THOUGHTS ON THE FRENCH AFTER 3 DAYS HERE
Funny folk the French. They don’t greet you effusively on the village streets but they do slow down in their cars when they see you and your dog walking down a narrow street. As if they were thinking about you and considering your safety. And they acknowledge it if, when driving, you show them the courtesy of letting them pass on a narrow road.
But, boy, are they quiet! At least in this village. No kids running round the streets, no dogs barking ceaselessly and no music blaring from anyone’s house. Is there anyone here apart from us, as we try to make up for the lack of noise on everyone else's part?
And here is the very village, looking as quiet as it is.
But, boy, are they quiet! At least in this village. No kids running round the streets, no dogs barking ceaselessly and no music blaring from anyone’s house. Is there anyone here apart from us, as we try to make up for the lack of noise on everyone else's part?
And here is the very village, looking as quiet as it is.
Oddly, the place doesn’t seem to have any sort of café, bar or pub at all. Let alone a brothel. As I say, funny people.
What it does have is a central parking place, with this sign asking people not to obstruct others. None of us can imagine such a sign even existing in Spain. Or being obeyed if it did.
What it does have is a central parking place, with this sign asking people not to obstruct others. None of us can imagine such a sign even existing in Spain. Or being obeyed if it did.
And it does have another border collie – there are lots in the hills around here – which appears to be gay. As he’s been dancing his unwanted attentions on Ryan, we’ve named him Gordon. Which will do even if he’s not gay but just desperate.
The French are even odder than I first thought. In a restaurant last night, we could hear ourselves think. Not just when the place was half empty but even when it was full.
I’d forgotten that French TV also favours a tame audience of bored-looking stiffs sitting behind the performers or presenters, facing the camera. Even those just selling products on the shopping channels. Very odd.
The big New Year’s Eve program looks like being the same appalling celebrity-men-versus-celebrity-women ‘quiz competition’ which I saw when I was last in France at this time of year, 10 years ago. Plus ça change . . .
Postscript
Ryan escaped from the garden this morning and my daughters feared he’d run off with gay Gordon. But he returned alone when whistled. Albeit with a smile on his face.
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