“Félicitations! Les internautes ayant réservé leur séjour sur venere.com on tout particulièrement apprécié Le Pontrieux et bon nombre d’entre eux ont classé l’établissement dans la catégorie: Excellent Service .”

Which was nice!

To avoid the network overloading everybody is being asked to moderate their consumption during peak hours of  5 and 8pm. If these warnings are not heeded then preventative power cuts will be imposed to protect the network.  Most at risk is Finistère being at the edge of the network. Yesterday morning every Mairie in Finistère was contacted by phone to warn of outages.

This dampening the Christmas spirit somewhat. Towns and villages that were only last week boasting about their Christmas lights are now switching them off.  In St Brieuc their 11km of garlands and 27000 bulbs are staying off,  in Paimpol tonight and tomorrow there be no Christmas and town centre street lights. Vannes like other towns are  switching off the  illumination of public building and monuments.

However,  Christmas lights fans visiting Pontrieux need not fear – as I look out of the window our Christmas lights are glowing with gay abandon. I reckon there will be words….

Further reading:

Le Monde – La Bretagne sous basse tension

http://www.ouest-ecowatt.com/

” To Nick, Karen and family…..”

Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.

Father Christmas is due to take time out from his busy schedule to visit us today, tomorrow and next weekend. Given his busy schedule it was a real coup for t’committee to secure his services. I just hope he’s not a fraud, to check I will speak to him in English, that should flush out any imposter!

It has been a while since my last posting. One of the handful of readers has asked why I haven’t been updating. Here’s why

1. As I don’t suckle at the teat of the public sector, nor no longer work for a multinational, I am no longer able to spend large parts of the day sat in front of a screen blogging, booking holidays, looking at stuff on eBay checking football scores and filling out quizzes about old children’s TV programmes
2. I am not deluded enough to believe that perspectives from Pontrieux is of enormous interest.
3. It’s very easy to be negative and cynical about everything. A friend’s father is a relatively famous academic and children’s author. He has been the subject of and presented numerous Radio 4 programmes. When you hear him on the radio or meet him is extremely charming and good humoured. You know that you are in the company of someone who has enhanced your day. If however, you should read his blog or his column in the local paper, he comes across as a bitter angry man.
4. It’s quite difficult to talk about your daily life without mentioning people. The interesting things that happen involve my neighbours and customers, particularly when they demonstrate ‘interesting’ behaviour. My logs show that a number of people have come to my blog from the Google France translate service, particularly the post about names – the locals are watching.

The solution

1. From now on I going to try and post at least twice a week. This will help give the impression to my thousands of new readers that I am leading a successful charmed and fulfilled existence out of the rat race.
2. I am going to post more about what actually happens when people enter my premises and this may involve naming names.
3. To make 1. easier I am going to post more about what actually happens in France. Much of what is reported in the UK media is very Paris centric and bears no relevance us here in the sticks. I have the regional paper “Le Telegramme” delivered daily so will pass some of the daily news about stabbings, serious car accidents, teen alcoholism, domestic violence, child abuse and strikes that fills the paper.

Indeed you may be so overawed with the hilarity of funny foreign names you may want to pop into my tearoom for a lemonade. I should warn you that I only serve Pschitt! lemonade. “Would you like your Pschitt! in a glass or with a straw?”
Before tutting commences I would like to point out that the French manufacturer is fully aware of the word play – why else would their website have sections labelled “Pschitt! Attitude” and “Pschitt! Yourself”?

Although not a particularly artistic type I embraced my new found friends, happily publicising and attending their events. They didn’t seem to mind getting trapped in my toilet  - I didn’t mind their impromptu pagan dancing and singing in my courtyard.

All was well until I noticed that they had stopped dropping off flyers for their events, the invites to the ‘gala’ openings dried up and the realisation that they hadn’t popped in for a coffee since June.

