the good list or the naughty list?

You know things have deteriorated when the first activity of the school holidays is to make a 'star chart'.

At the end of day one there are not many stars on it.

You know things are really bad when a conversation with your hubby goes something like: 'Shall we bother with cards bewtween us this Christmas?' ' Nah, they're very expensive for what they are'  'I agree.  We could buy ourselves a tin of Quality Street for the money'. 

There is now a shiny new purple tin sitting on the table.  Currently sealed and full.  But not for long. 

daytime tv

I'm ill.  In fact I am clearly very ill.  How do I know this?  Obviously I'm feeling a bit crap and I've been fighting it for two whole days now, soldiering on.  But now I'm paying for that, I've only made myself worse and for my sins I find myself on the sofa watching Daytime TV.  It's all I can manage.  I've not got to the point where I have to turn the sound off yet, but then I also have this little machine to distract me, so hopefully I'll make it through.  Besides, I'll have to get up later and trek to school, my eldest is in her school concert this afternoon.

Ooops!

I accidently brought the wrong children home from school today.  I didn't realise at first, they look very much like my girls, but clearly they are not.

My suspicions were first aroused on the way home when the eldest of the two announced that she had been chosen, along with a select few, to sing to the old biddies at a local day care centre next week.  Now, my eldest is a wonderful child and has many, many talents, but singing is definately not one of them. 

Then the youngest of the two announced that she hed received two stickers at school today, one for doing good tidying-up outside and the other for doing good tidying-up inside.  Again, my youngest is a wonderful child who has many, many talents, but she is completely incapable of tidying-up.

The evidence is too strong.  They cannot possibly be my children.  However, I have decided to keep them for the weekend, they are lovely girls and besides, it will make a nice change to have a tidy house and to listen to a pleasant voice accompanying Taylor Swift stuck on the repeat button.

Talking of the repeat button, we put the decorations up last weekend and I duly played the old Christmas CD, even though we've all been listening to the same songs for sometime now, on the TV and in the shops.  After a while my (real) eldest said to me 'Now I understand why you tell me not keep songs on repeat Mummy'.

Oh, and the eldest (aged 8) came home from school last week and informed me that I would be 'going to Hell'.  Charming.  Been in a British school merely five weeks and this is the stuff she comes out with.  Turns out she has been getting some religous education at school (never had any in France and me being a heathen non-believer (is that right?  Or should it just be heathen?  Or just non-believer?  Well, you get my drift) she didn't really get any at home either).  Anyway, she informed me that she has found out that as I am indeed a heathen non-believer I will be going to Hell.  Cue 'friendly mother-daughter chat'.

Weekends washing uniform

Well, we're here.  In the UK.  So far, things have gone quite smoothly on the whole, which is great, but doesn't give me much to moan about on here. 

Although, it has to be said I feel like I've morphed into that strange British phenomenon of 'super-mum'.  I've been altering our curtains, by hand, as I've no sewing machine.  It's been going well, although somewhat slow.  It all went on hold this week when I was given less than a weeks' notice at school to make an Angel costume for Georgia.  No material, no pattern and no machine.  I was still finishing it yesterday evening to hand in this morning.  Then this evening I find myself on a supermarket hunt for muffin cases in order to make cakes for the school fete tomorrow.  Just finished those at nearly 9pm.  And then there's the school uniform.  I don't mind it in principle.  Except for the cost.  And the bloody washing.  Not helped by nothing getting dry in this house, so Friday night, the washing commences, then more on Saturday morning and the last lot Sunday morning, with lots of praying Sunday night that it'll be dry by Monday morning.  Sadly no time for ironing it.

Anyway, local folk have been very nice and friendly so far; it's good, but not a great source of material.  I might, however, have a whinge sometime about our trials with the helpful folk at the benefits offices.  By 'helpful' I of course mean 'thick as shit' and 'wouldn't know their arses from their elbows' and 'economical with the truth' and 'bunch of bloody liars'.

