, the 35 hour weekers and the laid off and finally, on Saturday, those who really work a full week, which means workers in the private sector or those who work for themselves.

    Which meant three days of a minimum of eight mowers at a time, all day, even unto dusk, shattering the peace, stinking out the place, in a cacophony of a Briggs and Stratton symphony.

    Unfortunately, this hell coincided with two other days of note; Brushcutter Day and Chopitalldown Day, each with their stinking high pitched motors, competing to add a new section to the mower orchestra.

    We, the dogs, and I, took refuge at the beach, with a substantial picnic. And prayed for Sunday.

    Valentines Day

    in Other Topics

    Posted

    Not noticed any shortages here apart from at the beginning of the first shutdown and then only for a short time.

    My village mayor had the brilliant idea of starting a small market for the village and those around. Brilliant, can get all the basics weekly and have a chat with loads of folk.

    But back home and shut down by 1800hrs.

    Garden in a mess

    in Gardening

    Posted

    Noisette, to reply, minimal potager largely grow beans and pumpkin type things but good fruit bushes; the freezer is groaning with raspberries and gooseberries. A few apples but the trees are only two or so years old so, hopefully, more to come.

    All types of flowers, particularly dahlias but I lift them late autumn. Wallflowers, roses, sweetpeas do exceptionally well.

    The soil here is very rich, as the moles have found, because the previous owners but one ran it as a small holding and self sufficiency plot.

    The biggest problem is drought in the summer. I have five good sized waterbutts but they are never enough. Thinking of pumping from the nearest stream.

    This winter has done damage as the ground was frozen hard quite deeply so we shall see what has survived. I am worried about pot plants of which I have far too many and loads of heucheras, largely as border plants. They all look very sad now but I shall start singing to them soon which will frighten them into growing!
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