Happy Rentree

Here is a symbol of September, the first fruits of our grape harvest;  rosé grapes in an Italian grape bowl which caught my eye in a charity shop.  Grapes love heatwaves and drought.  I only watered this vine a couple of times and yet it thrives. 

B leaves school for university, R leaves Collège for Lycée. 

Favourite winter salad

There's plenty of lambs lettuce (la mâche) in France during the winter, lovely dark green fresh leaves even in the cold months, much better and cheaper than forced lettuces.  I buy mine from a lovely burly Normandy farmer who sells his own produce at the market.

My favourite way to serve it is with smoked duck slices, orange segments, and a dark gloopy dressing, eg by adding Japanese teriyaki sauce, or soy sauce and brown sugar to classic salad dressing.

End of Year Summary

In a grand finale of stereotypical generalised negativity, the French school year draws to a close and the lovely long French holidays begin.

I read that the 'educational team' at R's school had much pleasure in working with his class which was "joyfully and cheerfully lacking in concentration' although the class  'made some effort' it nonetheless 'lacked regular progression, the learning was shallow, the work 'too scolarly' and the class must make 'great and serious effort' next year.  All this confuses me as 'the class' doesn't really mean anything, and it will not even exist next year, as they insist of mixing up the classes every year, under the 'divide and rule' policy.  I asked JC what 'scolarly' was and he said giving the answers expected of you.  How extraordinary;  they have trained children to give the answers expected of them, and punished them with degrading marks and summarising their work with the chilling words 'you did not do what I told you to do' and they are consequently obedient in the absolute, totally lacking in imagination and originality, and take care never to think for themselves - and now it seems all this was simply in order to  complain  about the end result of their own system!   I tell you it's beyond me.   English children thrive on enthousiasm, encouragement and praise, but French children need none of that, and instead  truck along with anything on a scale from tepid indifference to a barrage of insults. 

R's teacher, Mrs Essex-Facelift made a special end of term effort to 'summarise' (humiliate) each pupil in front of his/her peers, eg

'Well you can wipe the smile of your face, you won't even be able to pass your exams with your 5 out of 20 in maths and your 8 out of twenty in French, you'll have to do a professional bac'.

For R however, there is good news!  There seems to be a system in place where pupils are judged and categorised (I've never been furnished with the details, it seems to be something everyone knows except me).   Most pupils are 'white', which I take to mean are hiding in a sort of white fog, unnoticed for their good or bad qualities, and deeply grateful not to be one level lower in the dark hell region of 'in difficulty' which offers no hope and from which there is no escape.  This year R has apparently emerged from the fog and entered the realm of 'encouragement', although the accolade was  VERY grudgingly given by Mrs Essex-Facelift, and I quote "Adequate work but no more than that, he is working regularly but his work lacks care and attention to detail and he must try harder next year'.  I believe there are more elivated titles above 'encouragement', terminating in the unheard of 'congratulations', which entitles you to a school prize.  (The class 'intello' ((intellectual)) got 50 Euros every year until this year when a policy change meant he received a maths book, which did not go down well and has made him into a classic candidate for 'breaking bad' but I'm not at liberty to discuss that).    However, some teachers even wrote 'bravo' on R's report, the highest (and most meaningless) of school praise, and his final summary, which seems to have been doled out by some sort of committee is;

"Some efforts have paid off it must be followed up by seeking more precision and rigour in written work.  The term is globally satisfactory, ENCOURAGEMENT.  May pass into 3rd class'.

You will note that the word 'ENCOURAGEMENT' is a kind of score/label, but is not actually delivered, however, for a Frenchy, all this is high praise and we are all very pleased (relieved).

Nuclear Drill at R's School

As far as I am aware the advice in the event of nuclear attack is:  take shelter under desk and kiss your ass goodbye, but maybe I'm out of date.

