Anyway, said day started as normal, although the fact that we have shutters, not curtains, means that the bedroom stays dark and I therefore find it difficult to get out of my pit before 9.30am most days. Once I did I sat quietly slurping my cup of Yorkshire tea on the sofa (did I tell you I liked Yorkshire tea?) when the phone rang. Nothing unusual you might think, and in normal circumstances I may agree - however, this is France and things work differently here - for starters the phone company gave us the previous owners telephone number and so 98% of calls are for Madame de Kock, and the other 2% is someone trying to sell me solar panels. However, today the statistics were skewed by the fact that the call was actually for me. It was a gentleman who told me that he had a delivery for me, but alas he couldn't find 'La Chabanaise' - this was despite the fact that he told me he was sitting in his van next to a sign for 'La Chabanaise'. He then rambled on, or cantered on, at about 250kmh (not mph as I am continental now don't you know) and I couldn't make head nor tail of what he was saying. I felt quite embarassed to say I have a degree in French, because at that moment in time he may as well have been speaking Urdu, that was how much I understood. But he did eventually get here, and clad in my soot stained dressing gown, black tights and pink slippers (look of the season) I greeted him upon the terrace where he handed me my parcel. "Have you lived here long"? he asked. So I explained it had just been 7 weeks or so. He then proceeded to tell me how he used to deliver parcels here every couple of days for the previous residents - go figure! So how on earth was it that he couldn't find his way?? Oh well, he assured me he would make a mental note so he would know where to come next time. At which point he shook my hand and wished me a 'bonne journée' - now that little phrase always makes me feel better and I thought the day was bound to get better.
Mark and I then ventured out into French society. First stop was the Doctor's surgery where we want to register as patients. Now maybe I was spoilt in England - the Doctor's surgery there was state of the art, with touch screen check ins, and at least 2 secretarial staff to each doctor, one of whom I affectionately called the Dragon - you get the picture! But alas in France, things are quite different. We opened the door to find just an empty room - a few chairs scattered around, but that was it. Nothing and nobody in sight! We swiftly turned round and left! Hmmmmm! Next stop was the Tresor Public to see if they would give us a tax number - the look of confusion on the girl's face suggested we were in fact in the wrong place, but after asking nicely she gave us the address for the office in Brive -la-Gaillarde, and said we would need to go there. Sigh! By this point, feeling a little dejected by our lack of success, we went and consoled ourself in the local hardware shop, where we purchased a couple of pieces of wood, 2 hooks, some paint mixer and a few herb plants. Exhausted by the excitement, we then returned home for déjeuner - I can understand now why people living on the continent need a 2 hour lunch break!
The afternoon started in a similar fashion as the morning - I plucked up the courage to ring the tax office in Brive and explain my predicament and our need to furnish ourselves with tax numbers. Was told that we couldn't have one until next year! At which point I was very tempted to bang my head on the table...but instead I just cried! I then rang the doctor surgery - and the doctor answered the phone (WTF!), and invited myself and Mark in for a 'rendez-vous' at 5pm tomorrow! Maybe they don't have waiting lists here! Success at last! And best of all, despite my efforts of speaking half-decent French, he answered my every question in English!
We then went on the search for wood so I can watch Mark build me a chicken house, and offer advice from the sidelines while drinking tea. We had been told of a sawmill where we could possibly get some offcuts of wood - upon arrival not an awful lot seemed to be happening, and there was nobody around, so mission failed we returned home, tails between our legs. And what d'ya know, we had a missed call. Somebody else had called us! There was a message - it was that loathed British institution, the DWP ringing to tell me that our healthcare forms were on the way, and that they now had all the information they needed! This was despite three or four phone calls to them last week when they insisted they had not received any of our faxes with said information. So I called them back ( I wouldn't have bothered if it wasn't free, but as it is, and as my day had not been too productive, I figured I may as well take it out on someone!). It was a very nice gentleman that I spoke to, and he admitted that they had now found the information that last week they said they hadn't received. Magic hey?? Sometimes I wish I could let rip on people, but instead I just thanked him for his help and ended the call.
And so the day ended there and here we are!! Its been a long old day, and to be truthful I have felt a little down and out about how even simple things sometimes seem to take so long - and my lack of aptitude in French also is knocking my confidence a little. But tomorrow's another day and I am sure things will feel a little better. Moving to another country was never going to be easy. And at the end of the day, we always have these two beautiful creatures to put a smile on our faces......
Alison
xx
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