The Pontrieux Report

June 21st see many French towns organising a Fete de la Musique, offering a programme of free live music events. Several organisations in Pontrieux had come together to organise the town’s first ever Fete de la Musique. An ambitious programme was organised with three venues running simultaneously.

Unfortunately the event appears to have been a washout. To be fair it was unfortunate that it rained for most of the evening and that two of the venues were outdoors. However the staging of Pontrieux’s first ever Fete de la Musique was almost a state secret. The only publicity I saw for the event was some flyers posted through my letter box on Monday. Alarmingly the leaflet stated that music singing and dancing would not only be taking place in the public venues but also in the cafes. As I am the only cafe in Pontrieux, this was news to me.

The only public transport serving Pontrieux is an infrequent train service that finishes in the early evening, therefore you have to come by car. Unfortunately whenever an event is organised in Pontrieux they are fond of closing off the town’s two main car parks to stage the event.  I hate to be the foreigner stating the bleeding obvious, but perhaps someone might realise that the reason people don’t come is because there is nowhere to park?

I return to my regular theme of the perils of trying to get a decent night’s sleep in Pontrieux. I have been a little bit spoilt the past few weekends as I have been spared the 2.30am and 4.30am cacophony of noise. Last Sunday night I was bothered by the tosser playing loud music until 1.00am Monday morning, but I musn’t be too harsh – it didn’t go on until 6.00am as on previous occasions.

My ire today stems from being awoken by a gradual increase in hum of voices in the square at 4.30am. Not the shouts of drunks but of a large crowd gathering. Clearly they are waiting for a coach. Whatever the purpose of their day out, surely at least one of the party might have thought that, as there are over 100 people living on or near the square, it would be considerate to keep the noise down?

I pose the same question as when I frequently witness the appallingly dangerous driving. Is it ignorance or just that they really don’t give a toss about anybody else.

Trying to understand the rules behind refuse collection has been a major preoccupation during the past year. Seeing microwave ovens, mattresses and wheel caps left out for the weekly collection led me to believe that “anything goes”. Excellent news, I thought as I piled up the rather large boxes that contained my new furniture. Such optimism was dashed the next day when none of my cardboard had been collected and I had to sheepishly drag it all back inside. A fellow Brit told me that they don’t collect cardboard and will not take glass or plastic bottles either. They don’t have green collections in this part of France, you are meant to take them to the nearest recycling point.

Fast forward to Christmas 2006 and I receive a leaflet about rubbish collection, detailing the monthly collections of metals and combustibles. So that was the problem, I had put my boxes out on the wrong day. Today was a nominated metals and combustibles day so I decided to have a clear out. A drive round the town saw plenty of properties with stacks of cardboard boxes and other junk piled high. Emboldened I created my own waste mountain outside my house. As insurance I left a few boxes outside the Post Office…just in case.

This morning I collected my empty bin and to no great surprise none of my boxes had been removed. Interesting! I walked round to the Post Office, which was a cardboard free zone. I blew my top, preparing to deliver a foul-mouthed tirade to the Mayor. I had been singled out for non-collection, with the obvious conclusion that this was a racist snub on the account of being British. I come from country that lost thousands of lives bailing out these surrender monkeys, their total lack of gratitiude exemplified by not bothering to collect my rubbish. As for sheepishly dragging it all back inside, much to the amusement of my neighbours? Sod that. It’s staying in the street. And if someone comes round to complain then sod them too. They’re messing with a Brit here and no-one does that.

It was while I was running through the many inadequacies of the French, that a truck with yellow flashing light pulled up, two men got out and cheerfully added my waste mountain to their substantial collection of old furniture, fence panels and cardboard boxes.