Re: Salmonesca Returns !!!

[Gardian]

Bazzer hadn't got where he was today without being sensitive to international tastes.

It was an open-air seating area and while the rest of the 'team' was getting stuck in to their Toad, served with chips and baked beans, the bloke from Brive was getting his with a bit of salad on the side and a few slices of tomato. He just didn't seem to be enjoying it though, but that was undoubtedly a small cultural difference.

Baz had had the foresight to send Kev off to find the boy Florian - his translation skills would doubtless prove invaluable.

"Some pud squire?" asked Baz. 

"Beh oui, merci" said P-Y, wishing that he'd been offered some cheese to help take the taste away of the ghastly Crapaud en Quelquechose. Maybe a nice dessert would be better than any fromage that the assembled Anglais could come up with.

The boy Florian arrived and started to explain to P-Y that this was just an equipe of nice Anglais who were helping out their friend in order to bring some much-needed income to the area. "Think of them as friends of the Commune, with just one aim in mind - the wellbeing of all who live here".  Kev's €50 note nestled comfortably in the back pocket of Florian's jeans.

Just then the pud arrived. Salmonesca flowed in to the restaurant patio like an Albanian galleon (is there such a thing?) and said with a flourish "Voila le dessert".  

P-Y and Sal's eyes met in an instant. She dropped the platter of 'Gateau du Foret Noir'. P-Y took in the horror of the moment and then swooned, disappearing backwards from his bench.

"Something wrong with the pud?" said Baz.  

[Gardian]

Pierre-Yves started to come round.

He was dimly aware of voices around him speaking in a variety of languages - well, only two actually. Before his eyes began to focus, his hands touched a sort-of sticky slime on his clothes. What could that be?

As his eyes opened and began to focus, the words "Pierre-Yves, don't leave us, don't leave us" were uttered close to his ear in a familiar accent. His eyes finally focussed on Salmonesca's ample cleavage and he slipped back in to unconsciousness.

                    ........................ 0 ............................

Happily, Urgences at Brive Hospital was quiet that afternoon. The young doctor asked the nurse what the problem was with the admission in Booth 3.

"Black Forest Gateau syndrome"

"Oh, ok - better admit him and keep him in overnight for observation"

[nectarine]

Salmonesca paced up and down her kitchen, frantic with worry. Unknown to her the Black Forest Gateau that she'd prepared had been spiked by Baz, who'd thought it would be fun to add in a few brightly coloured mushrooms that he'd found in the woods earlier that day. Well, the boys needed to relax and what better than a dose of magic mushrooms to get the party started? But he'd forgotten this when he served that lanky French bureaucrat a slice and had watched, in increasing amusement, as the twitchy little official had turned yellow, then green, then white before slithering off his chair onto the floor.

"What have you done" Salmonesca had cried. "Don't you know who he is?" she'd wailed. "How could you, how could you" she'd cried before running up the stairs to her room. Baz was baffled, it had just been a bit of fun.

Sal continued to pace while her mind worked overtime. Her past was coming back to haunt her ... no, not just the artistic films, but earlier, those cold winter days when she, and other students, had sat in warm cafes nursing a coffee, trying to make it last as long as possible, while they plotted the Uprising. Covert conversations, whispers, secret trysts ... oh yes, the plans they'd had, their grand vision of life after the Revolution. She'd even broken into the photocopying room of the local library to snatch a copy of the council's plans to build a new bus shelter in the High Street ... a document that was vital to their success.

.

[Cendrillon]

Suddenly, a shout and a frantic knock at the door, all was not well at the camp. The Black Forest Gateau was definitely showing its dark side and some of the lads were now feeling distinctly off colour. Baz once more to the rescue agreed to drive them to Brive. He doubted whether any of them had bothered to get an EHIC card before they came over.

[Cendrillon]

Fortunately Pierre-Yves had not actually eaten the dessert it was just the horror of seeing Salmonesca again that had sent him into a deep shock and after careful observation he was soon released from the hospital. As for the boys and their sickness, well that was another matter.

[Gardian]

M le Prefet de Correze sat opposite Pierre-Yves in the Brasserie de Brive and fixed his steely eyes on him.