We did have a nuclear attack preparation at my school in the 1970s, but even then the teachers exposed it for what it was by simple addition of logic to facts.  Mrs Williams and Mr Abbott, once they had given lip-service to the obligatory bits,  drew out their guitars and gave us a hard-strumming rendition of the anti nuclear protest song 'Before we had the War', which was much more sensible.  God I loved the 70s.

However, R has been recalled on Wednesday afternoon for a 'What to do in the event of a Nuclear Attack' session, where the class will learn to tape up the windows and take shelter under the desk.  The class teacher Mrs Essex-Facelift has let it be known that she is Not Happy about this as she is not being paid for the extra hours.    Good to know we can rely on the French teaching profession in an emergency.

R hopes that once the windows are safely taped up they will be able to play cards and board games, but suspects Mrs Essex-Facelift will vent her spleen by making them WORK.

When R came home after the nuclear drill he was in a sweat and could only mutter 'torture, torture' so I had to drag this out of him.

The Headmistress Mrs Scruton opened the proceedings by shouting

"NUCLEAR ATTACK NUCLEAR ATTACK'

over the tannoy, which was broadcast in every classroom,  Big Brother style.    Then she shouted something like:

'ASSUME HIGH SECURITY POSITION' but no-one was sure as her voice had become distorted beyond recognition by the excessive shouting and poor quality of the PA system.

At this point a mysterious man in black entered the classroom, opened his black attache case and withdrew one bottle of water, a handful of plastic cups, a pair of scissors and some rolls of sticky tape.

'Who was he?'  I asked, aghast

'Um, 'chief of zone B'  or something...nobody knows.' (his identity will have to remain mysterious).

Mrs Essex-Facelift was in a bad mood about it all but this did not stop her making sure the job was done in every absurd detail.    Every window, keyhole and air vent was taped up.  Clothes from Lost Property were employed to cover the internal door.

'Did you recognise any of your lost clothes?' I said excitedly.

'No' replied R, with an air of detachment.

'I have another question.  How do you know you will have sufficient sticky tape should the terrible day arrive?'  I asked, but R could only continue with the story.

It then became very hot indeed in the classroom, and of course airless.  When someone complained there was only one bottle of water between 30, Mrs Essex-Facelift shouted 'I HAVE TO STAND UP AND TEACH YOU FOR TWO HOURS AND DO YOU EVER SEE ME DRINKING?'  and she set about banning pupils from fanning themselves and wiping water on their faces and other survival initiatives.  'AND STOP FIDGETING, YOU'RE WASTING OXYGEN' she added.

 R later found out that the other classes had an appropriate number of bottles of water and plastic cups but Mrs Essex-Facelift had apparently decided to make the nuclear survival process just that little bit more challenging.     I think she would benefit from some counselling.  They shared out the water, one cup between four.

'What about the spread of infectious diseases?' I asked.

Bets were on that Mrs Essex-Facelift would force the class to do extra French, but she appeared to have been banned from doing this by the Minister of Education (or perhaps in this case the Minister of Defence) so she had to resort to forcing them to watch Alfred Hitchcock 'The Birds', a puzzling choice.    R complained that it was an 'old film from the 70s' and 'very badly done' with 'random birds and blood everywhere.'.  (Yes we did have the discussion about the old days when there were no computers simulations etc).  After one hour and a half of suffocating heat, oxygen deprivation and bird terror, the pupils were released, their physical and mental health shattered.

I asked R if he had learned anything about nuclear explosions, or if he knew why they were taping up the windows but he did not reply.

France, Paint, Chalk Paint, high prices, frustration

My latest project is painting furniture, there is so much good wooden furniture here being thrown away because it is dated, dusty and brown  - much of it in my house waiting to change colour.    I'm thrilled to learn about Annie Sloan paint www.anniesloan.comand Autentico paint, www.autentico-chalk-paint.co.uk.  

These paints paint over everything, even orange varnish no sanding or chemical prep needed, beautiful skin-like texture and lovely colours, I tried some out, would like to buy some.  Okay I'm drooling to buy some right now.

Texture like skin

His and Hers stools, white paint and lightly coloured wax (originally dark worn varnish, paid 3 Euros for both in 'brocante).

