Nest-building

My faithful readers will recall that we had a drama involving the loss by lightning strike of our chaudiere or hot-water tank. I had to replace the whole thing in the end which in turn needed the dismantling of the cupboard that surrounded it. The new tank was of less capacity than the old one, but in the cussed nature of things, turned out to be a little stouter than the old one, which was tall and thin.
  We decided to turn the subsequent need to re-model the cupboard to advantage to add an airing cupboard above the cylinder. As Kim is spending a few weeks in the UK I was able to potter around with this and eventually produced the masterpiece you see above.  The bottom door gives access to the cylinder, the top to the new airing cupboard. Never one to buy new materials if I can avoid it, I used the tongue and groove rescued from the old enclosure, with the addition of a new door manufactured chiefly from the back of an old wardrobe.
  The next project to be tackled was the provision of a larger computer desk as Kim is coming back with a rescued Apple which may need to co-exist with her old machine for a while. She also needs more space to carry on her hobby of card-making. The top of the new unit came from the `dockyard-built` wardrobe which had also furnished the top of the original unit, the rather fetching drawer unit came from an old bedroom cupboard which also provided wood for the wider shelf needed to store our files. It makes a solid rather than elegant corner unit which you can admire above right.
  Now I am the first to admit that my bricolage is not cabinet-work and shows traces of the timber`s previous incarnation where hinges and pivots have been removed.  However it is purpose built to our requirements, re-uses old materials in an environmental way, and, best of all----- ITS FREE!!!


     Bye for now.

Cutting Edge--For love or money

Looking back on previous posts, I find I haven`t blogged for some time about my hobby of collecting pocket-knives. To revive your flagging ( or non-existent ) interest, I thought we could take a look at a couple of exotics.
    What man isn`t interested in the female form, or in money? These two knives are bound to touch a chord whatever your bent ( no double entendre intended! ) The left-hand example shows a knife in the form of a well-rounded female form in what we used to call kinky boots. Something a bit unusual to have in your pocket and perhaps not an implement to clean your nails with in church. Still, it is a practical little knife in spite of its seductive form which does supply what the French call a `bonne prise en main` This one is a re-creation of a style more known in the Thirties by Etienne Issard for Hachette collections, as is the next example, even more strange.
    Imagine a knife with two blades contained in a completely round handle, reminiscent of a coin. Might even foil the airport security X-ray, though I would not like to bet on it. Imagine the nausea if they did detect you smuggling a KNIFE onto the plane! I really feel it would be a timid pilot who would be threatened into flying me to Havana ( not a place I have any yen to see ). Again the knife is quite practical and can be freely used. Open, the two blades strangely remind one of Bugs Bunny! The form used to be known as a Louis, as the original idea was to cut a large coin in two and make a kniffe from that. It would have been very small, perhaps something to clean your nails with and M. Issard has decided to make something a bit more practical, while sticking to the same form. Two unusual knives, I think you will agree, but they add a certain charm to anyone`s collection.

   Next time I return to this subject, I will revert to showing you some of the diverse regional knives which are France`s chief claim to fame chez the enthusiast.

             Bye for now.
  
 

There ought to be a law against it!