"It isn't often that I take the time out of my busy schedule to deal with matters like this personally, but it has come to my attention that there were certain events in one of our Communes last week that involved you?"

P-Y nodded half-heartedly and gulped. He did a lot of gulping these days.

Le Prefet continued. "Now ........... how can I put this without sounding threatening? This is a matter of the utmost secrecy and if any word of this reaches the outside world, there are certain parts of your nether regions that could well end up on the menu here, with or without Sauce Tomates".

P-Y gulped again.

"There is a strong possibility that Le Tour de France will pass through my departement next year and through that Commune. An inspection is to take place next week and all must be tranquille. The paysans there and that fool of a Maire must be taken in hand and whilst you have no jurisdiction over them, you started it, so sort it out. Understand? Report back by Friday"

P-Y decided to skip lunch and left Le Prefet to his Caillettes, with La Patronne beaming in admiration at her new-found and prestigious client.

  

[nectarine]

P-Y made urgent notes. La Tour De France ..! The whole world's eyes would be on his little corner of France and he would be judged accordingly. What route would they take? Ah yes, probably coming down from the hills (note to self: remove any ugly trees), then winding past the old factory (note to self: repair broken windows, remove graffiti including the lewd references to Carla Bruni's decolletage), then past that row of little peasant cottages (note to self: demolish them ... no, there was no time, stick loads of hanging baskets in front of them so they looked like rural chic dwellings). Then the Tour, and all the world's cameras would come into the main square. P-Y would insist that all the shop fronts were cleaned, posters removed, shop displays organised, bins arranged symmetrically, flower displays in place. There wasn't much he could do about the ugly villagers except perhaps arrange a free winetasting at a local vineyard - that would get rid of some of the uglier ones. Then out past the mairie - which was, of course, perfect, and along by the lane and out into the countryside. There were no more dwellings ... but of course, there was. The English woman's house! Within view of the road! The cameras would see everything - she had to be stopped! But the inspection was next week, what could he do?

[Gardian]

Salmonesca sat back and mused over the events of the last week or so.

Half of Bazzer's equipe was in hospital in Brive la Gaillarde, having fallen foul of his mushroom jape.  The other half, those of much stronger constitution, were down at the village bar with Baz, drowning their friends' sorrows in more than a few litres of the local brew.

How was it possible (other than in a daft thread like this) for a woman of her standing to end up in French backwater and meet up yet again with that uninspiring, dull, and just plain half-wit? No, she wasn't thinking about her husband Baz, but Pierre-Yves.

There were things to do. L'equipe had to be motivated in to action. When that lot finally got back from the bar, she would read the Albanian riot act to them and get things going in the morning. There was a tourist season ahead and money to be made.

Just then, the phone rang. Probably Baz wanting her to fetch him and the boys back from the bar.

"Hello, Mas de Bazonesca", as they had decided to call it. (They felt that it had a certain Anglo-Albanian ring about it).

"Bonsoir Madame, c'est Monsieur le Pompidour ............. ehhh,,,,,, Pierre-Yves". "Est-ce que je peux passer demain matin?"

Salmonesca gulped (as so many do).

   

[nectarine]

Pierre-Yves replaced the phone with a satisfied smirk. Yes, the English woman had fallen for his line about visiting to welcome them to the village. They always did, the English ... ooh we've had a phone call from the mayor who wants to come and say hello. Whereas in fact the mayor just wants to come and see how fancy your house is, what the value of your furnishings is, in order to whack more taxes in your direction ... oh yes, and also to drink the whisky that the English freely offer.

But I digress. This Yves' and Salmonesca's tale. And the mayor had plans. He could not let this development go ahead, it must not be permitted. The building must be razed to the ground, erased permanently from the landscape, any memory blotted out. A house fire would be too suspicious, plus they'd probably profit on the insurance. No, he would have to find another way. Throw a handful of termites into the loft beams? No, that would take too long. Perhaps something to do with the fosse ... block it up in some way so it overflowed into the house and they would leave? A bit mucky. No, he would have to find a way that THEY would destroy the house themselves, willingly, and that no blame would attach to him.

But how? Then an idea came to him ... perhaps put a clause in their permit de construire that the whole building must be demolished and re-made. Yes, they'd agree to that. And then he could wait until they had taken it apart, brick by brick, and just the bare outlines of the foundations remained, then there would be some delay in the planning approval - yes, that was it - and the delay would go on for months.