Moving

Well.  That's it.  We're all packed up, the van has been and gone.  We leave this weekend.  Seems a bit strange to think that we'll be back in Blighty (hopefully in our new home) this time next week.  You'll be pleased to hear that the tax office have given us a good old send off in the form of a bill for almost 900€, which we have already paid to the social payments folk.  This bill arrived this morning, but all the relevant paperwork I could use as proof has been packed, so it'll have to wait.  I don't think it will be an easy one to deal with, but I should be used to it by now.  Best make sure we get a good phone package with cheap calls to France, otherwise I can see me running up huge bills trying to sort out continuing huge fuck-ups.

No computer for a while, so I'll sign-off for a bit (again!).  Will try to be more consistent when I'm back, after all, I'm probably going to have some time on my hands for while.....

Breaking Barbie's legs

We had a little party yesterday for the girls, partly a leaving party and partly a birthday party for Georgia.  So I made a birthday cake for Georgia; she likes pink, so I made a pink doll cake like the yellow one I made for Isabella a couple of years ago (on here somewhere).  Last time I made it, as I recall, I managed to use one of those 'fake' Barbie dolls, whose legs come off easily, however, this time, I only had real barbies left as I had been sorting things out to pack and the fake ones didn't quite make it.  I tried to put Barbie in the cake whole, but she was too tall, so I had no choice but to pull her legs off.  I managed to get one off alright, but the other broke (the hip joint, to be precise).  Anyway, she managed to get through the whole 'cake-display' event, poor thing, always smiling through the pain.  But now I can't fix her.  I've packed the superglue and can only find uhu, but it hasn't worked.  Adrian says to tell the girls that it's a 'Limited Edition Heather Mills Barbie'.  Either that or 'Limited Edition Hip Replacement this is what happens if you don't drink your milk Barbie'.

Hopefully, here is a picture of the cake.  But I have problems with the photos on here so it could come out above the text.

Oh it worked!  Fancy that!

Things we will miss

This evening's event on the way home from school:  A cow eating placenta.

I should explain:  On the way home at lunch, Georgia got excited because she saw a calf, so I stopped beside it and it's mother as they were right at the edge of the field, by the road.  Then the calf falteringly stood up.  That was when I saw part of the umbilical cord hanging from it's stomach.  Then I noticed the rest of it hanging out of the cow's arse.  So I explained to the girls that the calf had just been born and what-have-you.  They wanted to see it suckling (is that the right word?), but I thought they were getting a bit nervous with the car nearby (the cow and calf, not the girls), so we drove home.  Five hours later (yes, it's really that long before they come home again), we drove past the cow and calf again, calf was having a kip.  Cow was eating placenta.

A bit gross really, it wasn't doing very well, just seemed to keep chewing away at it and not actually eating it.  A bit like old biddies trying to eat meat, it just goes round and round in their mouths, they can't swallow it and they really should have been put on the pureed food diet a long time ago. 

But the point is, these are the opportunities that the girls won't get in the UK, well, not where we'll be living anyway.  They've been lucky enough to see all sorts of things out here in the countryside, so hopefully it's given them a good start anyway.

And I saw a deer on the way home yesterday, it stepped out into the road in front of the car.  I breaked and missed it, you'll be pleased to hear.  Well, we don't have time to butcher it and then there's the problem of getting it all back to the UK next week, and besides, I've sold the freezer.

Small ads

Update.  Well, I've been adding to the lists on the previous post, I keep thinking of things for it.  Managed to sell the sofa anyway.  The small ads are very good on the whole, although occasionally you do get some idiots asking daft questions.  For instance, I currently have an ad on for a childs blow-up bed.  The latest e-mail I got was simply 'Does it deflate?'.  So I wrote back and said 'Of course it bloody well deflates.  I've said on the ad that the pump's included, what would be the point in that if it didn't deflate?'  Well, honestly.  Eventually they replied and said what they wanted to know was, did it have a small hole or tear and therefore deflate of its own accord during the night.......

Back to Blighty

Well, I've been away for a while, so I suppose I ought to catch you up on things. Although most of you will know we are moving back to Blighty. Lots of reasons which I won't go into. Looking forward to it actually, which is not something I thought I'd ever say, but I went back for a day/two nights a couple of weeks ago and actually quite enjoyed it. Hubby says I sould do a 'relocating back to Blighty' blog now, but there's a real danger it would just end up being 'Tescos - wow! Sunday opening - wow! The choice in the shops - wow!' etc etc......