 I sloshed some over our industrial metal spiral staircase, and it sticks!  No need for stinky harmful chemical coats!

Dry and Cure...
The trick is to understand that acryllic emulsion type paint takes a short time to dry, but up to 30 days to 'cure', so something that seems to scratch off when you first do it won't later, and in the meantime if you wax it and are careful, you can still use the beautified painted item.

Reproduction chair, left out on pavement  by neighbours,  originally dark brown shiny varnish and tatty dirty grey, painted cloth with red emulsion and wood with home made 'satin' chalk paint mix.  (Teamed with grey will cushion and checked cushion, both from brocante)

Used matt paint and polished with coloured wax, like sweets...

Very waterproof and stain-proof and easy to clean, self-polishing when sat upon

But as usual with good ideas and good products NOT IN FRANCE!

Problem One;  The price of Paint in France

I'm, stunned, I'm SHOCKED to discover the difference in price for paint in England and France.  For example, Dulux paint can be had in England for £15 or £20 for 2.5 litres.  Here, Dulux 'creme de couleur' a satin emulsion, sells for 18 Euros for HALF A LITRE!!!  Four times more expensive in France, WWHHHAAATTT¿????!  Why?  My internet researches reveal only speculation, social charges, taxes...but nothing concrete.  I'm suspicious because glasses are outrageously more expensive in France than in any European country, and there is no Specsavers on the scene, and seems to have much more to do with the purveyors and sellers of glasses earning a good living than anything else..

Problem Two;  Finding the equivalent paint in England (using example Dulux)

So naturally, I set about working out the equivalent Dulux paint in England, to see if anyone would bring me over a 2.5 litre pot for the price of a 0.5 litre one of the same (American) make in France.    I chose Dulux because I had a very bad experience with Luxens paint which fell off my shutters, and even when I'd sanded and primed, failed to stick and soon chipped  off my stairs and banisters (not so chalk-like paint which covers the mess the 'proper paint' left absolutely beautifully).   The guy who sold me this paint did not tell me it was crap.  I found this out from another guy at the same local DIY shop Weldom when he sold me some Dulux, in which case he was prepared to wrinkle his nose at Luxens and say he did not like it as it was 'too elastic' (?).  Anyway, Dulux seems to be voted 'most likely to stick'.

Interestingly, in France some of the Dulux range (but careful, not all) is 'multi surface', so can be used for walls and woodwork.  I presume this means it has more resins and binding agents in it to make it stick.  But in England, ceilings/walls are firmly separated from wood, different products needed in UK, apparently, call it fashion, call it national expectations, call it marketing...

I bumped into an English woman living in France who told me all French paints are 'not as good' as English paints in colour, texture/finish and performance, but was unable to give me evidence to back up this claim, such as the cause (lack of good quality pigments, low resins???).

Problem 3;  The Price of Annie Sloan paint in France

Well, given that French paint is so madly priced, the Annie Sloan stuff doesn't look so expensive by comparison.    In England it sells for about £18 (or about 22 Euros) a litre.    It has good quality pigments and is a special high-resin recipe, so fair enough.  I found a French shop which supplies Annie Sloan paint, and their paint was indeed 22 Euros for a whole litre.  Or so I though.  In fact it was 22 + 10 Euros, making it 32 Euros, and as the flat rate for delivering 7 tins was 35 Euros, from Brittany (??) I make that approx 37 Euros a tin, getting on for twice the price in England, where some shops offer free delivery over £100 (no such luck here) and standard delivery is £5.

I was really prepared to support Annie Sloan, I like what she's doing artistically, ethically, philosophically, and I appreciate the initiative work and skill she's put in to the product, and the colours appeal, but I can't pay twice the price for the same product because it's in France, I just can't.  Even though the nice lady at the shop (www.lescouronnessauvages.com) explained it was the cost of transporting the paint into France and the cost of running her shop which put the price up.  She said I should take it up with Hollande, but what with all the problems he has I doubt if he will prioritise my chalk paint trials.