Yves mulled it around in his mind. He cackled silently to himself. There were challenges, logistics to be worked out, but it could be done. Salmonesca would be defeated! Baz and his boorish oafs would be thwarted. The Tour De France would be his! Pierre-Yves eyes brimmed with tears of fierce French pride!

[Gardian]

Jean-Marie le Maire was brimming over (whatever that means). 

He was confused, desole, and all those French adjectives that convey something less than perfect - and there are many of those.

A call to a meeting in the Salle des Rencontres with that plonqueur from the DDE HQ at Brive. Out of order - it was he who called the shots in his Commune! Nonetheless, he was an important man, so why not go with the flow?

Le Conseil was gathered, or at least what what was left of them since the the last Election in 2009. 

Jean-Marie opened the meeting. "It is my pleasure to introduce to you the ................ "  "What are you Monsieur?" he said to P-Y

"I am Le Directeur du DDE de Brive!" said P-Y, "and tomorrow is an important day. Suffice to say that everything in this Commune must be nickel - and when I say nickel, I mean nickel".

Several of the remaining members of the Conseil wondered how many times this bloke had to say "nickel" before it would be understood what he wanted, but there you go.

"There is a potential problem", said P-Y.  "Down at the place, which I now believe is called Mas Bazi...... - truc. I can't remember the name....... there may be a problem. We need to descend on the place 1st thing tomorrow in order to get things in order."

There was one slightly discenting voice. Francoise, the district nurse and council member (who knew literally everything that was going on in the Commune including aches & pains, dodgy liaisons and anything else) piped up and said "Errrr, pourquoi??"

"Madame, c'est pour la France" said P-Y.

Francoise the District Nurse looked unconvinced.

Jean-Marie le Maire looked as though he didn't have a clue what what was going on (as usual).

Le Conseil would descend on Mas Bazonesca tomorrow morning.           

 

[nectarine]

Kev the builder, Fat Fred the driver and the rest of the gang were set to work. If work is what you can call it. First they needed a few beers to wake them up, then a beer and a fag for breakfast. After breakfast it was time for a tea-break although there was no tea, just another beer and a croissant ("it ain't even square" complained Fred, "so you can't put it in a toaster and cover it in peanut butter"). Then after the scratching, farting, various bodily excretions and another beer, they were ready to work.

Baz had shown them the plans for the new gite complex. Salmonesca had added her 'decorative touches' to her vision. It was hard for the builders (I use that term loosely) to work out the measurements since Salmonesca had doodled green and red hanging baskets all over the plans, masking the angles of joints and important structural dimensions. At the crucial load-bearing central structure, nothing could be seen of the load-bearing weight nor essential density of the wooden beams as Salmonesca had drawn a big dangly bird-and-butterfly dreamcatcher wind-chime.

But these were just petty details. Who cared if the whole of the weight and balance of the gite complex depended on the complex and crucial measurements of a single load-bearing column in the centre, upon which all the walls, the roof and everything would be tied? No these were little details. In Fat Fred's experience, if you swung the sledgehammed around enough, then banged in enough nails, then slopped enough plaster over the bits that didn't join properly to hide the obvious gaps, that was enough. The client would come in, the place would look OK and finished, you took the money and ran. Who cared if the building cracked and fell down three months later? You just changed your name, moved to a different area, and moved on.

This was easy money. Anyway, he'd better get the team working. But first, another beer ...

[Gardian]

Le Conseil met up at the Mairie.

Well, it wasn't quite the whole Conseil: half of them had fallen by the wayside over the preceding four years and since this was a weekday, there was just Jean-Marie and three others. A quorum or quartet, or whatever you wanted to call them.

Francoise, the District Nurse had a tendency towards stroppiness - often like that with medical people.

Bernard, the something or other, did a bit of this and bit of that around the Commune. As far as the Impots were concerned, he had no income: the reality was that he did jobs around and about for cash. No questions asked.

And finally Maurice. He was retired, slightly deaf and in need of a hip replacement. Apart from that, he was 100%.

