Paddling

This photo is for those amongst you who have a secret passion to belong to a harem.

Today's bash

This is a quote from today's Sun newspaper:

" SHILPA Shetty’s performance on Celebrity Big Brother has been hailed as a turning point in defeating racism.

The stunning Bollywood star beat her tormentors Jade Goody and Jo O’Meara to a place in the final.

Now the Indian actress looks set to become the nation’s sweetheart after she dealt with racism and bullying with good grace and humour."

Am I the only one to have blood that curdles when I read this insincere tripe? What are 60 million people doing tolerating this hypocrisy?

First off we have heard endlessly up to now that the British multicultural approach had created a harmonious society. Especially during the troubles in the French suburbs. Did anyone believe that?

Then of course the Sun never ceases to exploit the bigoted, nasty vicious goings on of BB to sell more newspapers.

Now we get this humbug.

A respectable nation wouldn't put up with it. Is every Englishman so attached to commercial gain that they are prepared to turn their head away from profiteering out of racism?

Come on, give us some fun

Down town Orléans, right where the Rosbifs called out for Fish and Chips. You can still see the ketchup.

So how is Ségo doing? As you can read in the newspapers she has made quite a few ‘gaffes’, especially on foreign policy. Though there are so many, one starts to suspect it's a strategy. Surprisingly she seems to be turning the corner.

Of course the opinion polls are showing her with a small deficit to Sarko, but it remains small and if she can recover credibility then she can still win.

Probably the biggest coup was the Canard Enchainé information on the Renseignements general. This is the French KGB who had investigated a colleague of Ségo. It did not look too nasty of itself. The French are tolerant of the RG because they have a pretty realistic opinion as to what the world is like. They prefer having these types of snoopers, with accompanying strong arm tactics, to the attacks on the New York World Trade Centre and a war in Iraq. Nevertheless there is a difference between acknowledging their shady existence and being associated with them on the front pages. It makes Sarko look a bit nasty. Unfortunately for him, he went after a greeny rather than some business type. Bad memories of Mitterand's Greenpeace fiasco in New Zealand. It also gives him a problem with his resignation from the interior ministry. If he resigns now it will look as if he was pushed, if he stays there is plenty more room for ‘bavures’.

Sarko also looks nasty because of the Dehan incident. Imitating the prime minister of Quebec and Ségo saying that the French would be happy to give Corsica its independence. Nobody contests it is true, in general people think the place is more trouble than it’s worth. Besides people who live on islands are trouble makers. But it is not the sort of thing presidential candidates should say. Nevertheless the socialists are managing to make it look like dirty tricks from Sarko rather Ségo’s incompetence. Not so easy to have a go at a lady!!!

Ségo’s off in the Antilles saying that she is happy to be away from the rough and tumble of politics in the metropolitain. “C’est dur”!!!. Pesky women for you, when they are winning they fight and when they start losing they run to the teacher. But of course it's fair tactics. Nobody was born yesterday.

Her relationship with Hollande will probably run and run. It looks like their ‘partnership’ is pretty rocky. Hollande has certainly not been too much of a gentleman so far. One suspects that her kids were born by immaculate conception and she’s not too cuddly between the sheets, or at least not with Hollande. Where has Hollande been getting his little ‘gâteries’? Still Sarko is studiously avoiding that territory, where he probably has a pretty patchy record as well. The French press as usual is also steering clear of ‘personal’ questions. Come on now, give the gallery a bit of fun!!!

Oh yes policy is off at the moment.

Going Global

From today's London's Times

Poms whinging beer ad pulled
Englishmen living in Australia succeed in their campaign to outlaw advertising depicting Englishmen as whingers

Last month British People Against Racial Discrimination, the organisation campaigning for the removal of the advert, said that the word Pom was derogatory. David Thomason, the group’s spokesman, said: “The Oxford Dictionary classes Pom as being derogatory.” Mr Thomason said that he believed that there was a fashionable wave of derogatory insults against the British. He cited the behaviour of Australian cricket fans towards the English on the current Ashes tour.

“The songs the Aussie supporters sing talk about how ‘We can’t get near your body because of your smell, your body odour, your bad breath, your buck teeth, your whingeing — have you got some soap?’, ” he said.

Clocking in to kill

This is from the New york Times today. I thought it was incredibly funny. Soon the troups will have to clock in.

"Many of the Iraqi Army units who were supposed to help secure Haifa Street in Baghdad on Wednesday did not arrive on time, forcing the Americans to start the job on their own."