Problem 4;  Anomalies in paint prices in France - in most shops you  pay 4 times more for the same product bought in bulk elsewhere...has nobody noticed?

I  decided to make my own similar paint (no doubt not as good) as I couldn't buy it.   This is tricky, because no-one lets you know what's in their paint apart from Auro www.auro.co.uk paints.  Sadly ecological paints like Auro don't stick to furniture in the same way, I tried, and created powder.  So I bought a tin of Dulux 'archi TECte', for 20 Euros for HALF a litre, which promised high resin content, I'm guessing quality pigments and matt finish (not popular here and difficult to find) - it became obvious to me that chalk and lime paint sticks to everything if and only if the acryllic/emulsion paint you use if of good enough quality.  Now at least I could experiment.    I made some chalk-like paint by mixing one part slaked lime with this paint (10 Euros for 20 kgs) and got something which worked and which I liked.
This Dulux paint is about 40 Euros a litre,  BUT if you buy 10 litres (from Leroy Merlin) it's a staggering 10 Euros a litre, yes, take your pick, 40 Euros a litre or 10 Euros a litre for the same product.  Taxes, social charges, or commercial toss???

Problem 5;  lack of transparency on paint ingredients

It has become clear to me that we as customers do not have access to the information we need to make a judgement on the paint  (for a specialised project for example), but must make do with marketing packages for purpose.  We can get scant and varied info on whether a paint is 'no' or 'low' VOC emmisions, as dictated by the EU, but not about other possible ingredients and their possible downsides.  Commercial competition is interfering with human creativity and freedom of choice.  The one exception to this I know about is AURO www.auro.co.uk who are happy to list all their ingredients, hooray.  I would buy their paint but have not yet found equivalent to chalk and lime paint, and my home made attempts ended in powder, I guess they already have calcium carbonate and slaked lime in them, and fewer synthetic resins necessary for universal sticking.  But I'm using eco paint for everything I can (walls, windows, ceilings...).

Problem 6;  price cut exploitation, high price exploitation

I am not a lover of cut-price because faced with a tempting price, and the urgings of our society to do our duty and find the lowest price,  we forget to ask why the price is low.    For example, why are these carrots so cheap, when so much labour has gone into bringing them to us?  Could it be that the intensive farmer is treating his illegal refugee labourers like animals, beating them, paying them next to nothing, making them work 12 hour days with no break and 'housing' them in animal barns with no heating or water?

I like prices to reflect the real cost of a product and a reasonable wage for all those working on it, preferably not too many salespersons.

However, in the case of unusally high prices (and hazy explanations), I have to question who is being exploited?

Current options;  Home-made or Annie Sloan/Autentico from England

I'm desperate to continue my chalk-like paint project and maybe even turn it into a career which gives me a purpose in life and a label (What do you do?   I'm a furniture decorator).  So here are my options;

Make my own, either by buying in bulk at 10 Euros a litre, or researching English paint and finding an equivalent and begging someone to bring some over.   I can get wonderful ecological paint pigments from Calca Del Brenta www.lacalcedelbrenta.itAuro www.auro.co.uk Biofa biofapaint.co.uk and perhaps I can try beetroot, ash, soil??  All this will take a long time and I will make a lot of mistakes which would be avoided with the pre-tested products which I would prefer to support.  And I'll never be sure it's quite as good.

See if a sales outlet in England would offer me a better price including delivery on Annie Sloan or Autentico, or try to organise a friend to bring some back from a shop near him or her.

I'm currently pursuing the Autentico chalk and lime paint option, they do a special strong version (velvet) which would be good for my kitchen cabinets.    I even got to see some paint and charts and buy a sample in my small home town (whereas Paris, capital city in the country of origin of this type of paint technique, has NOTHING).  I emailed Autentico, and man from Autentico replied really quickly, and offered to have some sent over from Holland for 12 Euros, and promised to send me a colour chart. The chart never arrived (French post?) and the man from Autentico has not yet got back to me, I keep trying.  I'll try the Oxford shop of Annie Sloan next.