Jean-Marie the Maire was of course the very opposite of a big company CEO, but he took his responsibilities very seriously and this Tour de france inspection just had to go well. "Right everybody, the Inspection will come by later today, but in the meantime we have to ensure that the Anglais don't let the side down". "All we have to do is ensure that this looks like a perfectly normal bit of development work which has been properly sanctioned and which won't queer our pitch".

"But it hasn't been sanctioned and from the looks of it, doesn't look like anything that any of us would want to have next door" said the stroppy Francoise.

Maurice nodded, but he hadn't caught a word of what had been said: he liked Francoise a lot, particularly when she fiddled with his ears on her occasional visits.

As for Bernard ........... it was all a bit of a bore, except that there might, just might be an earning opportunity in all of this.

Le Conseil set off for Mas Bazonesca to interview the Anglais. Time was short: the Tour Inspection Team was due that afternoon and they needed to have answers.

As they approached the 'Mas', their spirits dropped.  Massive Anglais flags flew over the development and Anglais music was blasting out at mega decibels from multiple ghetto blasters all around the site.  Maurice couldn't hear a thing, but the others were desoles.

They caught sight of Bazzer.   

      

[Gardian]

It was, of course, a big fuss about nothing.

Le Conseil exhorted les Anglais to be a bit more tranquille in what they were doing, but when it came to it, the Tour de France Inspection Team was more interested in the potholes just outside the village and the possible need for them to be filled.

Six months went by and it was early Spring. Kev and his team had (happily) returned to Angleterre and the gite complex was ready. Time for Mas Bazonesca to be taking bookings for the new season.

Le Tour was due to pass in mid-July and that had already delivered bookings. The first test was to come at Easter though, when two of their three gites were booked, one by a British family and the other by a Dutch couple.

Sal and Baz were excited: the past was behind them and the future looked bright. Francoise l'Infermiere had been engaged as the on-call medical bod: if anybody went down with anything iffy, then she'd be called on to administer something.

Bernard was the 'do-anything' man, just in case somebody locked themselves in the loo and needed freeing (believe me, that's happened to friends of ours!)

Good Friday loomed and all was more or less ready: the arrival of the first guests at Mas Bazonesca!    

[nectarine]

Salmonesca hummed happily to herself as she arranged wild flowers in a rustic pottery vase, and took through into the first gite. She smoothed the cotton tablecloth and placed the flowers there and turned, admiring the cool fresh colourscheme in the gite. Yellow and purple had been an adventurous choice but was, apparently, all the rage in the most chic country homes according to the design magazines. Yellow teatowels were neatly folded on the purple worktops, and all accessories were matched in these colours. Sal had also learned to knit and prided herself on the knitted dolly toilet roll covers which adorned the little toilet. She was so pleased with the look and had experimented further with the second gite which sported an orange and green theme. Baz hadn't been too sure at first but Sal had assured him that their gites would be celebrated as much for their style as for their superb location.

So everything was ready. She cast a final glance around and walked out of the gite door. The first guests, the Dutch, would soon be here.

Little did Sal know that the Dutch were not just bringing their luggage, but also a little 'something' that Baz had asked them to get. As long as they weren't stopped by the gendarmes and asked to open a car window, then the telltale smell of their illicit cargo wouldn't give them away.

[Gardian]

The Dutch car, with an attached 'remorque', appeared up the drive. The yellow number plates gave it away.  Years ago, if it was a 'Daf', that meant that it was Dutch.

Baz & Sal went out excitedly to greet their first guests.

"I'm Wim van Hooestenhague, and this is my wife Mathilde", he said in almost perfect English.

The pleasanteries continued, with the couple being shown to their gite. It was the gite with the orange & green theme, befitting the Dutch couple (well, the orange bit anyway).

Before leaving them, Baz asked Wim (pointedly) whether there was anything else that they needed to know.

"Do you have any herring?", said Wim.

"Well, my herring is all right, but Bernard's is a bit dodgy" said Baz. "Maybe we should talk tomorrow about what you've got in the romorque for me".

"OK", said Wim, despairing whether any Englishman would ever understand what he was saying despite his perfect English.

Just then, the Brits, arrived.     

[nectarine]

The 2012-reg Volvo pulled up the drive and parked and the back doors instantly opened, and two young children bounded out. The driver and his passenger - a smartly dressed man and his impeccably dressed and coiffed wife - got out of the car and called to the children "Anastasia! Demetrius! Now come back here to Mummy".

