When is an ex-pat not an ex-pat.

Firstly, let me apologise for a three-week gap in writing. I find from time to time I suffer from a sort of bloggers block, when I can`t think of anything interesting or topical to say. I hope you haven`t all given up on me.
  Well, what has happened while I have been off the air?  Let me see....  Kim has suffered from a problem with her knee (not the stainless steel one) which became so painful she gave in and visited the Doctoress. She advised an X-ray, which is scheduled shortly and prescribed anti-inflammatories. Kim was afraid, of course, that another replacement knee was needed, but there are signs that it may be less serious. We shall see what the X-ray reveals; å suivre..
  On a more cheerful note, we have agreed that our new neighbours, Monique and Christian. can give us French cuisine lessons, which has resulted in a shared gourmet meal each Tuesday. YUMMM... I might give you a few hints as to how we got on later.
  As hinted in my photo the weather has been foul, cold and wet, very unusual and disappointing for France. Still, that will no doubt change soon. If not I shall be measuring up for a real Ark.
   But I was writing about ex-pats. It`s not a term I like, I do not think of myself under this label. A few days ago Jaqui, in her excellent and far more reliable blog The  French Village Diaries, spoke of her life as an ex-pat.  Myself I don`t feel that I am exiled from the land of my birth. Although we have decided to live here full time, it is only a case of a house removal, as one might choose, as we did, to move from Portsmouth to Plymouth. I didn`t think of myself as an ex-Portsmuthian then, , nor did I seek out and frequent others who might have made a similar move. I am me, and where I choose to lay my head is not all that significant. Luckily we are both fairly fluent in French so the language is not a problem. We have spent several happy afternoons chatting to Monique and Christian as easily as we chatted to our English neighbours Liz and Philip on Saturday, when we drove them back to Poitiers to catch the train. It was amusing this morning, when our friend Clive called, to realise that we had chosen to talk in French, although all three of us were born British. Clive is officially French, having taken out French nationality 30 years ago. He has spoken French so long that he is happier in that language than his own! I suppose these hints suggest that much of the `ex-pat` mentality is allied to the language problem.
  Still, whatever makes you happy is good, I suppose. I shall continue to think of myself as European by choice and English by birth.
 

     Bye for now, going to make us a cup of tea and an aperitif...