WHY IS EVERYTHING SO BLOODY COMPLICATED IN FRANCE?

HOW ON EARTH CAN FRANCE EXPECT TO COMPETE IN EUROPE WITH THIS ATTITUDE?

HOW DOES ANYONE MANAGE TO RUN A BUSINESS HERE?

WHAT IS FRANCE DOING TO ENCOURAGE SENSIBLE AND NECESSARY INNOVATION?

YES THIS IS A RANT

But please remember I have the same thing with every good product I discover and try to buy and every service (fences,gates, trellis, garden furniture and innovations such as grow-bags,  acryllic splashbacks, a competent and available plumber, ditto doctor, education,justice, ..and on and on)  and so, forgive me.

Happy Easter at 3.33pm

R wanted us to do the Easter Egg hunt again this year,  even though he is 13 and B is at his girlfriend's house.  So we did it, JC, R, Lemon and I, and we had fun.

R and JC set off on the Easter Egg hunt

R having arrived for the hunt by sliding down banister

Lemon joins us

Each owl has an egg

My best disguise, can you spot the white egg?

Here you can see my painted logs, they are sections of executed nut tree, the execution ordered by our neighbour, my attempt symbolise a flowering from the death of the old, a renewal of life.

Cheeks stuffed already...

Seven petalled clematis

Lemon enjoys trampling on feet, here she is caught in the act

Periwinkle stars shine upon Easter

Strawberries and raspberries in grow-bags, and a posher pot with summer bulbs

JC points at our fig tree and remembers how Christ condemned a fig tree just before the crucifixion...

Our fig tree was condemned, to an agonising over-pruning not of my doing,  but look how it resurrects by growing new branches from its severed trunk...

Mixed canopy

The reward, a basket of eggs...

JC returns to hsi beloved study

The Wonderful Well-Attended Careers Day at R's School

I admit that I did have a glass of organic white Bordeaux (thin, dry) when I was told this tale, this may have influenced my extreme reaction;    I laughed so much the muscles of my abdomen went into spasm and I couldn't see for crying.

Yesterday was Careers Day at the school.  A school which makes no attempt to get into any kind of relationship with students or their families, demands that parents come in on a Saturday morning and woman/man a stand in order to talk about their career to pupils who couldn't give a damn.  Anyway,   no-one in France that I know of has actually chosen a 'career' or likes it.  Needless to say, the parent-careerers were a bit thin on the ground.

Parent visitors and their offspring were however present in large numbers, why (oh why?).  The parents were there because the headmistress, Mrs Scruton,  had cunningly combined Careers Day with a Parents Meeting, I believe this is called a motivational technique or manipulation.   I use the word 'meeting' loosely.  The idea is you turn up and the teachers are behind desks at which there is a long and desultory queue, you join the queue, you reach the teacher, you hope you have not made a mistake and the guy is actually your offspring's teacher, the teacher hastily consults his notes because he has no idea who your offspring is.

As R predicted before the event;  'The teacher has no idea who the hell he is supposed to be talking about, he smiles, and sneakily eyes the list of scores for clues. If you got an average of 10 out of 20 he says 'dreadful, yes, doesn't concentrate, no good' and if you get 19 he says 'very good student'.'

The teacher that JC queued for did exactly as R predicted.  JC and this teacher got into a conversation about the dangers of internet gaming.  The teacher in question was very understanding about the problem of teenage online gaming addicts.   ???? WOT, this does not happen, understanding, what's that?

'Oh yeah, he's really cool, he plays Black Ops 2' says R.

'What was the career day like?' I asked JC.

'There were only 2 stands' said JC 'and one of those was empty'.

'No Dad, one was the supervisor making sure we all turned up, because if not we get detention on Monday, and the other one was the police.  The stands were INSIDE the dining room'. (we have to assume JC missed the careers day).