The children ignored her and ran excitedly around the yard. They'd been cooped up for hours in the back of the Volvo while Daddy and Mummy had educated them on French history and the architecture of the chateaux they'd passed on the way. All of their friends passed their car journeys with iPhones in their ears, or DVDs of Ice-Age 2 playing in the in-car entertainment system. But not their parents ... so the kids had so much pent-up energy.

They ran in circles around the garden screaming - Sal watched in irritation as they trampled her lavender plants, jumped up and ripped the flowers from her hanging baskets while the parents watched.

"Anastasia, please don't do that. It isn't nice" called Mummy. Anastasia ignored her,, as her attention was now caught up in jumping into the ornamental fish pond and scooping up the koi carp and flipping them out onto the gravel.

Sal didn't like to cause a scene so decided to try and be tactful. "Er, perhaps she shouldn't be in the fish pond, it's not child-safe at all" she said to the elegant woman who regarded the mayhem with disinterest.

"Oh don't worry, I like my children to explore, they are free spirits after all. Percival and I don't believe in discipline - we allow our children free rein without control. It's good for them to grow up without boundaries".

Demetrius meanwhile had jumped onto the Dutch trailer and had unclipped the bungee cords holding the cover in place. He ripped it off and called to his sister: "Stazzie, come here, see what I've found, you'll never believe it"

.

[Gardian]

Jean-Marie le Maire had spotted the arrival in the Commune of the Dutch couple. They were towing a remorque, which was unusual: most Hollondais towed caravans.

In the interests of the general wellbeing and security of the community, as opposed to being nosey, he felt that he should 'drift by' the gite complex of the Anglais in order to ................ well, in order to see what was going on. No sooner had he got there, than an Anglais vehicle turned up. Mayhem!!  Children everywhere, with the sort-of noise that didn't suit the Village. The fact that Marcel would regularly start up his combine harvester at 07.00 from time to time and Andre would often work with his angle grinder until 20.00 was irrelevant.

But there seemed to be a contretemps going on: the Hollandais seemed to be remonstrating with the Anglais and the ghastly Bazzer seemed to be trying to intervene. What to do?    

[Gardian]

Wim van Hooestenhague and his wife Mathilde were from Hilversum: apart from Amsterdam its the only place that non-Dutch people have heard of. They spend most of their time listening to the radio there.

He and the Englishman had come to an arrangement prior to their visit: plants = a free stay. Seemed like a good deal to him.

They had arrived and having got the herring business over with, he and Mathilde were just beginning to unwind after their long journey, when the British Volvo turned up. These people were something else! W & M were seasoned travellers and thought that they had seen it all. This lot were the co-gite renters from hell!

When the kids started ripping off the trailer cover, Wim saw red (or orange).

The strange Englishman also waded in and for a few moments. all hell broke loose. Not a good start to a holiday, but the awful kinder were restrained and the trailer was discreetly removed to the nearby barn.

Mathilde urged Wim to calm down and look forward to his wholesome meal of fish and spuds. She reassured him that she had saved the peelings to take back to Holland as normal.

Meanwhile, Jean-Marie was on his way to find out what was going on at Mas Bazonesca.  

[nectarine]

Jean-Marie pulled into the drive of Mas Bazonesca and got out of the car and surveyed the scene.

A tall smart Dutchman in a white linen suit was wrestling with the Englishman, who was dressed in a string vest and track suit bottoms. The Englishman was shouting "You've short-changed me you Gouda-munching rotter, I counted 'em and there's 10 missing".

The Dutchman aimed a punch at the Englishman's head, which sent him spinning into the lavender bushes. The Englishman jumped up and charged the Dutchman, headbutting him so he fell against the array of garden gnomes by the front door, sending them splintering into pieces.

Meanwhile, two women were shrieking at each other. The Englishwoman, her face streaked with tears, shouted "don't you tell me how to bring up my kids" while the Dutchwoman responded with "they deserve a good smack". The Englishwoman screamed "we don't believe in punishment, they're free spirits" and the Dutch woman replied "no, they're badly behaved brats".