The view from Orléans

Some establishment figures have unfairly accused me of anti British bashing. Well, I ask you, how about this quote from the establishment's own rag. “Tony Blair faced fierce criticism …………. for failing to attend the first full-scale debate on Iraq for nearly three years.” Now would I ever suggest that a country, even with limited democracy, would wait 3 years to debate in its national assembly, a war in which it was killing thousands upon thousands of innocent people? Would I ever suggest that any leader anywhere, however mercenary, would be so consumed by his commercial activities as to not even attend the debate? I would never suggest anywhere that such a thing could possibly happen. It is just too far fetched to believe that the worst banana republic behaves in this manner. Who finally are the Brit bashers, the establishment’s own journal, that prints unwarranted criticism of the country.

Les Justes

Question. Compare and contrast life in a monarchy and a republic. Well no I’m not a PPE student so you won’t get an authoritative answer. But I would put one thing on the list. The treatment of dead national heroes.

Yeah I mean if you’re in a monarchy it’s simple. Edward 1 and keep counting, Edward 2, Edward 3……. switch to George 1, George 2, George 3, throw in a brace of Charlies and you have your national heroes. The hyper productive French kept things simple: Louis 1, Louis 2, Louis 3…….. What’s the name of the new prince?….. Louis. What a surprise. I bet they got exited for lack of imagination over first names rather than problems with fruit cake. How could an imaginative nation like France be asked to bow and scrape to a Louis from now to eternity.

But in a republic it is not so simple. The national heroes are no longer chosen by divine right but by mere mortals here below. It’s not so easy to decide who is great and who isn’t. Nobody is perfect and nobody is all bad. Whenever France gives somebody recognition as a national hero there is considerable discussion as to whether it is merited. The individual’s ashes get transferred to the Pantheon in Paris. The last guy to go in was Alexandre Dumas in 2002.

I have to say that my connexion with le Pantheon is not exactly what les citoyens de brumaire planned. It’s a great place to find a parking spot near to the Latin Quarter. Leading from la place du Pantheon there is a wonderful little street called Rue de la Montagne saint Généviève. It winds down the hill, has some fine old buildings and lots of fun restaurants. Hence my visits to the area.

But Chirac had neither restaurants nor parking spots on his mind as he strolled over to le Pantheon yesterday. No citizen Jacques was looking to celebrate the contribution to the French nation of great citizens, les ‘Justes’.

However much time you spend in France you will find discussions about World War 2 heavy going. I only ever broach it with people I know intimately and even so the subject gets changed quickly. You can spend a year in Vichy and never see anything in relation to the event that has made it world renowned. The last time I looked, the guide Michelin didn’t even mention that it had been the capital of France . Nobody talks about the war but in the subconscious its present all the time. Barely a week goes by without one of the shameful events of history, Vel d’hiver, Auschwitz, Petain, Laval, Pithiviers cropping up in the media. No it’s a bleak part of our history and everybody knows it. France was the only occupied country that sent Jews to the concentration camps of its own volition.

Until Chirac the official line was that Vichy wasn’t France. Of course it’s an understandable point of view. The millions of refugees fleeing on the roads of France in front of the advancing Nazi armies hardly made a carefully considered choice to put Pétain and Laval in power. Nevertheless they didn’t resist it too much either and it was splitting hairs not to stand up to the issue. To his credit Chirac was the first president to accept that France was fully responsible for its shameful deeds.

So what was Jacques up to in the Pantheon yesterday? Well he was there to celebrate all the 2,725 admirable citizens, that helped the Jews during the Second World War, ‘Les Justes’ and who have collectively entered le Pantheon. They did it by hiding people, counterfeiting documents, smuggling people over the border, all at extreme personal danger. If France was the only country to volunteer up its Jews for the concentration camps it was also the occupied country that preserved the highest percentage (75%) of its Jewish population.

So I’m not proud of my adopted country for what it did in WW2. But thank you Jacques for pointing out that there was good mixed in with the bad. Given the opportunity would I be a Juste, or would I turn my back? How about you?

Amusement day 2

The amusement continues but unfortunately for those with a sweet spot for Ségo, it is at her expense or to be precise her partner’s. Arnaud Montebourg is a name that we hear a lot about. I’m not sure why. He is an aristo looking guy who speaks well but doesn’t say much. He founded, with some friends a ‘nouveau parti socialist’. It could have been a French type New Labour, except it seemed rather too left to fill that role. The only clear thing that Montebourg seemed to consistently propose was a sixth république with the president as an arbitrator and the prime minister more important than today.