So, I've been having a think and made a few lists, first of all:

Things I won't miss:

The gaelic shoulder-shrug attitude to customer service
Dealing with the social security folk
Enormous bills
Arrogant middle-aged English folk
Weird parents of the friends of my eldest daughter
Appalling driving standards of the French
Unbelieveable amounts of paperwork for anything and everything
R*&@$%t (see below)
The new woman who works in our local post office.  Not sure what her name is in French, but I know that it translates in English into 'Jobsworth'.
French TV.  French radio.  French music.  French sense of humour.
French bars full of men drinking Pastis at 10am
Living in a freezing cold house with a knackered heating system
Having to get a fire going first thing in the morning with frozen fingers

Things I will miss:

The 'bonjour' and 'au revoir' whenever you go in or leave a shop/bar/post office/bank etc
The girls being bi-lingual

Things I am looking forward to:

Shops open on Sundays and Bank Holidays (sorry, but when you've been without for six years, it will make a pleasant change, and if you're one of those 'keep Sundays special' folk, then keep it special to yourself and don't go to the bloody shops then, nobody's forcing you.)
People and a bit of life around us
The opportunity to do so many different things
The choice in the shops
Better customer service (well better than a 'gaelic shoulder shrug' anyway and the ability to argue in English if it's not all that good)
Being able to communicate in English generally
Living in a house with mains drainage, mains gas, double glazing, kerbside rubbish collection, fully functioning heating system, and that doesn't get regular frozen pipes in winter and power cuts
Being able to walk to places
A chocamochacoffee in a pleasant little cafe

Things I am not looking forward:

People around me 24/7
Lack of a view from the house we will be renting
Not being able to take our cat with us
The girls losing their French

Anyway, been selling a few things on the small ads again. Yesterday I put the sofa on at a very good price for what it is. Within an hour I had someone on the phone, wanted to come and buy it and take it away that afternoon, but they couldn't pay by cash, because they had another big bill of 800€ to pay and didn't have the money in their account, so would I take a cheque? It would be ok if I waited four days until they would get paid. And if not, I could 'always give them a call and we could sort something out'. A couple of hours later someone else called about it, also wanted to come and buy it and take it away that afternoon, but they also didn't have enough money, so would I accept payment in installments? Later in the evening I received an e-mail offering me one third off the advertised price. Needless to say, it is not yet sold.

Also had fun at our local R*&@$%t garage recently. Had a problem with the car which had to be fixed before we sold it, so we took it into to R*&@$%t. They put it on their diagnostic machine (at a cost of 60€ the theiving bastards) and quoted us 2000€ for the cost of repairs, which would be a metal piece and then some other part. Booked it in for the repair and they offered us a courtesy car for for free, which we accepted. Turned up on the day for the repair and when taking the courtesy car, we were duly advised that it was 'without insurance'. We were told to go home (in the uninsured car) and call our own car insurance company and get them to swap the insurance from our own car to the courtesy car for the day. This, they assured us, was 'the done thing'. Drove home extremely pissed off and concerned. Called insurance company, unsurprisingly, they did not provide 'that type of cover'. Mightly pissed off now, we could have easily borrowed my mother's car instead had we been forwarned. So hubby drove the car straight back and I followed in my mother's car (I was a nervous wreck I might add), handed over keys, accepted the old 'gaelic shoulder shrug' in return and that was that for the morning. That afternoon we received a call to say that the part had not arrived (how did they not know this in the morning?) and they didn't know when it would, possibly sometime the next week, but who knows, there was apparently a problem at the manufacturers. It got more complicated and to cut a long story short, I went into meltdown and my folks ended up going back to R*&@$%t with hubby and my own dear mother 'kicked some butt'. R*&@$%t were insisting, amoungst other things, that the metal part was made of a 'special' metal and could not even be welded, it was a part that had to be replaced. In the end, nothing could be resolved with R*&@$%t, so they towed the car home. Dearest hubby then set to, trying to see if he could fix it. Turned out that the 'special metal' part that was broken was made of what we in English call 're-inforced rubber tubing'. So either our French is really crap or R*&@$%t are lying bastards. Hubby duly went off to car shop and bought the replacement piece for 6,50€. We then had to take it into another garage to go back on their diagnostic machine (cost: 30€, half the price of the theiving, lying bastards) to check all was well and re-set the car's computer. And that was that. It passed the MOT and a few days ago we sold it. (With regret I might add, it was a lovely car).