I love living in France, and mostly I like the French people I meet, specially the country ones (Parisiens seem to be another breed). But from time to time you stub your toe against the fact that there are major cultural differences and today I want to muse about two which have come to my notice in the past couple of days.
  They do love their rules and regulations! The English are no slouches when it comes to stupid laws but are left miles behind by the French. I came across a prime example yesterday in our local free magazine the Tournesol. Did you know that up to 2005 you needed a government licence to carry a white walking stick?!  Yes it was true, there was a government department responsible for issuing this vital document and, I suppose, monitoring the sanctions in force against those people wicked enough to carry one induement. You can imagine the Gendarme stopping the poor blind person and demanding sight of his permis to carry.  Absolute madness! Who the hell would carry one if he was not blind? Whatever advantage would he enjoy? Who was the maniac who thought you needed a law and the administration involved? Luckily the French have seen the light (sorry no pun intended) and have removed from official circles the need to issue these vital permits. But did they suppress the permit itself? Of course not, they just privatised the issue to associations dealing with blind persons, so the system rolls happily on. Just one more cross to bear for people whom fate has already punished enough.
     The other French particuliarité that has been in the news recently is the strikes on the SNCF following the tragic attack by a disturbed person on a ticket inspector. He  stabbed the official when it transpired he had no ticket and was promptly arrested and is now in custody. Did I say strike? Wash my mouth out with soap and water! This is not a strike, just the railway staff using their right to withdraw their labour if a clear and imminent danger to health or safety exists. As it is not a strike, there is no question of a minimum service or 48 hours notice being required or of any stoppage of pay.
  Where is this imminent danger? The nutter has been locked up and there is no more danger to staff than there ever was. Yet every train in France was off service yesterday and all the SNCF staff were enjoying a day`s paid holiday. The English had the reputation of being strike-happy a few years ago but at least they didn`t expect to get paid for it. No wonder there is a huge subsidy on the rail. I don`t want to minimise the injuries suffered by the unfortunate inspector, but this response was completely disproportionate.
   Well, having got these moans out of my system, I`m going to have some breakfast. At leat I don`t need a permit for that!

                    Bye for now!
 

A shaggy cat story from the Ark.

Talking about funny stories, like that I mentioned yesterday, reminded me of a true life drama I heard many years ago when I was working in the Revenue at Southampton. A colleague whose other half worked in the Ford Transit factory near Southampton told me what she swore was a true tale.
    The main character was a fitter, who worked in the factory. His wife used to make up a packed lunch each day and one morning, seeking something a bit different, she opened a long-forgotten tin of salmon for his sandwiches. He duly left for work and the wife, finding she had a spoonful left, gave it to the cat for a treat.
  Later that morning she found the cat unconscious in the garden. She rushed it to the vet who diagnosed a food poisoning and prescribed an emetic which speedily revived the animal. He asked what it had eaten abnormal, and the wife said nothing except a bit of salmon...oh, my God!!
   She rang the factory, and a Tannoy announcement went out for Mr. ------- to come to Personnel at once and on no account to eat his packed lunch. TOO LATE he had snacked on a sandwich at morning tea-break!  He was rushed to Southampton General in an ambulance and luckily a speedy stomach pumping saved him from any ill-effects. The heroic cat had saved the day.
  Next morning the milkman called for his weekly money, and asked if the cat was OK. The wife said it was fine now, but enquired how the milkie knew of its problems, as he passed in the early morning normally. `Very sorry, Missus but I accidentally dropped a full bottle of milk on its head yesterday`  !!! The story was too good to keep secret and speedily did the rounds! Hope you find it amusing too.

    Bye for now.

The tournesol, our local free magazine.

Yesterday I mentioned our local free rag, so today I thought I`ld review it a bit, both to popularise it in its region and for interest`s sake for those of you who are outside its distribution area.
  We get loads of publicité  or advertising here, both delivered by the post and by an independent chap on a moped. We have never bothered to stop it and in fact like to glance through the special offers before consigning them to re-cycling. It`s good for our French if nothing else. But I always am pleased to discover among the dross the monthly mag, Le Tournesol.


  The mag does of course contain lots of adverts for local services and firms and also free ads for a fascinating selection of objects for sale.  By taking up its offers, you could provide yourself for example with a new house, wife, donkey, tractor, bed etc., etc., all that one could possibly want! But it also contains well-written article on a wide variety of subjects.
   Glancing through this month`s issue, there are articles covering the rentrée,the re-classification of the ex-planet Pluto as a dwarf (bet you didn`t know that!) a regional artist,the discovery of an ancient prehistoric skull, the rules of Rugby, (didn`t know it had any), numerology, the Isle de Bréhat, advice on keeping your sun-tan but losing your blackheads, eating, contraception, side effects in medicine, and that`s only about half! But what really endears the mag to me is that it publishes little jokes like the one I cited yesterday, some of them politically incorrect. For example, it has been pillorying the reputed daftness of blondes. E.g. a blonde before a job interview board. Interviewer, holding out hand, `Diplome`  Blonde replies `Plome...`  I am sure there`s a law against it!
  My favourite joke thus published, is one based in Corsica on a twisting mountain road. A male motorist approaching a bend is suddenly confronted with a woman driver coming round the bend on the wrong side of the road. He manages to screech to a stop, but his justifiable rage is redoubled by the woman, who winds down her window and shrieks `Cochon!!`  Stung by this adding of insult to injury, he winds down his own window and shouts`-----`( This word deleted by order of Mrs. Noah who points out this is a family blog) Fuming, he roars off round the corner, where he nearly runs into a large sow sunning itself in the road. Swinging the wheel wildly he ends up upside down in the ditch... Never does to jump to conclusions!
  There are loads more just as good (or bad) as this over the months. I urge all who receive this little mine of information not to throw it straight in the bin!