Anyway, early on he decided to support Ségo and she, unwisely, appointed him as her porte parole. He is the sort of guy that,in my opinion is batting for himself and no one else. So last night when asked what Ségo’s principal fault was he said, on the television, that the only thing wrong with Ségo was her partner (ie Hollande). He immediately said it was a joke, but the only one’s laughing are the bande à sarko. Ségo has decided to suspend him a month as a punishment. Several people have made the connection between the punishment and the school marmly attitude of ségo, which seems pretty fair. The Sarko’s amidst their mirth came up with the comment that, if after his detention he makes another mistake, he’ll be off to military boot camp. (a ségo proposition for juvenile delinquents)

So it’s tough days for ségo, the latest two opinion polls have showed her trailing sarko in the second round by two points, whereas before she has been ahead by about the same amount. We’ll see what she is made of.

Las night ségo was in Randall’s FN country down in Toulon. Apparently the first time that a socialist presidential candidate has ventured down there since François Mitterand in 1981. Sarko was at Saclay promising 4 billion euros for research. Saclay is the centre for research into nuclear energy for France. It is the place where Pierre and Marie Curie had a farm in which they did their research. The barn is still there.

Today's amusement

The thing that the chattering classes are amusing themselves with today are the Presidential candidates’ wealth tax declarations (ISF). It all started yesterday with rumours on the blog that the Holland/Royal couple had an SCI (société civile immobilière, a common structure which helps with the ownership and inheritance of property without being overt tax evasion) undeclared for ISF. The right is being accused of ‘google bombing’

Royal came out last night and gave the detail of her wealth:

197 800 euros share in the family appartment of 120 m2 in Boulogne Billancourt bought in 1990 no credit outstanding
108 000 euros share in a house in Alpes-Maritimes of 120 M2 bought in 1986. No credit outstanding
50,000 in a house of 100 m2 (net of 111 024 outstanding debt)in a house in Poitou.
Shares bonds, none
Valuable objects none
Life insurance none
Car = Renault Scénic

She paid 862 euros of ISF last year

Royal concluded by asking all the other candidates to reveal their wealth. And also accusing the right of campaigning like ‘racailles’. The very word that Sarko used for the guys in the suburbs he wanted to Karcher.

So far the green candidate (Voynet) has come up with a gas powered twingo. The workers’ candidate (Arlette Laguiller) with 3000 euros in a post office savings account

Everybody is waiting for Sarko and Le Pen who are looking for their declarations.

The other interesting thing is that there is a mole in the central socialist committee that discusses campaign issues. In a meeting that was supposed to be secret somebody left their telephone on so that a journalist at Le Monde could get a full transcript of the meeting.

Apparently the socialists are rattled following Sarkozy’s recent speech and Ségo is on the defensive. With that sort of caper she will have to confiscate everybody’s telephone before the meetings start. Nice trusting atmosphere!!!

British Efficiency

With the brilliant organisation of the Baghdad hangings one wonders if it hasn't been outsourced to British Rail. Or maybe the NHS.

The next Anglo Saxon lie

And so now we have the ‘surge’. Having already had the ‘WMD’, ‘the war on terror’, ‘the terrorists’ ‘special rendition’. What amazes me is that everybody goes around looking serious and debating this stuff as if it has some connexion with reality.

I always remember how stupid Colin Powell looked standing up in front of the UN with a few photos of mouldy looking trucks and a phial of liquid. We were supposed to believe that this represented a major threat to the world’s security. If it was on Monty Python people would think it was too far fetched.

Let’s get it straight the event that has created the ‘war on terror’ that is disrupting the whole world was started by 17 (mainly Saudis) with cutters. Yes it was a tragic event, but does it justify creating the endless trauma that the world now knows? How come the US and other nations can justify spending billions, killing 100's of thousands because of those seventeen cutters. Do you really believe that two sick men hidden up in a cave somewhere in Afghanistan or Pakistan with absolutely no resources at their disposal bar a few video cassettes are truly a major threat to world peace? How come every other threat to world peace related to nations with bombs and armies that you could count in the 100,000’s. Now a nation who spends billions of $’s every day on every type of imaginable weapon is totally distraught in front of a couple of old guys who produce a video cassette from time to time. Do you really believe it? Or don’t you think that we have two nutters in the White House and Downing Street who are fomenting trouble because they are incompetent?

