Today I got back down to business with the renovation of my apartment here in Carcassonne. It is quite an undertaking really. You see, it's actually three apartments side by side on the entire first floor of a townhouse that was built sometime around 1750 by a wealthy textile merchant of the day. It's even marked out on the tourist office maps as a building of historical importance. You might think I'm lucky that the mayor hasn't requisitioned it for the mairee but actually he's got a much grander townhouse than this one.
Mind you, he, or one of his predecessors, might have our fountain. Apparently, this building was only converted into apartments in the 1970s/80s when a couple of very elderly sisters who then owned the building passed on from this life to the next. As with many large townhouses, this one used to have a courtyard and a garden accessed through a gate and arch from the street - I guess they would drive their carriage or ride their horse through to be met by their staff and servants.
Well, it seems, from the records I have seen, that there used to be a garden and a fountain. Sadly, the fountain has gone and I bet it now adorns somebody else's garden, looking hopelessy out of place and making it all look ridiculously over-fountained! Sadly, the garden has gone too, replaced by a concrete car park for our neighbours tatty old citroens and peugeots - I bet they had the concrete mixer down here the day after the poor sisters' funerals!
It would have been great to have got hold of this place before it was split up into it's current three floors of apartments. Thankfully, many, many of the original features remain but a lot of what was here has been covered up as I have been discovering. Behind false walls and ceilings I have found evidence of old staircases and even old windows that are now trapped in the middle of fake plasterboard walls! Today I found 6 feet of space idly lying wasted above a ludicrously low false ceiling in a bedroom. I am definitely having that back.
So much has been done already over the past 18 months but there is still so much to do.
I have some quite serious, self (and wife) imposed deadlines for the completion of the various stages of the renovation. I also have some quite serious budget constraints which makes the whole enterprise a pretty delicate balancing act between speed of work, quality of workmanship and materials and the wrath of Mrs Renovator when she turns up to find that either it is not finished or not good enough or, god help me, it is not finished and it's not good enough.
Which means I better stop talking about it and just crack on with it!
26 February 2007
25 February 2007
Quirky car
I flew back to Carcassonne today - nothing remarkable in that you might think.
My lovely wife drove me to Stansted because, being a weekend, there were engineering works somewhere along the Stansted 'not really what you would call an' Express line, which meant the dreaded words 'coach replacement service' came into effect. Just reading those words had me pleading with my wife. "I know it's a Sunday but please, please drive me to the airport - I'll have to leave 4 hours earlier if I take the coach replacement service". They seem to change coach drivers these days as often as they changed horses once upon a time - shame we can't whip them to make them go faster!!
Anyway, airport normal, security normal, dull dull dull - flight on time - no 'tasty' snacks due to in-flight catering cock-up. Big cheer from my fellow passengers for that one.
All the time, in the back of my mind, from the moment I left North London, a nagging question that wouldn't go away. Will the car start?
In France I am the very proud owner of a 1992 Audi Cabriolet, metallic green with a black roof. It was always a fine car and it still cuts the mustard looks wise, especially in open top mode. It was born in Germany, moved to England and now lives in France, so like me, it's been around and done some mileage. Also like me it's looking a bit battered here and there and isn't quite as reliable as it used to be - hence my nagging question.
I know it has an electrical problem. There have been enough non-starts and flat batteries for that much to be so very patently obvious. If I don't drive it every couple of days in the winter, the battery drains and I have to take it out and put it on a charger for 24 hours, which you might think is a bit tedious but I think is part of it's charm.
In fact, before Christmas I booked it into the local dealer to check out the electrics and an engine vibration. "Il y a une probleme avec le moteur et le systeme electrique, je pense". I was quite proud of that sentence in the dealership and, whether it was right or wrong, they took my car into care whilst I went back to London for a week. I returned to find that the engine problem was nothing - "C'est ne pas grave" - but the electrics hadn't been looked at.
I took the car away to use and booked it back in to coincide with my next 10 day London trip. When I returned I was shown some very dodgy wiring behind a panel in the boot. Alas, no attempt had been made to rectify it. So, they jump started it for me. I drove it home, took the battery out, charged it up again, used it over Christmas and New Year and took it back in early January when I was returning to London for three weeks.