Knowledge

Isabella borrowed a 'general history' book from the library the other day and last night we were having a look at it.  We came to the page about the Great Wall of China and she said to me 'I know all about the big wall of China'.  'Really', I said, 'what can you tell me about it?'  'Well, it's in China.  And it's big'.  Oh, and it's made of China'.  (I would say that the last bit about it being made of China, she said half jokingly, she wasn't entirely sure about that.)

The great job hunt of 2011

Well, I've finally finished with the woman who the job centre very kindly assigned me to.  What a fun three months its been.  She ran a course a few weeks back which I had to attend.  Not quite sure what the point of it was, I learned one thing in the whole three hours.  And I had to sit there and concentrate the whole time because it was in french and if I don't pay attention, I'm inclined to switch off and I thought I might miss something important.  Worse still, from where I was sitting I could see, directly opposite me, a table with a kettle and cups and coffee and various tea bags on it.  Did we get a coffee break?  Did we my arse.  Not even the offer of a drink of water.  But we did have to opportunity to go out for a ciggie if we smoked.   

Then she sent me on another course: 'interview techniques', which I thought might be a good idea, it's been a while since I've had any interview, let alone one in french.  On this occasion I did pick up a few tips, although most of the information given just freaked me out even more than I was already.  It was held in hut in the middle of a desolate place full of other huts disguised as 'training venues'.  All the blinds were down and it looked shut and empty.  I went in and was greeted by the trainer who was wearing combats and high heels.  She faffed about with the projector for half an hour whilst we waited for the other people on the course not to turn up.  So it was just me and one other.  The table for the trainees, which we were sat at, was at the back of the room.  The trainer sat at another large table about a mile away at the front of the room and talked to us from there, never thought to suggest that we could sit closer on account of their only being two of us.  She had the blind open on the window behind her, so we couldn't see her face properly and every time she asked us a question, we never knew who she was talking to.  I think she must have had English blood in her - only once did I not understand something, so I asked her to explain, but she just repeated herself.  I ended up asking her to explain three more times but all she ever did was repeat herself, and in the increasingly louder voice of The Brit Abroad.  I just made something up in the end and either it was right or she just gave up the will to live and let it pass.  I'll never know. 

Anyway, I was very nervous about the course.  I thought there might be the usual 'role-play', fortunately not, but I did have to give a 5 minute talk about myself and my work history as though I was at an interview (1988, who the hell can remember that far back?  Combined with all the red wine and 'Get 21' from that era, no chance).  She asked which one of us would like to go first, so I told the other woman that she would.  Well, what a relief, she was crap, and I mean really crap.  'Um, er, I don't really know what I've done, nothing much really' 'Well, what year did you start working?'  'Er, um, about 1965, I've worked in some factories and done some cleaning stuff a bit, not really sure'.  And so on.  Well, I couldn't do worse than that, so I lept in, wittering on about my qualifications, pretended they were equivalent to this that and the other French diploma, waffled on about working here and there, described what I'm doing now and ended up with a 'tres bien', 'that's just the kind of thing you need to say'!!!!  

Moving on to today then.  Had my last appointment with Ms Hitler.  First of all I get, 'have you completed your form?'  'What form?'  'The one I told you to complete' 'No you didn't' 'Yes I did' 'No' 'Yes. I've written it down here' 'No you didn't you crazy bitch, this is what I wrote when we fixed this appointment: 9am, maybe finish at 10am, maybe 11am, continue to update job centre website, bring copy of business paperwork'.  'Ah, um, ok, sorry. Can you do it now please?'  'Do I have a choice?'  'Of course you bloody don't, this is me you're talking to'.