Where is the biggest trouble in the world today? It is in Iraq. Why, because there was a totally fabricated war against terrorism and WMD. Oh yes you’ll say there was already violence there and elsewhere. True just like there have always been wars and violence on this planet. But can you genuinely say that the totally artificial ‘war on terrorism’ is not creating problems wherever it goes and solving absolutely nothing whatsoever.

I am particularly irate because of the ‘surge’. First we had the Iraq war machine that invaded Kuwait and was supposed to be the mother of all armies. They turned and ran in a couple of days. Then we had the ‘Iraqis’ with the cutters. Then we had the WMD; the nuclear bombs, the chemical weapons. We had the Iraqis with a ‘democratic government’ Now we have the ‘surge’, it’s the next lie. What is it? I don’t know. I just know it’s a wanton manipulation of language. An action which will just make this planet less safe, and is calculated purely to help Anglo-Saxon politicians. It is supposed to be an extra 25,000 American troops who will now go to Iraq for a short while and solve all the problems that have not been solved. Utter clap trap. Do you really think George Bush knows, within 20,000 how many active troops he has, in a country the size of France and a population of 28 million.

No, what it looks like today is an extension of the war to Iran. Of course the Iranians are crawling all over Iraq. First off the conception of nations is totally different to Western ideas. The Shias in Iran and Iraq are more or less the same nation. The British have handed the running of the south over to the Shias ie the Iranians. Now Bush wants to fight these guys.Talk about confusion. And what do we do? We all sit and watch this mess proliferate. Helpless and pathetic.

The best eating in the world

One thing I didn’t report on after my November visit to London was my experience in the restaurants. Quite honestly it was so bad I thought I had become biased and could no longer be objective about the strengths (if any) and weaknesses of the UK. I put it down to the unfortunate incident of food poisoning and decided to move on.

But after ruminating over my experience for six weeks I have decided that first impressions were reliable. After all the whole objective of shelling out a lot of cash was to invite a friend to a restaurant in London. So since I made that effort, why shouldn’t you have to digest my suffering.

Yes I had decided that with all the glowing reports of wonderful London eating that I needed to update my database. An English friend, an anglophile to the core, was asked to take me to a good English restaurant, I would pay the bill. I was accompanied by my wife. We went to lunch in a restaurant in the West End, brasserie style, a typical professionals’ eating hole, lots of money. My friend made the suggestions. First surprise, we kicked off with Champagne. Excellent, but hardly English. For £130 we had a nice bottle sans amuses gueule. No flowers either or any table decoration.

Next surprise was the starter. I was recommended oysters. English oysters? Well no, ‘the fines claires’, £25 for six, are the best choice’. I started to tag onto the idea that I was going to eat a French meal. How about the English oysters, they are only £35 for six? A bit pricy, try the Irish oysters at only £20 for six. So we did, six Irish, six French between the three of us. The fines claires, I got two, were very good almost as good as the ones I buy on my local market for next to nothing. I did note that the langoustines were sold per piece at £3 a go. That’s the first time in my life I’ve seen them individually priced. We pile them up by the kilo in Brittany.

Time to order the main course. The sea bass cooked in salt is excellent. I do like sea bass; the only point is that we eat them all summer long for nothing since a friend catches more than he can eat. Was I going to pay £30 for something that we get for free? My wife did, bless her, but she is a bit conservative. I tasted it and it was good. I went for a teal, which I don’t think I have ever eaten before. It is the smallest species of duck that exists, I got just one. It is a bit bigger than a quail, and not as interesting. It was OK, they said it would be rosé but it tasted overcooked to me. On the plate next to it was one spinach leaf, not a nice one, late season tough as hell.

Strangely my wife said she didn’t want a dessert. She always wants a dessert but I guess she had done a bit of mental arithmetic. So we just had an espresso at £3 a pop. Strangely it was in a large cup, so the coffee was tepid. No petits fours.

During the coffee we had a chat with someone who appeared to be the manager. I’d seen him previously doing his bean counting, activity reports etc. at the bar. I never saw that in a French restaurant, they seem more concerned with the food. He gave us the usual spiel, best eating in the world in London. Doesn’t buy his wine in France, gets better and cheaper elsewhere. And the Champagne? Oh yea we get the champers from France but we get it cheaper than in France. Well, well, well at £130 a bottle you get a lady thrown in, in France. I’m interested in your comments about French wine; I live in The Loire and visit a lot of vignerons, I have good friends who make excellent wine much cheaper than what I can buy in England, do you know Chinon, Bourgeuil, Saumur, … Suddenly he didn’t have time to discuss wine anymore.

