Unusual presents

November 22nd, 2007

One of the joys of having a property in a busy street is discovering the presents that have been left on your doorstep overnight. Usually they are quite mundane – a pizza box or wine bottle.

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.

Is the Christmas market only a fortnight away?

November 21st, 2007

I am not sure if there will be a Christmas market this year in Pontrieux. Last year it was held the weekend of 9th December, so potentially the Christmas market is just over a fortnight away. The fact that it hasn’t been advertised is not necessarily an indication that it is not going to happen (see my earlier post about the Fete de la Musique).

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.

A knock at the door

November 8th, 2007

After having recently discovered that a bowl of porridge just before bedtime aids sleep, I have enjoyed greater success at being oblivious to the cacophony of sound that pollutes Pontrieux in the early hours.

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.

Putting names to faces

August 24th, 2007

As my French experiment draws towards its natural conclusion it is time to consider the many characters that will feature in my forthcoming bestseller “A year in Pontrieux”.

Not knowing the real names of all the people I come across it is necessary to invent names as verbal shorthand. Here are the people of Pontrieux sorted into meaningful categories.

Proximity – The people next door, the people at the back with the dog, the man opposite, the people next door on the other side, the old lady from down the road.

Profession – The nurse, the Mayor, the horseman, the horseman’s daughter, the horseman’s wife, the pharmacist, the woman in the boulangerie, the artists, the photographer.

Similarity to other people – Roger Cook, Roger Cook’s son, Herbert.

Physical attribute – The black man, the black man’s wife, the Scottish lady, the ménage a trios, the prostitute, the prostitute’s husband, the prostitute’s son, the posh lady, the three witches, the man from Paris, the League of Gentleman girls.

Any offence caused by these descriptions is purely intentional.

Petition Gordon Brown to make Barbara Windsor a Dame

August 7th, 2007

The Pontrieux Report’s campaign for Barbara Windsor to be made a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire continues with gusto,” I’ve been on the job all day!”

A petition has been created on the Number 10 website to enable you to show your support for the our Babs. The petition reads, “We the undersigned petition the Prime Minister to make Barbara Windsor a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire.”

If you are a British citizen or resident you can sign the petition at http://petitions.pm.gov.uk/barbarawindsor/.

Happy Birthday Barbara Ann Deeks!

August 7th, 2007

Yesterday marked the 70th birthday of a truly great Briton. With a career spanning stage, television and film for the past 58 years, our heroine is a much loved national institution. She joins the ranks of Diana Rigg, Judy Dench, Eileen Atkins and Maggie Smith in proving that age is no barrier to a continued successful acting career. Our heroine is probably the most recognisable amongst our group of talented ladies and doesn’t suffer from that troublesome “I know who you mean, but I can’t remember the last time I saw her in anything” conundrum. She also happens to be the only one in our list who hasn’t been made a Dame, being given a measly MBE – the ones they give out to the proles now that they have done away with the BEM.

Why can this be? Is it because she isn’t a member of one of those posh outfits like the RSC? You know the ones, lots of state subsidy but hardly seen by anyone. Is it because the films she was famous for, were a little “low brow”. Perhaps it is because, horror of horrors, she appears in a “popular serial  drama”. Or perhaps it’s just of plain old snobbery – the accent has to be “just so” to be a Dame – only posh birds need apply.

As the Pontrieux Report launches its campaign to make her a Dame, let’s all raise a toast to the “our Babs”. Mine’s a large one!

Three cheers for Red Bull (and DC)

July 6th, 2007

With many large organisations like the BBC dumping their older experienced stars, it is cheering to hear that Red Bull Racing has opted for both style and substance by signing Britain’s No1 racing driver for another year.

When David Coulthard started at Williams I wasn’t a big fan. He made a lot of noise about how good he was and how he was going to show Damon Hill a thing or two. Thankfully the arrogant years are behind him and I get great enjoyment from watching someone who appears to really enjoy what he does with no chips on his shoulder. Whenever David has anything to say about F1 it is always worth listening to and he has become a great ambassador for the sport.

As he prepares to race in his 14th British Grand Prix, David is still the most successful British driver on the grid. A fact that is probably unknown to the casual viewer of ITV’s mediocre F1 coverage.

To celebrate David’s good news I was going to suggest we all crack open a can of Red Bull, however as it is banned in France for health reasons,   I’ll have a glass of tap water (that contains prohibited levels of harmful nitrates under EU law). Cheers!

How a prime minister leaves the job, BBC style

June 27th, 2007

It is on the big set piece occasions you can rely on the BBC…..to go overboard with a lot spin, hot air and very little substance. I will comment later on Nick Robinson’s having finally lost the plot. Hopefully he will have had a lie down before he is sick.

The Pontrieux Report is drawn to a “Magazine” article on the BBC news website “How does a prime minister leave the job?”

For the benefit of any students foolish enough to cite this article in any coursework, I offer some corrections;

“Some PMs have dined with the Queen on their last night in office, but it is thought Mr Blair will not be doing this.”

Presumably only those who have known that it was their last night in office. Most PMs have departed as the result of a General Election, so their last night in office was probably spent in their constituency.

“From there he will be carried in the limousine for the last time to Buckingham Palace to see the Queen to resign his post and hand back the seals of office.”

No seals of office changed hands.

“He then leaves the palace in a different car, not the prime ministerial limousine.”

Well it may not the “prime ministerial limousine”, but it looked like the very same car to me.

“As soon as he has left, Mr Brown and his wife, Sarah, will be summoned to the palace to be invited by her majesty to form the next government.”

Actually only Mr Brown was invited to form a government.

“He will be presented with the seals of office.”

No he wasn’t.

“Afterwards the couple return to Downing Street in the limousine left behind by Mr Blair.

Mr Blair didn’t live a limousine behind.

Good old BBC, it’s the way they’re funded you know.

Beware of the dogs

June 27th, 2007

Quentin Davies’s defection and stinging resignation letter has unleashed the Tories finest attack poodles. Over at Iain Dale’s queenie bitchfest the level of debate was to resort to calling Mr Davies a “shit” . Meanwhile Alan ”Glad to be grey” Duncan has been stalking Quentin around the TV and radio studios. On Newsnight Alan unsuccessfully tried to mask getting very hot under the collar with unconvincing laughter. At one stage it looked as if he was going to burst. I am pleased to report that Labour’s newest MP eloquently fended off the yapping Duncan.

Snatching hope from the jaws of despair

June 25th, 2007

Watching the deputy leadership results unfold was a depressing experience. If Hazel wasn’t going to win it at least my second choice Alan Johnson was predicted to win by Sky and the BBC . Alas my fifth choice got the job. During Gordon’s speech I thought it was a little bit off for him to publicly sack Hazel and give Harriet her job. I was surprised by the number of colleagues who fell for the “it has to be a woman” line – it wasn’t deemed important last time round. The trots on Labour Home  were gleefully gloating over Hazel’s result, combining vindictiveness towards Hazel with predictions of the demise of New Labour. So I was quite depressed.

But hang on a moment didn’t Gordon mention New Labour twice in his speech? And what was that appearing on the screen after his speech, yes New Labour was back.

On reflection it became clear that giving Harriet the role of party chairman was a master stroke. He has effectively made her minister for the Today programme and  Question Time, having to defend all those things she rubbished during her campaign. I look forward to hearing her defending the Trident decision. Talk about being hoisted by your own petard! Also what one give one can take away, so if she isn’t up to the job Gordon can still move her.