Well at least JC did manage to queue up to see one token teacher, we'll call him Black Ops, the one that gave R the worst marks, JC likes to maximise his efficiency.  Then he queued up to see the class teacher who is also the French teacher and nobody likes her including me, see previous blog.  She was there with her Essex Face-lift and protruding knees and unenviable dress sense because she is an ex-model married to a fashion stylist.   JC and 2 other parents queued patiently and noticed that other people behind them in the queue were getting to see this teacher before them, to they interpolated her against her will and she said 'You can't see me unless you have an appointment'.

'But we didn't know' exclaimed the parents who didn't know.  (Don't know how the other parents knew but they always do).

'You should have had a note in the 'carnet' ('communication' exercise book/prison id papers)' came the clipped reply.

'But we didn't - and anyway, the whole point of this is that we come to see the teachers and queue up, if we wanted an appointment, we could have rung up and asked to see you at a time convenient to us both.  We are here to see you!

'Tough, that's how it is, I have 3 classes, I can't see everyone'.  (my suspicion is that she is bombarded by so many irate parents that the has to manage the crowd as best she can).

JC found this so absurd, he laughed.  The French teacher was so unaccustomed to hearing laughter that she also laughed - and went back to her appointments.    The 3 parents who did not have appointments did not get to see the teacher, grumbled about it together and agreed that it was not in the spirit of the thing, and went home, duty done.  Now the class teacher will probably call R's other parent 'stupid' in front of the class.

R was forced to go to this event by the motivational techniques of:     one hour's detention if he didn't go, and having to fill in a questionnaire proving that he had dutifully done the rounds of each stand (if not filled in one further hour's detention).   He planned to go, but stay for a maximum of 10 minutes.

'Perhaps it will be interesting?' I piped up 'you might find a career that would suit you'.

'It's not interesting, Mum, nobody wants to go and nobody is interested'

He left at 10am and was back by 10.10am.  He had executed his plan with remarkable skill.  First he went and got his form signed (detention avoided), then he persuaded the class 'intello' (intellectual) to let him copy his (excruciatingly dull) questionnaire.

'How did you persuade him to do that?' I ask

'I made him an offer he couldn't refuse'

'What?'

'er, I offered him a sweet'.

There was a stand which must have been manned/womanned by a very canny parent, because it featured a bowl of sweets for the visitors, I believe this is called a motivational technique or manipulation.   This stand (along with the stand of the computer game programmer) actually had visitors.   R has no idea what career the stand was talking about, all he could see was the bowl of sweets.  He helped himself to a handful,  used one to bribe the class intellectual to give him the answers, went home and ate the rest in front of the telly.

Now the Headmistress Mrs Scruton will be able to write a glowing report of her wonderful  well-attended Careers Day,  that's the main thing.

What's Cooking?

Autumn

 Our family of  pumpkins (potimarrons) - make into soups with ginger and nutmeg

 Mushrooms from the market (cèpes and girolles)

Haricots cocos de Paimpol - this sounds lovely in French, like the coo-ing of turtle doves.  Unprepossessing from the outside, shelled to reveal pearls, boil vigorously for one hour and serve with strong tomato sauce, only available for three weeks in late September.

Figs and walnuts, fig and walnut bread.

By the river

B by the river, taken with his camera

 Me by the same river...

 ...where B took wonderful pictures in the sunset

Back to school blues

'September is the Monday of the year' says B sadly.

Sadness descends upon France, another summer stopped in its prime, another miserable return to the grindstone, the insults, the threats, the scolding, the pressure...

R began his return to school by enduring an hour long lecture by the Headmistress Mrs Scruton;  all  6 classes in his year assembled in a hall fitted with four microphones, so that when Mrs Scruton shouted 'TAISEZ-VOUS' it caused the children to clutch their ears in pain.  She then went through the same kinds of threats as last year, including repeating the chewing gum rule to make sure it sticks  and then she added three pages of new rules, which as R points out, are mostly as a result of the success of last year's pupils in getting round the old ones.

