L'internet

Wednesday was the appointed day for the man from Orange to connect me to the internet. 

 Our neighbour, Thérèse is a very kind lady in her eighties, who with her husband, Claude, sees everything from their eerie on the fourth floor. Thérèse shouts instructions from the balcony and sends Claude down when necessary. After watching me walk, many times, down to the entrance and point the remote at the gate to let deliveries in, Thérèse instructed Claude to add our names to the control on the entrance gate and link it to my French mobile.

(Claude also sorted our malfunctioning lock, no locksmith was necessary. We had told him about it on Sunday evening, while sharing a bottle of wine with them and admiring the stunning views from their balcony. Thérèse's English is very good, Claude speaks only French—one way or another we managed to convey what we wanted to say to each other. When we left, Claude was sent down with us to sort the lock. He quickly realised what the problem was and solved it by moving the doormat 2 inches. I had never come across a mechanism that goes into the floor as well as the wall and thinking that the doormat had slipped away from the door step, had carefully pushed it back.  I live and learn.  Claude was delighted to help and we were delighted we didn't need a new lock!)

I muddled up Thérèse's instructions for opening the gate. Expecting the technician from Orange, when the phone rang, I answered it. In the garbled conversation on the phone I understood 'Orange' and 'technicien'. Too late I remembered that to open the gate, I should have pressed '1' and not answered the phone. This meant that I had to walk down to the front gate once more. I let him and then stood by my gate. He drove straight past. I followed and when he stopped, found out that he knew from his list, that I was expecting a technician and the person he was visiting hadn't answered!

I climbed the four flights to Thérèse’s apartment, to check the instructions for the gate again and as I was on my way down, another technician from Orange announced his arrival. He was already through the gate and, finding him at the wrong end of the building, I managed to direct him to the apartment. He came in, looked round and asked me asked me where the 'white box' was. Of course I had no idea what he was talking about, but I did know there the electricity meters were, so I took him to the courtyard and pointed at the door in the corner. He located the white box next to the door. "Brilliant," I thought and waited for him to do something. There was no indrawing of breath through pursed lips and he didn’t quite scratch his head, but he did come to the conclusion, that it would be a two man job. Another appointment was needed. Duly booked for a week ahead. At least I will be able to take whoever turns up directly to la boîte blanche.

I had an appointment at the bank to open a bank account at 2 o’clock on the same day, but because the technician from Orange still hadn’t arrived by 11 o’clock and the information said they would be there for two hours, I changed the appointment to 5 o’clock. As the said technician left within five minutes of arriving, I had some time to spare. I took the opportunity to have a little nap and then went to say hello to everyone in St John's English library. I was greeted as if I hadn't been away and plied with very welcome tea.

Nicolas, our wonderful estate agent who has been more than helpful, once again went above and beyond, by offering to meet me at the bank for the appointment, in case there were any language difficulties. After about three quarters of an hour of document checking and form signing, I had opened an  account with a nil balance.  I had not thought to bring cash but Raffaella accepted my promise that I would transfer enough money to cover the the fees that evening. It had gone so smoothly that I celebrated by calling in at the hairdressers and making an appointment for the beginning of next week.

Each morning I wake to birdsong, and a gentle breeze creeping through the shutters, past the open  windows. Occasionally the sound of the small birds is drowned out by a passing train or a screeching gull, but then in the quiet, the gentle song returns. Church bells add their chimes. It is as if I am still dreaming, I still can't quite believe that I'm here.

First glimpse as I open the shutters

If I take a walk early enough there are no tourists about, but the town is getting ready for them. The street cleaners are out washing the pavements and cleaning the roads. Bin lorries clear the rubbish. The pedstrian walkways are crammed with white vans and refrigerated trucks, delivering to the shops and restaurants. Stallholders are setting up in the market. All this activity makes feel very lucky that I am in a position simply to observe it all.

Friday evening found me in the library at a Sophrologie session. It was all very relaxing, a lovely mixture of meditation, mindfulness and gentle movement, (it felt bit like upright yoga Nidra). The evening was rounded off for some of us with a glass of Prosecco in a local bar, making sure that relaxation was complete. A gentle walk along the seafront took me home.

The apartment is starting to look like home. At the moment it’s a little bit of England in France, but I’m sure as I pick up different pieces, its character will change. 

Moving to a small apartment, I have had to get rid of many of my belongings and that included about half of my books—believe me, that was hard.  I have unpacked most of the the books that survived the cull—admittedly onto the floor, lined up under cupboards and in wobbly piles against the walls, as there are no shelves yet. Already, in my mind, there is a list of novels that I want to reread, places I want to visit (and revisit) and meals I want to cook, not to mention plants I want grow in the wonderful garden.  French books will have to wait, my books have been away for too long.

In all the move, the publication of the paperback version of Journey’s End has been put off until the 23rd of August, but I will keep reminding you so that you can order it from Waterstones or your local bookshop. If you are currently rereading the first two or are reading them for the first time, it would be lovely if you could put a review on Goodreads or Amazon or if you enjoyed reading them, just tell your friends.

The Barwell Trilogy