So she gives me a piece of paper which I have to make into a form, including everything I've done to look for work in the past three months.  Not sure why, I have to go through everything with her everytime I see her, she types it into the computer, prints off two copies, we both have to sign them and then get one each.  I duly complete the 'form' and hand it over.  We then go over it all and she types it into the computer, prints of two copies, we both sign them etc etc.  Then she queries something (well, it's been 15 minutes since she's had something to moan about at me).  'Why have you been applying for jobs?' 'What?' 'Why have you been applying for jobs?  Last time we met, I said that I would not make you look for work anymore because you said that you are too occupied with your business, what's going on?  Why are you applying for jobs?'  The first thing I said was 'WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?'  The second thing was 'Oh, I see you understand some English, then' 'Yes, my sister taught me, she's a midwife at the hosital.  She says she learnt it off some mad red-headed English woman who popped in to give birth a few years back and refused an epidural'.  Well.  What a load of b*****ks, (not the blasphemous English woman, that's true), two and a half months of her being pissy because I wasn't applying for jobs, and now she's pissy because I have applied for jobs.

At the end of the session, she handed me another form.  Feedback on the general support provided and the courses I've been on.  With a box at the bottom of the page to rate her personally from 1 to 10.  I put on my best smiley face and jokey demeanour and ask her what would happen if I gave her a 5 (which is what I would like to do).  Well, I momentarily forgot that she's French and of course was born without a proper sense of humour.  'Have you ever seen Goldfinger? Reservoir Dogs? Casino Royale? Braveheart? Dances with Wolves? High Plains Drifter?'  'Errr, yees'.  'They all had certain scenes filmed at my place.  You'd never know it to look at me, but I have a little interest in 'that kind of thing'.  Nothing major, just a hobby really, but it gives me pleasure.'  '10 it is then, you've been very good, I'm so pleased to have met you, thank you very much for all of your help.'

New Glasses

Finally bought some new glasses for myself this week.  Can't afford them, but my old ones were very old - I think they were bought before my eldest was born, I would guess about 9 years ago, possibly more.  They are extremely scratched and I can't see out of them so well, even though my eyes haven't changed.
So on Monday, we went to the optition and chose some new glasses, hubby said at the time I looked very nice in them, and even I thought so too.  Went to pick them up today and as I was paying for them, I said to my dear hubby, 'So, do you still like them, then?'.  He replied: 'Well, they make you look a bit like one of those old ladies that do the knitting on the shreddies advert'.

Now, is that worse than the time, many years ago, when we were going out for the evening, I came downstairs after getting ready and he said to me 'Aren't you going to put any make-up on?' (Needless to say, I had some on).

Thwarted!

Been trying to find a job for a while now; signed on at the job centre, they were very nice (Before you ask, I don't qualify for dole payments, didn't ask for it, didn't expect it, but I had to sign a form to say that I had been 'refused payments' anyway).  I asked for help with my (french) cv and 'lettre de motivation' (basically, covering letter, french style) so they very kindly sent me off to 're-travailler' a type of agency place to help people who are looking for work.  They signed me up for three months.  Well, it doesn't take three months to wirte a cv or a covering letter, so have spent the rest of the time been hassled by the woman in charge about my job applications (or lack of).  Basically, she wants me to go around the local towns, knocking on doors, begging for work (call me 'Yozzer').  She says applying for jobs advertised on the internet is basically a waste of time. 
Not that any of them really suit me anyway.  Can't work five days a week on a permanant basis as we work all weekend from June through to September and that's knackering enough.  (Plus, need time during the week at the moment to do all the jobs that need doing here).  Can't work weekends for same reason.  So I am a bit limited in my available time.  Have seen a few jobs in shops (like till work, shelf stacking) but unemployment is so high around here, employers can demand a lot and all want previous experience.  (How hard can it be to learn to stack a shelf or pass an item in front of a scanning machine?).  I've seen a few very suitable jobs helping out in schools but they are all 'CUI/CAE' which has something to so with the wages being mostly government funded and you can only do them if you fit certain criteria - over 55, single parent , long-term unemployed etc etc, which needless to say I do not qualify for.

