mint

hedge

match

fondue

jon i thought she'd been pregnant for 18 months, so how is that an accelerated labour?

Bravo, bravo, Cassis to the rescue!

Cassis why don't YOU write about the 6 frenchmen?  Look, you can only deal with ASPECTS of the story at any one instalment, you know. And anyway, how do you know there isn't anything in the pipeline (sorry about the pun) about the frenchmen?  Just watch this space, kiddo! regards

smelling

"Right, nobody moves!" Jean-Louis's voice booms across the square with the aid of a megaphone.  Well, don't expect me to know why he speaks like a cop in a cheap American TV movie.  Maybe he says, "Messieurs Dames, ne bouchez pas, s'il vous plait!" The only policemen I have ever come across on both sides of the channel have always been at their most menacing when they have smiled and addressed me as "madam". The punters in the square stop in mid action.  Dawid and Stanislav lower their spearguns.  They look at each other with fear in their eyes.  What with the hard times they have had doing all sorts of unmentionable things merely to keep body and soul together, this for them is the worst case scenario.  Since they left their native Poland 18 months ago, life has not been easy.  But then, when WAS life easy for a Pole?  With the zloty worth little more than a quarter of a euro, it's hard graft just to get enough to eat, without having to worry about being illegal immigrants caught in this nightmare situation. Pierre-Yvres and his army also freeze.  To be honest, they now feel a little foolish and the peasants are beginning to wonder why they have so rashly left their warm homes to follow the madman tax collector. The only motion in the square is the slurry pump which continues to peristaltically eject its liquid contents accompanied by the whine of its pump. The police phalanx look the part.  With riot gear hastily donned in the van, their full-body protecting shields held in strategic position and truncheons lifted aloft, they look the very picture of ruthless determination.  The spectators in the square cannot know that behind all the gear, this lot truly have no idea!  To Jean-Louis and his men, this is like a pantomime, mere play-acting.  After all when have they ever had to put on all this stuff since their time taking part in police school drills? How this frozen tableau would have dispersed is anybody's guess because even as Jean-Louis is racking his brain to see how he can next profitably conduct himself, a scream of animal intensity cuts into the silence of the onlookers.  It comes from Marie-Therese.  "My baby, my baby, it's on its way.  Somebody call an ambulance!"  

holder

furnished

retail

cancer-inducing (see, meg & mog, only ONE word)

comediennes

dick my post was also deleted.  i also wrote a jokey reply to chris' advert.  seems that some people have NO sense of humour and cannot appreciate those of us who retain a bit of fun in our adulthood c'est domage.  but i am only a new member and obviously not au fait with all the rules and regulations. has anyone been thrown off the forum and forbidden to return, ever?  

puss (meow!) sorry, meg & mog.  won't do it again!

sweet, dried (take your pick)

Will You don't half know a lot about resources re the French Language.  I have to write a letter to EDF and now feel quite well able to do it. Also, I was so inspired by the other bits & bobs on the site that I have ordered the language course for myself (ostensibly) but in the hope that my dear husband will pick it up out of sheer curiosity and do some work on his French! Thanks, Will

thanks meg & mog.  i shall be needing these people soon as well.  what i find is that it's not just the appliances that appear expensive, it's things like the "add-ons" such as plumbing in a washing machine, etc.

Hoddy I am assuming that you have to "rest" the pastry as normal before rolling out?

Back at Chez Pompodore de Frou-Frou, Madame Colette de Frou-Frou loads the machine a laver la vaiselle.  She cannot think what Pierre-Yves could have gone off in such a hurry about!  It is not normale to be rushing off after le diner in such a fashion. She looks around her cuisine Americaine.  It is SUCH a pretty little kitchen.  There is the cuisiniere electrique, the frigidaire and the l'evier en acier inox.  A vrai dire, she has tout le confort moderne and tous les gadgets modernes!  What more could une francaise want in life? And yet, and yet...................... She recalls the encounter with Jon in the Intermarche only this morning.  She had been waiting at the fish counter to be served.  She does not normally go to the Intermarche.  She doesn't like the fact that it is called "Les Trois Mosquetaires"!  Why that Alexandre Dumas has gained such an international reputation writing about those ridiculous men, she cannot imagine.  Musketeers, what PURPOSE do they serve in contemporary French life?  Anyway, she has a jeton for the supermarket trolley and she might as well use it AND the carte de fidelite that she has been provided with. Back to this morning...., she was waiting, as explained, at the fish counter, for the filet de saumon which was on "promotion" that morning.  Much as she would like to be like maman and be able to buy the best of everything, she knows that, inevitably, she has to watch the centimes and stoop to look at things like "promotions" and special offers.  For it is not easy to lead the life that she and Pierre-Yvres would like to be accustomed to on a tax collector's salary. As she waits for Aurelie, the fish counter assistant, to greet her and ask what madame would like today, she turns to find herself greeted with an over-friendly "bonjour, ca va?" in a foreign tone.  She adjusts her focus and sees before her the bearded Jon, le rosbif of her acquaintance. Of course, she has been unable to totally ignore les rosbifs that seem to more and more be crossing into her life at her south Vendeen village but, this Jon, this rosbif is like no other she has encountered before.  For one thing, he is so..... tall and is really un bel homme in his foreign way.  Now he bends down to plant a kiss on both her cheeks.  The impertinence!  Why, they are only on "vous" terms and his accent is execrable! Colette blushes and manages, just, to return her "pas mal" in what she hopes passes for a polite but stand-off tone of voice.  However, she is not to be let off so lightly for now the rosbif is saying,"Voulez vous bien me dire 'tu' au lieu de 'vous'?" Half fainting with the unexpectedness of it all, Colette finds herself nodding in an uncertain way. The rosbif is now inviting her to call him "Jon".  As he so succinctly puts it, "Je ne m'appelle pas Monsieur; je m'apelle Jon!" Colette's heart misses a beat.  Not for many years has she had such attention from a man.  She appraises the rosbif.  She supposes that in his foreign way, he is QUITE attractive.  But, he has such unrefined manners and such a FAMILIAR way of  greeting her and talking to her.  It is definitely NOT the French way. Colette starts from her reverie.  She looks at the clock in her kitchen.  The hands point to 11 o'clock.  It is now a good hour since Pierre-Yvres has left the house in such a hurry.  Where is he? Little can poor Colette know that Piere-Yvres is at this very moment heading a convoy of assorted French peasantry across the French country side where owls are hooting their hearts out and foxes are watching with gleaming red eyes at the headlamps of the vehicles of Piere-Yvres and his army.  The juggernaut with the "exceptionelle" cargo of nuclear waste and the impressive flank of traffic police outriders rumbles past in the starry-lit night of the French countryside.  Colette frowns a little.  She feels slightly uneasy; as though the world that she has always known and loved has tilted on its axis.      