So time for l’addition. £250: 4 oysters, a tiny duck, a spinach leaf, two glasses of champagne and a cold coffee. I also gave £5 to the poor Chinese cloak lady. She had to sit in the bottom of the coat cupboard because they couldn’t afford a chair for her. I’ve never seen that before.

There was a sandwich stall outside so I bought a full round of ham and lettuce.

Picnic pas ordinaire du tout

My work usually takes me to either the Orléans suburbs or, what I believe the Anglo Saxons call, the exburbs. For which I don’t think we have a word in French. Maybe ‘la couronne’ which is used for Paris, outer and inner, but not for the agglomeration (shortened to agglo.) Orléanaise.

We are rarely in the same place for long so lunch habits don’t develop. The lunch policy laid down by the boss is a half hour picnic. So we sit down on a park bench or similar and devour our goodies. This has been one of the most educative experiences in my life. (yes, really, I'm serious)

Of course I have not so fond memories of being the sandwich boy in London. The boss had smoked salmon (it was expensive in those days) and the boys had cheese and chutney, with a whole pecking order in between running through seniors and middle management.

I’ve done drive through burgers in the States with the indigestion to go. At one point I ate sandwiches on the Champs Elysées, which I found rather pleasant, but also expensive. I’ve grabbed pizza in Italy and bought buns from the van in Melbourne.

But my picnics now beat the lot. Well not exactly my picnics because,all I do is throw a few yoghurt pots, bananas, apples etc. in a plastic bag and grab a bottle of badoit, before rushing out of the house. My Anglo Saxon beginnings appearing in a disrespect for lunch. No the interesting picnics are those of my colleague. The said colleague was chef in his own restaurant for 15 years, and was born and bred in my small community.

Last autumn every picnic was highlighted by the champignon finds. Yes before sitting down to lunch he would search high and low for delectable specimens. Of course he found cêpes and pieds de mouton. But also many other species of which I had never heard. He has his own little portable condiment array and each specimen would be suitably oiled and spiced. He swears by eating them freshly picked and raw, which I must say is rather pleasant.

I used to throw a tomato in my picnic also. I no longer do that because commercial tomatoes are unthinkably bad. Now we only eat tomatoes in the autumn raised in the garden of my colleague from special seed. He sells surplus quantities on Orléans market, if you are looking for some delicious tomatoes next autumn. Of course he has special suppliers of apples, pears, cherries too.

One eye opener for me has been the importance of the charcuterie. Basically for him and many other French people we meet, I have discovered that the standing of a village can be judged by its charcuterie and the specialities served. If the area in which we are picnicking is devoid of a good charcuterie then we may have to make a detour to pick up one of those pieces of cooked pork which I previously looked at rather disparagingly.(and I've discovered are delicious) If we are anywhere near a five star charcuterie then we go the extra km. to enliven our meal.

Inevitably one thing is never left to chance. Each morning he arrives with a freshly baked and carefully selected baguette.

I'll be back

Oh yes, Oh yes, Oh yes. I had made a terrible mistake. There before me, elegantly descending from the third bus was my sweet, delightful, charming, lovely, beautiful younger sister. A Francophile before I could say ‘bêtise’. A perfectly fluent francophone. She who has been blackguarded by the English for supporting the cheese eating surrender monkeys. She who has courageously fought it out on their territory with the perfidious nation while I cowardly repaired to France. She who has come to France for two weeks rest and recuperation from the dire and stressful life of the UK. She, whose food is adulterated (how can she tell?). Who buys all her clothes in France to avoid the awful colours and sack appearance of UK garments.

Yes the truth is I had made a terrible mistake. The trouble makers were arriving two days later. I would be back, but I had gained two valuable days to plan my moves.

We were both completely stressed out. We retired to Montlouis. A charming small town on the opposing bank of the Loire to Vouvray. The wine is similar but slightly lighter. We enjoyed two leisurely glasses as the running water of the spring calmed our nerves.

The secret in bus number three

The detritus was now above my ankles. Everybody around me was oh so British. Dirty, drunk, oafish, ugly, overweight, rude, insulting, egotistical, and smelly. The odour of the ammonia from the decomposing urea was acrid in my nostrils.