Jean-Marie's attention was drawn to the pool where two hyperactive children were running around throwing what appeared to be small plants into the water. They ran into the barn and brought out another handful and threw those in so the surface of the pool had a film of dusty and earth. Then they pushed in the sunloungers and drinks tables, finally running back to pick up the barbecue base and drag it to the side and into the water.

With the men fighting, the women now pulling each other's hair and the English children wreaking havoc, Jean-Marie wondered what else he could find and walked to the back of the house.

There he stopped and watched: Salmonesca was wrapped in a passionate embrace with an elegant well-dressed man. In between their French kissing (and Jean-Marie thought: why did they call it French kissing? Most French he knew thought the whole idea of poking tongues into each other's mouth entirely unhygienic!), Salmonesco would pull back from her embrace and sigh "oh Percival, darling, darling, I thought we'd never meet again".

Then they both turned and met the shocked and disapproving stare of Jean-Marie.

"I can explain" said Salmonesca nervously ...

[Gardian]

Now, dear readers of this sordid little tale, you must be beginning to wonder how many liaisons our heroine Salmonesca has had in her life?

Well, in the last episode (when she first appeared) there was Pierre-Yves, now le Directeur of DDE HQ at Brive and formerly lots of other things. There was of course Group Captain Horrocks, currently languishing in a cell at Lille prison, but shortly due for release!

Her involvement with Jean-Marie the Maire some years ago at Kings Cross is a matter best not dwelled upon, but suffice to say that both remembered it fondly.

And as for Bazzer, her meeting with him took place a year or so back at a rock concert at Eltham Public Hall. It had been love at third sight and thus their change of life move to La Belle France. 

Suffice to say though that Sal was a lady who had 'been round the block', and you might be tempted to feel that the 'coming-together' of these former liaisons is a matter of extreme fiction.  Not true: it can happen to anybody at any time and Salmonesca was an Albanian through and through. She wasn't known as the 'Piranha from Tirana' for nothing.

Fate was fate and her 'beau' Percival had arrived.  

[Cendrillon]

 Salmonesca heroine

 Pierre-Yves, now le Directeur of DDE HQ at Brive and formerly lots of

other things.

Group Captain Horrocks, currently

languishing in a cell at Lille prison, but shortly due for release!

Jean-Marie the local Maire, but as a youth involved in the blue movie making

Bazzer current husband / partner, love at third sight

and thus the reason for their change of life move to La Belle France. 

Sal was a lady who had 'been round the

block' evidement!

Who was / is Percival??? was he in the previous episode?

Thanks for the resumé Gardian I was beginning to get very lost.[blink]

[nectarine]

Percival = Englishman who just arrived at the gite, with his wife ("Mummy" and two awful children Anastasia ("Stazzi") and Demetrius).

Yes it is easy to get lost, I have to keep re-reading to work out where we are ...

[Cendrillon]

Thanks Nectarine, I really must try to keep up ! I went away for a few days and lost the thread[:(]

[Cendrillon]

Blushing, Sal hurriedly explained that she and Percival had known each other albeit briefly, many years ago and were now Facebook friends. With such an uncommon name Percival had been easy to find via the Facebook search.  Indeed it was Sal who had suggested that Percival and family should come and spend their holidays in France. Marcia, wife of Percival was not best pleased, she did not like the look of Sal who she suspected was probably "all fur coat and no knickers"!

[Gardian]

Jean-Marie le Maire was perplexed and worried.

In all his time in the Commune - well all of his life actually - there had never been such a to-do as this. The only event which came anywhere near was when Michel had threatened to take his anglegrinder to a certain part of one of his friend's anatomy towards the end of the Quatorze Juillet bash a few years back.

It had all been been extremely unfortunate - just some small misunderstanding over a hand in the wrong place in the queue for the grillade.

Jean-Marie decided to take the bull by the horns and show the leadership that his electors had seen in him when he was elected unopposed a few years ago. He was well aware that tongues had been wagging furiously in the Commune and this had to be nipped in the bud.

"Monsieur Baz et Madame Sal.  Would it be possible for you to pass by the Mairie tomorrow at 10.00 for a meeting to discuss errrrr ................ certain matters of a nature delicat?"

"No probs, old fruit", said Baz, "See you manana."