I’ve arrived!

I am now truly integrated into the French culture – I have just had my first French tantrum, all in French, at my French neighbours! Hurrah! And then I set my other French neighbours on them to reinforce the message in case my shouting, screaming and stamping wasn’t quite enough.

And I feel a lot better now, I can now see why French people do it so much. It’s a common sight all over the place, raised voices, raised fists, stamping, fingers wagging, fantastic words like ‘insupportable’ and ‘intolerable.’ It’s the cause of many a traffic hold-up round here, two people abandoning their cars for a good old verbal scrap in the middle of the road while everyone else joins in on their car horns to inflame things still further. It’s quite the spectator sport too, a good argument in the street can gather a fair crowd. You just don’t see it in England where if someone bumps into you it’s you who apologises for daring to exist and straying into their path. Over there you risk being beaten up, glassed or shot if you stand up for yourself. Over here it would be unreasonable not to take the person to task at the top of your voice for not looking where they are going. (Although it works the other way too, of course, the good old French irregularities: a friend of mine once spoke up to some doddering old bird when she trampled her 5-year-old while he was walking in a nice straight line beside the pushchair at one side of the pavement and the old dear responded by having a right go at the child for getting in her way! But then the under 7’s are persona non grata to the stuffy Parisian old folk so the poor boy was onto a loser the minute he stepped out the front door in my humble opinion.)

Anyway, what did this neighbour of mine do to incur my righteous wrath? He’s been having a bonfire-fest. He’s built the smokiest bonfires in living memory for the last 3 days and when he started again this morning I saw red and marched round there. I probably wouldn’t have said a word if the wind was blowing the other way or the sun wasn’t out for the first time in weeks but we’ve been trapped indoors for 3 days now by his smoke and I couldn’t take any more. And what a sight met my eyes – he’s had someone in to cut back the fir tree that towers over his house and instead of paying the tree-surgeons to take the detritus away the tight-fisted old bastard must have told them to leave it all where it fell because the garden is completely buried in huge green branches which he is merrily throwing onto such a miniscule bonfire that we’ll be kippered for the next fortnight before he’s got through it all. Aaaargh! I had set out to be all polite and neighbourly but when I saw that I totally lost it. And you know what? my French was pretty coherent for once. It’s amazing what a bit of adrenalin can do for your grammar. I was on such a roll that when I came home and saw my landlord in his garden next door I proudly told him what I’d done and, bless him, he went round there too just to ram the message home.

Aaaaand… relax. My sister would tell me ‘In with anger, out with love’. But nothing beats a good rant, believe me. Except a gem from one of the little ones of course. Pickle decided to name all the children in his French class on the way home from school. When he got to Innanuit (not sure if that’s how you spell it, she’s really cute though) I said, ‘You quite like her don’t you?’ To which he replied, ‘Yes, and she loves me too, all the way to my feet.’

Saynomore. All is calm now. (and it's my birthday, but I don't want to talk about it ...)