As the prisoners in the American gulags, I sought within me the fortitude to withstand my harrowing situation. I remembered the agreeable year I spent working in Poitiers. A pleasant historical town situated on a hill. I recalled my daily drive across the Futuroscope, with, spectacular views of the morning sun reflected off the futuristic buildings. The oh so pleasant balmy evenings spent in that little town of Chasseneuil on the outskirts of Poitiers, the fief of Jean Pierre Raffarin. The delightful restaurant hotel where I had many a fine meal and briefly met that charming lady Edith Cresson. The French politician that was so unfairly maligned by the disgraceful British press. Yes you guessed it, however hard I tried, somewhere somehow that perfidious nation had perpetrated an injustice or worse which brought me back to the reality of my situation. No doubt the sterling trash had by now rubbished my beloved Poitiers.

The time passed and eventually bus number one arrived in front of the terminal. The gendarmes and CRS were amazingly efficient and contained the trouble makers well. By now the Brits were chanting “we’ll hang the frogs, we’ll hang ‘em all” No doubt believing their recent prowess in that field of endeavour would somehow compensate for their failings in many others. At least I appreciated their realism as to what they can and cannot do. Hanging is certainly in their field of competency. And as the history of India reminds us, not just hanging.

“Whole villages had been sacked by the British. Rape and pillage were encouraged by the British officers before old women and children were burnt alive in their villages. Officers boasted that ‘they had spared no one’, or that ‘peppering away at niggers’ was a pastime which they ‘enjoyed amazingly’. The troops who ‘relieved’ Delhi were drunk, killed hundreds quite indiscriminately, and sent thousands of homeless refugees into the surrounding countryside. Many Indians had the experience of being lashed, standing, to the mouth of a cannon and blown apart by grapeshot. ‘One gun’, recalled a clergyman’s wife, who had come out to watch the executions, ‘was overcharged and the poor wretch was literally blown to atoms, the lookers-on being covered with blood, and fragments of flesh: the head of one poor wretch fell on a bystander and hurt him’”

Lest we should ever forget the skeletons in our neighbours overburdened closet.

One bus, two bus, no sign of my visitors. My hopes rose, had there been an accident ? A serious breakdown? And then came three bus. I stared at the disembarking faces, as the condemned man searches for the face of his executioner. Searching in the hope of never finding. Then I saw it. Oh no! oh no! oh no!




The signs were superfluous. Just follow the smell.

They came, but they won't conquer.

The Poitvins get involved

Tours airport is an English enclave in France

Time was passing by. The clock hand advanced stealthily towards the hour. The tension was unbearable. Twice I heard a dull roar in the distance; I jumped from my seat to look for a dark speck distant in the sky. But no, both times it was a false alert, the espresso machine letting off steam.

The waiting crowd was now essentially English. They threw the remains of their picnics on the floor. Mouldy cheese sandwiches, empty beer cans, whisky bottles, trash of all sorts. The queue to the toilette was lengthening. The installed capacity couldn’t handle the flow. Liquid seeped out from under the toilette door. The sight…… and smell resembled an English pub. The last remaining French people withdrew, not being able to support the insalubrious conditions. The personnel made themselves scarce to avoid the abusive behaviour of those waiting. What would be the denouement?

And then it came, loud and clear, over the tannoy. ‘The flight has been diverted to Poitiers’ Why Poitiers? If they were looking for an airport beginning with ‘P’ Pyongyang would have been a good choice.

It occurred to me that it was probably a safety precaution. Surely there was rowdiness and drunkenness on the plane. There were insufficient CRS in the airport to handle both the incoming and waiting trouble makers. By dividing them between the two airports they had a better chance of mastering the situation. The passengers would then be transferred, bus load by bus load to Tours, more digestible lumps.

I made myself useful; I explained to the French personnel that the labour law was simpler in England and social charges lower. Was it not worth waiting and bringing over English drivers to chauffer the buses? No, Ryanair was concerned about its service image and would pay the extra for French drivers. Yes but do not travel today, there is a lot of traffic on the roads maybe ice, better to wait for better weather, the spring is coming. I pleaded with them to take every precaution, the people I was waiting for were extremely dear to me and it would be a total catastrophe if there was an accident. They were very polite and patient, but though they would take every precaution imaginable and possible, they had 150 English people on their hands and had every intention of getting rid of them as quickly as possible.

Defeated, I waited for my forthcoming misery.

They met their match

I didn't mention the fog

HAPPY NEW YEAR