Anyway, as I mentioned in the last post, I've been volunteering at these English classes for French children, and I thought, 'I could do this' (Surprisingly, I do have some experience in this area).  Discussed it with some other folk and they thought it was a good idea.  So today, I started making enquiries.  Turns out that I am not allowed to do it.  Not because I am not a teacher (that's not a problem apparently), but because our existing business is currently in my name and I am not allowed, by law, to have two businesses in my sole name.  How bloody stupid is that?  There are two possible options:

Firstly, to change the name of the existing business into hubby's name.  There is no chance of doing this.  The problems we have had, and continue to have, since arriving, with the RSI (who we pay our social charges to) have been so horrific, that to tell them we are changing things just doesn't bear thinking about. 

Secondly, I can take (yet another) trip to Nantes to ask the powers that be if I can have a kind-of 'associated business' alongside the current one.  By all accounts this is highly unlikely to be allowed because teaching English is so completely different from running gites.  I could, for instance have a
B&B alongside the gites, or something else with some relevancy, but English classes would not normally qualify.

So there you go.  No wonder so many French folk work on the black.

Nothing for ages and then three things at once.

Blimey!  It's been a while.  I've even received complaints for not writing anything.  Not really sure why though.  Am really trying to watch what we spend, so not going out unecessarily, and therefore not meeting people who give me cause to complain.  Until now that its, and it's all gone a bit like the buses, nothing for ages and then three come along at once.

Firstly:

Three days ago I nearly fell in the septic tank.  Partly my own fault I suppose, I was standing on top of it and the lid broke.  In fact, my left leg did go in, but fortunately it just missed the contents.  Could have been very nasty.  And then, to get over the shock of nearly landing myself in the shit, I went back to the house for a drink and nearly swallowed a small grasshopper having a swim in my glass.

Secondly: 

I won't go into too much detail here, nobody needs it, but the following day I had an appointment at the hospital.  All I will say that it involved stirrups (and not of the horsey kind) and a student.  Why do they have to take so long and why does there have to be a general discussion about the entire process as well as the 'view' whilst I am lying there as helpless as I would be if I was in handcuffs, only slightly more undignified.

Thirdly:

I have started working as a volunteer at an 'English Club' - ie - for French children to learn English.  The woman who runs it is very nice, but not very organised, poor thing couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery.  I've got lots of ideas for improvement, but I've only been to two classes so far, so it's not really my place to take over (yet).   Late last night she sent an e-mail with a copy of an article in the local paper about the club, accompanied by a photo of us all.  Now, I don't look good in a photo at the best of times, but in this one I am particularly bad. 

That's me, third from the left, sitting down.  Eyes shut.

I must point out that the article has the wrong hours, the wrong number of children (there's almost 80) and I've never heard anything about a facebook page.   But then they interviewed the woman in charge so that would probably explain it.

Being old.

OMG!!!!  I am soooo old.  Three young twenty-somethings staying in our cottage came over this evening to ask for my advice.  They were talking to me like I was their Mum!  Freaked out a bit until I realised I am actually twice their age.  Now I am very freaked out.  Had to lie down in a darkened room for a while.  Not helped by the fact that I need to do some ironing which is preying on my mind a bit (washed the cushion covers for a sofa we are trying to sell and they are all creased, not a good look).

Been out on the bike a couple more times, managed to get a bit further, but only just.  Was going to go out again today, but large black cloud was looming, so stayed in.  I thought that if it started raining whilst I was out, I wouldn't be able to get back very quickly and would end up very wet indeed.  Had to prepare cv (in french) anyway.

Unfit

Woke up to yet more bloody rain.  However, this afternoon it dried up and we had a bit of sunshine, so I in my wisdom, decided to go out on my bike.  Haven't been on it since last October and have put on a bit of weight since then.  Had to stop at the top of the road.  I used to get all the way up the hill.  And to the village and elsewhere.  After my short stop, went right at the junction along a road that goes downhill slightly.  There were two farmers in the field near to the road, so I ended up turning around and going in the opposite direction as coming back would be uphill and I might not have been able to make it and would have had to stop near the farmers, not having that.  Didn't go far in the other direction, well, it was muddy and I didn't want to get the bike too dirty.  That and I wanted to have a chance of being able to get home.  Had to sit down for a while when I got back, legs were like jelly. 

