Back in Business

Well, that was a waste of a few days, but the hand is now back, not to normal, but at least I can use it. Bloody stove, it’s been nothing but trouble. And humping the wood in and out is going to do my back in, no doubt about that.

Anyway, what’s happened in our neck of the woods? The smell’s back with a vengeance. Old Pierre suggests we pop round and see M. Pereira. Old Pierre says he’s very deaf now – lots of gestures pointing to his ears – but he says it was M. Pereira who put in the drainage system years ago for Madame Pons, who was several owners back. M. Pereira used to be the local digger man – apparently the digger man is a crucial person round here – and would remember where the fosse is. I’ll send Monica round pronto, because the smell is unendurable when the wind is blowing from the east.

We’ve had a letter from the notaire, Maitre Plomb, saying he’s got documents for us. He’s the lawyer who did the house sale from the Donalds. A slippery character if ever I’ve seen one. Looks like he takes a morning drink of battery acid which leaves his mouth in a permanent pucker. And his breath could strip paint from a ship’s bottom. I’ll get Monica to phone him up and make an appointment. One more thing for her to moan about.

The good news is that the rehearsals for the carol service are going swimmingly. No one has thrown a tantrum yet, though the hippy wife said she felt we should have some carols in French. That was quickly disposed of. For starters, she couldn’t think of one, there being no French carols, it being a catholic country. And secondly, as it appears to be an English thing according to Mrs Boothby who says the French don’t really do Christmas, what’s the point of warbling away in Frog. The hippy wife was a bit disgruntled but at least she didn’t go on about it. I must say, though, we make a decent noise and I’m sure the affair is going to be a success.

A small cloud has appeared on the horizon. Fingers are being pointed at a chap called Reggie. Apparently he has been running the annual charity bash the Brits hold every year to raise money for good causes. By all accounts he’s a sort of “life and soul of the party” individual. He’s usually propping the bar in the village, offering drinks all round but according to Jeff he’s a bit of a dark horse. He’s been here for six or seven years and no one really knows where he came from. There’s a rumour that he was sent here by some kind of family trust to get rid of him. Anyway he’s sort of person who takes things over, likes to have his thumb in all sorts of expat pies. The story is he’s had his fingers in the till. It was only because someone actually wrote to one of the charities about what the local English community had sent via this Reggie person, only to discover they didn’t know anything any donations. Reggie said it was a frightful misunderstanding but tongues are wagging. Amazing what happens in a French village so watch this space.