Now I can be quite cynical about things but even I thought they would do something this time. But no - I returned and they apologised. How do French businesses make any money if they won't do any work on a blatant problem given to them on a plate? . They had now had my car for five and a half weeks and not fixed it and not charged me anything!! So, once again, they got the jump leads out and I drove it home and took the battery out and charged it up and - and well, frankly I can't be arsed to take it back again and the weather is getting a bit warmer and I quite like the quirkiness of it.
Hence, I arrived today with the nagging question in the back of my mind. The jump leads are in the boot just in case, but this time they weren't needed - the little beauty started up all it's own. Why, oh why, did I ever doubt you.
My lovely wife drove me to Stansted because, being a weekend, there were engineering works somewhere along the Stansted 'not really what you would call an' Express line, which meant the dreaded words 'coach replacement service' came into effect. Just reading those words had me pleading with my wife. "I know it's a Sunday but please, please drive me to the airport - I'll have to leave 4 hours earlier if I take the coach replacement service". They seem to change coach drivers these days as often as they changed horses once upon a time - shame we can't whip them to make them go faster!!
Anyway, airport normal, security normal, dull dull dull - flight on time - no 'tasty' snacks due to in-flight catering cock-up. Big cheer from my fellow passengers for that one.
All the time, in the back of my mind, from the moment I left North London, a nagging question that wouldn't go away. Will the car start?
In France I am the very proud owner of a 1992 Audi Cabriolet, metallic green with a black roof. It was always a fine car and it still cuts the mustard looks wise, especially in open top mode. It was born in Germany, moved to England and now lives in France, so like me, it's been around and done some mileage. Also like me it's looking a bit battered here and there and isn't quite as reliable as it used to be - hence my nagging question.
I know it has an electrical problem. There have been enough non-starts and flat batteries for that much to be so very patently obvious. If I don't drive it every couple of days in the winter, the battery drains and I have to take it out and put it on a charger for 24 hours, which you might think is a bit tedious but I think is part of it's charm.
In fact, before Christmas I booked it into the local dealer to check out the electrics and an engine vibration. "Il y a une probleme avec le moteur et le systeme electrique, je pense". I was quite proud of that sentence in the dealership and, whether it was right or wrong, they took my car into care whilst I went back to London for a week. I returned to find that the engine problem was nothing - "C'est ne pas grave" - but the electrics hadn't been looked at.
I took the car away to use and booked it back in to coincide with my next 10 day London trip. When I returned I was shown some very dodgy wiring behind a panel in the boot. Alas, no attempt had been made to rectify it. So, they jump started it for me. I drove it home, took the battery out, charged it up again, used it over Christmas and New Year and took it back in early January when I was returning to London for three weeks.
Now I can be quite cynical about things but even I thought they would do something this time. But no - I returned and they apologised. How do French businesses make any money if they won't do any work on a blatant problem given to them on a plate? . They had now had my car for five and a half weeks and not fixed it and not charged me anything!! So, once again, they got the jump leads out and I drove it home and took the battery out and charged it up and - and well, frankly I can't be arsed to take it back again and the weather is getting a bit warmer and I quite like the quirkiness of it.
Hence, I arrived today with the nagging question in the back of my mind. The jump leads are in the boot just in case, but this time they weren't needed - the little beauty started up all it's own. Why, oh why, did I ever doubt you.
23 February 2007
Back in the London
So, I do still have to spend time in London. It's not all coffees in the square and two hour lunches and 300 days of sunshine a year. Sometimes it's lead grey skies and constant drizzle and dirty unreliable expensive tube and train journeys and meeting rooms and sandwiches at my desk.
I come back to London for two extremely practical reasons. Firstly, I want and need to see my wife. Secondly, I need to earn some money to survive.
I have a pretty volatile relationship with my wife. We miss each other when we are apart. We argue when we are together. I love her to pieces. It's called being married. We are so good when we are on song. It's the pits when we are not. If she can't come out to France, I need to come to London to see her.