Foraging at the tip

Did a few tip runs yesterday and on the last trip came home with a large oak barrel (very decorative for the garden) and a plastic garden table (only needs a bit of a clean).  Very chuffed!

Getting sorted

Right.  Time to get my backside in gear.  Need a job and need to do work on this place and need to cheer myself up a bit.  I think January and February are really quite miserable months, wet, cold and dreary and all the bad things loom over you, etc, etc. 

Tomorrow hubby and I are going to go around the gites and the garden and make a list of all the must-do jobs and then split that into the can-do and can't-do jobs (ie ones that require money spent and ones that don't).  I think mostly this year it will be painting (we've got a fair bit of paint) and tree-felling (the Willow HAS to go.  I like them, but this one is far too close to the house and is also blocking out the light from my veggie plot).

Next week I have an interview at the job centre.  So I have to get my cv in order.  In french.  Although they will apparently help me with that, but got to have something as a starting point.  I can't for the life of me remember anything much of my work history, so that will take a bit of preparing.  After that, I've found a couple of temping agencies in town, so I'll see if I can register with them, (once I've got a proper french cv).  I've been spreading the word a bit that I'm looking for work, but most people look at me as though I've said something in a completely different language - as in 'what are you talking about?'  And than I get words along the line of 'There's no way that's going to happen, can't get a job myself' etc etc.  Can but try.

Haven't got anything even remotely smart to wear though - and I'm not even talking about going down the 'suit' road, I'm just talking something that fits without bulging, not stained, not stretched out of shape, not torn and no threads hanging down.  So I'll also be off to the sales to try and find myself at least one top and one pair of trousers that fit and look reasonably smart.  But not too smart.  If I get any interviews at all, it could be factory work or similar, so not point going overboard.  And then there's footwear.  I used to have a smart pair of boots, but now they are not smart anymore.  I've got 25€ left in this weeks budget and I also have to buy stamps tomorrow and pay for me and the girls to go to the dentist on Wednesday, so it'll be very tight (like my current clothes).  Wish me luck.

oops!

Forgot to pick up girls from school today. 

Remembered about 15mins after I should have been there.  They rang just as I was leaving.  (The school, not the girls).

Ironing

Almost had to lie down in a darkened room this afternoon.  Yes, I had to get the iron out.  Isabella is starting swimming lessons with school tomorrow and I have been instructed to label everything.  Unfortunately, the laundry pen (used for writing names on clothes, much more sensible) has now run out and I've had to revert to the iron-on labels.  (Haven't got any sew-on ones). 

This involved:
Hunt for iron - found at back of cupboard in garage.
Wipe dust off iron (even though it was in cupboard).
Find adaptor (it still has uk plug on it).
Hunt for the iron-labels.
Iron on the iron-labels.
Sit down to recover from act of doing actual ironing.

Foraging at the bins.

Did a bit of unexpected foraging today.  Took the rubbish up to the bins (God knows they couldn't possibly collect it from the house) and found a load of things dumped beside the recycling bins.  This happens quite often and is very annoying, especially as it's usually rubbish that should be taken to the tip.  Not normally from the folk in our hamlet, but this time I think it was from our neighbours who moved away at the week-end.  Anyway, brought home: crate of beers (30), two trays of coke cans, six bottles of tonic water, six bottles of perrier,12 small bottles of iced-tea and one large one (....).  All except the beer was a bit out of date, but I opened one of the coke cans and it was still fizzy and the 'waters' will be fine.  Not bad, but won't pay for the 4000,00€ bill we have to cough up by mid-feb in the way of social charges which we were assured were up to date, but apparantly not.

F*** F*** F***

F***ing depressed. F***ing social payments.  F***ing France.

New Year

Had a terrible dream last night, a proper nightmare.  Dreamt that we'd had the bright idea of putting the tv on at midnight to watch pictures of Paris seeing in the new year with fireworks over the Eiffel Tower and such like.  Unfortunately, there was only a video of french folk miming to Tom Jones singing 'It's not Unusual', followed by a troop of topless (female) dancers in a studio, followed by the tv host guy being completely unable to conceal his excitement at finding himself standing amoungst them all.  It must have been a dream, surely it couldn't have been real.  Way too much fizz and B52's last night methinks.