                   Bye for now!

One whole month!

Just a little `progress` report and a comment on the `service` I received from a famous chain of DIY shops. I won`t reveal the name but I shall  be going back there SELDOM!
  To set the scene, just over a month ago, a near lightning strike knocked out our phone and also our hot water heater. Axa sent us a claim form and will consider when the bills are to hand. An electrician friend established that the heating element in the boiler had been burnt out and a replacement would be needed.
  We returned to the branch where we had bought our heater and asked for a replacement element. Of course nothing could be done without full details of the serial nos etc. -- first line of defence to prevent constructive action chez a retailer! With some difficulty ( the cylinder is in a built-in cupboard) I copied all the figures on the spec. panel, and the résponsable assured me he would order the part and ring me. Nothing heard for a week, I rang to check Nothing yet, awaiting response to his order. He would phone etc Six calls later the sad monthly anniversary has arrived. You CAN keep clean using kettles of hot water, but it is neither convenient or comfortable... A final call found the chief on leave(?) but he had left a note with his deputy to say the serial nos. were insufficient did we have any others? I informed the deputy that we were tired of having no hot water and had decided to replace the entire cylinder. I then cut off his eager enquiries by saying that hell would freeze over before I bought it, or anything from SELDOM.
  It is not so much the inability to replace the missing part that galls me but the lack of urgency or even competence. If he had rung back in say a week I might well have considered replacing the unit at his shop. But I have NEVER had a call back in these circumstances, and an order for a chainsaw bar from a local branch of the same store has also been outstanding some months. I would advise all my readers to avoid these stores, who don`t seem to have heard of the words after-sales service. If you can`t decipher the name of the store from my little riddle I would be delighted to clarify,
  This lack of consideration reminds me of a funny story I read in our excellent local free magazine, `The Tournesol.`  A householder was overrun with mice. He called in the local pest-control operative who arranged the loan of a cat for a period. The cat did the trick, in no time there was not a mouse to be seen. The householder was so pleased he asked to keep the cat and this was agreed for a price. A few weeks later the mice were as bad as ever and he called the pest control chap.  `Well, you see, M`sieur, it`s the cat.... Now he`s on the permanent staff....   Enough said?

    I feel better now. Bye for now.

Cévennes holiday

Before I leave the subject of our recent holiday in the Cévennes region ( Don`t want to bore you to death ) let me add the two impressions that struck me most forcibly. The first is the form of the hills. Though very high, up to 1200 metres, they were much more rounded than the peaks in the Pyrenees near Argelès to which we are more accustomed. They reminded me more of Dartmoor on a more heroic scale, with no peaks as such, just occasional outcrops of rock protruding from the wooded hills.

The second impression is the mania of the inhabitants to erect their houses on the most unsuitable sites imaginable. Not for them a house in the valley next to a main road ( well some did of course ) But some stiff-necked former inhabitants decided to vie with each other to find sites on the tallest rock around Like this pic below. Others built their town at the bottom of a hole in the ground a kilometre in depth, as at Navacelles (see pic on the left ) with access by two frighteningly steep roads winding down the sides of the abyss. I have to admit the result is highly picturesque, but the mind boggles at the effort involved. Just think of the effort required to carry up materials or to dig out the corniches for the access roads!
Perhaps the explanation lies in the fact that there just isn`t much flat land to be had, and that land is more urgently required for farming.

 In any event, the result is a landscape most pleasing to the eye, without the benefit of any town planning or architects` drawings!

   Bye for now, time for breakfast.