It is the following day and Pierre Yves has thought about his evening meeting with his army at the Boules d'Or all day at his office. With barely concealed impatience, he  has seen off a succession of the riff-raff at his ministry office.  He has dismissed most of their queries and complaints with the aplomb and inattention to detail as befits the new Napoleon.  Bof, what do they know about taxes, never mind the taxe de sejour.  Useless to explain to the imbeciles.  Even more useless to explain to these noveau arrivees, les rosbifs, who run their B & Bs on French soil.  B&B, qu'est-ce que c'est que ca?  What the devil are B & Bs; isn't chambres d'hote good enough for them? He looks up at the gilt ormulu clock on the wooden mantel piece hewn out of a solid piece of good French oak.  Beneath the mantel piece roars a log fire in the Godin stove.  The spare logs in their log basket, the fire irons and gridirons are arranged just so on the hearth.  The clock chimes 7 o'clock. Pierre Yves sighs - still 3 hours to go to his meeting.  Nevermind, meanwhile his little wife, Collette, is preparing his diner and he feels in need of sustenance before the fateful rendezvous that is to come. "Alors, ma cherie, un aperitif!"  With that, he pours 2 inches of Pineau Charente into Colette's glass and 3 inches into his own.  They sip appreciatively. Pierre Yves looks with newly-critical eyes at Colette.  He takes note of the difference in Colette's bearing.  Does she not look a bit more, how shall we say, "ANIMATED"?  And what is that new subtle change of couleur in her hair?  What would you call it, "CHESTNUT" perhaps?  So, all les francaises dye (er..colour) their hair but gleaming chestnut is surely not how he left Colette's hair this morning?  Is this new incarnation anything to do with Jon, that despicable rosbif? Ah, here are les hors-d'oeuvre!  Colette deposits 2 plates of salade with andouille on the table.  "Andouille", now THAT's what he calls a civilised language.  And even I must admit that "andouille" sounds much more appetizing than chitterlings. He uncorks the bottle of vin rouge and fills their glasses.  "Bon appetit", he exclaims, while at the same time opening his splendid nostrils to the whiff of Colette's perfume.  Would that be her Chanel No 5, that she only uses on special anniversaires? The entree finished, Colette reapears with the roast rib of pork.  En suite, she brings in the tureen with the pommes roasted in duck fat. Oh, happiness must surely consist of roast pork and potatoes. Pierre Yves re-fills their glasses.  They savour their roast pork and, when knife and fork do not suffice, they pick up the pieces of ribs in their fingers and gnaw off the meat.  They dip their fingers in the finger bowls and wipe them on the serviettes embroidered with their respective initials, after removing them from les ronds des serviettes. Madame now produces the cheese board.  Now, what would he have this evening?  Perhaps a piece of that goat's cheese he is so fond of?  Or shall he take the camembert as it's at just the level of runny ripeness he favours?  What a choice! Pierre Yves dips his spoon into the creme brulee and sighs with repleteness and satisfaction.  Say what you like, his Colette can produce a dinner, just so.  Of course, Auchan is a mere 5 minutes from their pavillion, but he is sure that his wife has prepared all of this grand repast all by her little self. He goes to the sideboard and pours himself a cognac and Colette a little liqueur.  The wallpaper, in glorious greens and reds and fawns in a pattern of leaves and garlands of flowers, provides the room with an air of genteel domesticity and warmth.  How happy he is and how like a general he feels! The coffee warms the cockles of his heart.  He is the complete picture of a man, happy in his own French world.  He glances at the clock.  But, it is only 2 minutes to his meeting with his new comrades! He gives Colette a hurried and, I regret to say, perfunctory kiss on her cheek; pulls on his cashmere and wool coat, dons his matching muffler and gloves.  He does not forget his (that is, Madame's) beret and goes out into the clear, star-lit night.  He is a man with a destiny.  Nevermind that his meeting is with Bernard with the missing arm, Bruno of the missing fingers, Yves with the 2 lazy eyes, rotund Gabriel, Stephane the hunchback, Joel with the hernia and Christophe the barman.  Are they not his very own army with which he will defeat les anglais?     

dick, please don't spoil it now by spilling the beans.  AND do take that tongue out of your cheek!

ian thank you for the recommendation.  will give dave a call next week when we are in france. most grateful, ian

live (watch out!)

hi everybody who have answered and many thanks.  of course, it's just as important to know which ones to avoid as which ones to use have now decided to use a broker to do all the boring bits like matching up companies for us. will post a message about experience in case it is of help to others on the forum thanks, all