Life In 79

At  the end of the weekly shop, with all the provisions packed and paid for we always hear ‘bonne journée’ followed by a cheery ‘au revoir’ from the French cashier. We enthusiastically reciprocate and leave the shop knowing that everything is good with the world. And this seems to be the case across the board, whichever supermarket we're in, Hyper U, Leclerc, Carrefour or Lidl. In a British supermarket, you might receive a 'bye', 'see ya' or just a grunt as you manhandle your trolley out of the shop. And yet on the road the French become a different creature altogether. As you pull over to let the oncoming car pass, is there a wave, nod, lift of the finger in acknowledgement of your generous act? Nothing! They drive past as if you're not even there. 'Well, don't say thank you'. The British, on the other hand, when behind the wheel love to nod, wink, wave or flash the lights at any opportunity. If you are driving down a country lane in France and meet...

My watch broke recently so for the past few weeks I have been timeless. My daily routine has been dictated by two things, daylight and hunger. When the sun comes up so do I, when it starts getting dark, I’m ready for bed, similar to a bird, except I don’t start singing first thing. The second, my stomach. When I feel a mild hunger pang, I think ‘nearly lunch’ probably about 12.15, a more prolonged pang 12.30, ‘I’m starving’ one o’clock. The same applies for tea.   When I was a teacher back in the UK, my whole working day was dictated by old father time. Up at at 6.30, in the car 7.25 (avoid the 7.30 rush), first lesson starts 8.45, etc. Maybe a couple of hours in the evening that were my own, but the rest tick tock.  Since moving to France our whole routine has had to change, shops close for two hours in the middle of the day, eating later in the evening, post offices that are rarely open, no DIY shops open on a Sunday. The year is more prominantly divided in two – the long ho...