Wilf is enjoying life. Today the joiners are supposed to come to fit the glass to the new doors and the builder and his team have promised to start work on the crumbling concrete on the terrace. On past form illicit treats can be expected from at least one of them. The plane trees are shedding their bark and Wilf has discovered that if he rolls on it a satisfying 'snap,crackle and pop' emerges.
Friday, July 16, 2010
To the local planning department to get the new rules and regulations regarding septic tanks. The rickety old farmhouse has at least five septic tanks, and we're still discovering new ones. A prim young lady at the reception desk proved to be the living personification of the charmless , Anglo-Saxon loathing, French bureaucrat . Without looking up from her paperwork, she fired off responses to my questions at a rate of two hundred words a minute. I managed to catch the occasional derogatory snippet regarding the diameter of my pipes and the positioning of my robinet d'arret. Ah, the joy of dealing with technical specifications in a foreign language. To make matters worse the local dialect has a certain impenetrability . Here in deepest Occitane , the letter 'g' pops up at random - vin becomes vang and pain becomes pang. Armed with a sheaf of ordinances I beat a hasty retreat to the cafe for a glass of restorative champagne.