Perhaps toes have been trodden on. After seeing a price list for one of their pieces of work, I commented that it was a lot of money. The piece in question was 5000€. To put this in perspective I would need to let a room in my B&B for over 100 nights to get that sort of money. I didn’t say it was too dear or not worth the money, just factually that it was a lot of money. This did not go down well.

Failing that, it is all my mother’s fault. While on a visit I persuaded her to come along to one of the exhibitions. This was perhaps not a good idea as my mother is even less of an arty type than me.

The exhibition consisted of a number of rough drafts of poems with assorted paperbacks tied up with string and pinned to the wall. Another exhibit consisted of various wine glasses glued to a French window. This work is by Pontrieux vitrailliste Julian Lannou and looks stunning.

What was not expected was someone breaking the silence by playing this exhibit with drumsticks and wailing. This was followed by three people walking round in a circle hitting cowbells and chanting, finishing off with a bagpipes and a rendition of The Wild Rover

I knew the effect this would have on my mother. She was attempting to hide behind me, tears rolling down her cheeks and her fist in her mouth in a vain attempt to suppress the laughter. My mother’s critical response to the spectacle unfolding may have been the most honest, but I fear may have harmed Pepworth-Artist relations.

The other Sunday I was greeted by used toilet paper that was also sodden with blood, to the extent that it had soaked into the stone.

My dismay at what may be a comment on my cakes was equalled by being somewhat perplexed that your average Breton carries shitty toilet paper about their person. No doubt such activity attracts a generous handout from the State.

Today’s unusual present is a bath mat that has been draped over my back gate.

Perhaps after last year’s effort they aren’t going to bother. It was a shame that there were heavy downpours that weekend; it was also a shame that the Christmas market also appeared to lack any association with Christmas.

I accept that I am hampered by my ‘anglo saxon’ thinking, however if you consider the concept of a Christmas market, certain images are formed. I posit that the distorted sound of The Who and Rolling Stones, blasted through the town’s tinny pa system is not one of them.

Alas porridge is not so successful when it comes to persistent doorbell ringing first thing in the morning. Any attempt at hoping they would go away was dashed by my mother declaring a) he’s rather official looking, b) he’s seen me so knows there is someone in and c) he is standing on the pavement opposite looking up at the windows.

Nothing for it but to see what this rather menacing-looking individual wanted. He was from the French equivalent of the Performing Rights Society.

When you start a business in France you are swamped with various organisations demanding their pound of flesh, regardless of whether you have actually made a profit or even taken any money. The bloated French state has to pay its bills and by and large it is the small independent traders who foot the bill.

The worst offender is RAM the healthcare organisation, which I am legally obliged to join and have to make payments to regardless of my actual income and my ability to even feed myself or pay my utility bills. They have the full backing of the state and will send the bailiffs in without hesitation.

The French Performing Rights people were very quick of the mark demanding about £400 for the radio in my tearoom and the 3 radios in my B&B rooms. Naturally I took exception to this. Firstly, I know of no other chambres d’hôtes that pays for room radios. Secondly, my occupancy rate out of season is extremely modest, I object to paying for idle radios. Thirdly, the radio in my tearoom is tuned to Radio 5 Live. I do not play music. Why should Victoria Derbyshire prattling away incur a fee to be redistributed to French musicians?

So the letters arrived and I ignored them. They don’t appear to have the same powers as RAM and rely on sending letters – until today. Luckily I wasn’t having an 8am ‘Kylie Hour’ but had Radio Five on in the background as usual. In my rubbish French I was able to say to him “Listen – it’s English speech radio. It’s on all the time and as I didn’t know you were coming I haven’t changed anything.” I also offered him contact details of my regular customers who could verify my tale.

I think I have had some success. He appeared to agree that performing rights were only due for music. He then completed and asked me to sign a declaration that I don’t play music (or I have inadvertently signed up to change my electricity supply).

On this occasion it appears the early bird didn’t get the worm. I recommend porridge instead.