• Now all pupils must have their ID papers to get into the school on pain of immediate sanction (it was previously possible to borrow someone's ID to get out of school if you had forgotten yours, no longer...)
• The sanction for arriving without ID will be written in a special Book with a P-E-N (not on computer as Some Pupil has hacked into it and not in ID book as you have forgotten it).
• No teacher may take the ID book of any pupil for any reason and so there is No Excuse for not having it on you (I wonder how long it will be before they microchip the pupils?)
• Anyone in the corridor during class time must have a special coupon signed by a teacher giving permission, reason and duration of stay, on pain of immediate sanction.
• No pupil is to fall ill during the class and ask to see the nurse (unless demonstrably vomiting or pooing pants)  they must wait until break and make sure they miss break time to see the school nurse and will not be admitted at the end of break-time only at the beginning.
• No food (complaints that pupils were stealing one another's food, so ban food and end complaints).
• No showers, as pupils turn showers on dressed colleagues, fling open doors to expose colleagues, have water fights and all the other things males in groups do...
• No spray deodorants
• No magnifying glasses...or thick spectacles...and all the flints have been removed from the prison yard...leaving only a handful of sticks to be frenetically rubbed together.
• No earplugs (I jest you not)

Then she announced that 250 sessions of the School Discipline Commission (kangeroo court) had to be convened last year and this This Will Not Do, and that no child is to come to school hungry or suffering from lack of sleep, the school nurse will show no sympathy and will not be giving out food any more.

The hour long threats and rules session finished by reading out the class lists, surname, forename, class number...you had to listen to all the names until you spotted your name and made a mental note of the class.

'Did you lose yourself in your thoughts once you had your class?' I asked R

'I couldn't, because the microphones were booming too loudly' he replied. 'It was BORING'.

Our young neighbour T was in high dudgeon because she was in the last class to be read out;  also she was separated from all her friends and put in a class with people she did not like with a notorious teacher.   When she came round to our place her resounding shouts and squeals made me think she was arguing savagely with R and I intervened to avoid the drawing of blood, but apparently she was just talking 'normally' ie venting.  Everyone has been split up into different classes with a totally new set of teachers, which has made most of them rather miserable and disorientated.

The final fact of the first day, which thankfully only lasted 2.5 hours, was that they went to their classes where the new class teachers told them what books they needed and what forms to fill in and Mrs Scruton and her 'team' came round to each class to issue further threats;  all to no avail as everyone is bored stiff with threats and know that once the tiresome chest beating is over normal school life will resume.

I couldn't help noticing that R and his friends are all shouting and short tempered today  as a result of all the shouting-at that they received on the first day and will continue to receive on a regular basis.  R's friend M was locked down for 2 hours after school because on the first day, his mother had not furnished him with a regulation passport photo on his ID book.    He was beside himself.  They would not let him phone his mum.  Eventually his mum phoned the school, she beside herself and shouted them all down, quite right too, it's outrageous.

 R always laughs when he recounts his tales, he is a born survivor, but... sigh sigh sigh of frustration, there IS another way...counting days to next hols.

Meanwhile bombarded with 20 books to cover in plastic film, a job which causes grown mothers to weep, unless they buy Le Bon Eleve Crystal system with self-stick corners.  Any entrepreneurs out there, if you invent plastic covered exercise and text books, you will clean up in France and drastically reduce the national consumption of tranquilisers.

14th of July Personal Fly By

Each year on Bastille Day France glories in its airborne military might by doing a fly-by directly over our house!  Then they turn round at the Champs Elysee and come back again.

French flag in smoke

I am the only one in our neighbourhood whose cries of excitement ring out in the street as I hang out of the highest window, yes I, an English woman.







The fast formation flying is so thrilling, the throaty whir of planes from the past, the sky rocking helicopters, each one proud to play its part.

The swifts and the magpies and the jays also get excited, their airwaves are disturbed.   They do not know whether to defend their young, chase off the planes or join in the fun;  shrieking to their friends they hurtle off after the great flying formations.

Birds and helicopters

Red smoke finale over La Defense