I gave up my very well paid full time job with all the usual benefits because I had a mid-life crisis. Shit. No income. It's all very well rebuilding your life, experiencing a new culture and renovating an apartment but it all costs money.
The trouble for me is that London holds an enormous number of demons that could take over my life again if I am not careful and without the support of family and friends. That scenario has played out once for me already. I wasted six months working part-time for a start-up business that was going nowhere and paid me very little. Worse than that, I allowed myself to fall back into the clutches of my evils. Stupid.
Despite that, I still need to earn. A good friend was raising investment money to bring a new medical product to market and asked if I would help. I jumped at it - a good product, a different field of business, helping a friend. It paid me enough to cover costs and take some pressure off my stressed-out wife. It allowed me to start the renovation in France. It allowed me to be in France. I can do a lot of the work from France with the wonders of modern technology. It was perfect. Unfortunately, the business has just run out of money ...... Bugger.
I come back to London for two extremely practical reasons. Firstly, I want and need to see my wife. Secondly, I need to earn some money to survive.
I have a pretty volatile relationship with my wife. We miss each other when we are apart. We argue when we are together. I love her to pieces. It's called being married. We are so good when we are on song. It's the pits when we are not. If she can't come out to France, I need to come to London to see her.
I gave up my very well paid full time job with all the usual benefits because I had a mid-life crisis. Shit. No income. It's all very well rebuilding your life, experiencing a new culture and renovating an apartment but it all costs money.
The trouble for me is that London holds an enormous number of demons that could take over my life again if I am not careful and without the support of family and friends. That scenario has played out once for me already. I wasted six months working part-time for a start-up business that was going nowhere and paid me very little. Worse than that, I allowed myself to fall back into the clutches of my evils. Stupid.
Despite that, I still need to earn. A good friend was raising investment money to bring a new medical product to market and asked if I would help. I jumped at it - a good product, a different field of business, helping a friend. It paid me enough to cover costs and take some pressure off my stressed-out wife. It allowed me to start the renovation in France. It allowed me to be in France. I can do a lot of the work from France with the wonders of modern technology. It was perfect. Unfortunately, the business has just run out of money ...... Bugger.
22 February 2007
Here we go
It's a bit wierd that I should be starting this blog on a day that I have flown back from Carcassonne to London, when the whole point is to write about my experiences in France, but actually my current life would not be possible without the much maligned Ryanair.
When it all runs smoothly it takes me 4 hours to get from home in North London to home in Carcassonne, which, when you think about it is pretty remarkable and I have made the journey so often now that I have the whole thing down to a well-practised schedule.
Everyone I know moans about Ryanair and their service and yet everyone I know uses them at some time or another. I, for one couldn't do without them. I guess I have got used to their idiosyncracies and inurred to the money-making practices that seem to offend most people. The pricing policy gets up most people's noses. The joy at clicking on a 1p outbound and 1p return flight is completely negated when your final bill, with taxes, charges, baggage fees, on-line check-in fees and credit card fees totals about £80. It makes people feel a bit ripped-off and resentful even though actually £40 each way is still a pretty good deal. From a PR point of view the pricing policy makes no sense.
I adore the fact that they schedule the arrival time as 2 hours after take-off time, then calmly announce on the plane a flight time of 1 hour 40 minutes and finally try to take credit for arriving early. Of course you will arrive early when you've got a built-in 20 minute leeway to work with. No wonder their 'arrived on-time' stats always look so good.
I can recite from memory every word of the in-flight service which is exactly the same on every flight. The training must be some sort of brain-washing technique because every flight crew recites exactly the same words at every stage of every flight.
I now know how to avoid the extra charges. No travel insurance, no bags in the hold and no in-flight service. On the whole, the cabin crew do a good job, so I would like to thank every David, Ian, Michael, Didier, Jose and Stefan, every Tracy, Michelle, Nancy, Dominique, Natalya and Ingrid for their polite attempts to make me buy from their selection of sandwiches and snacks, hot and cold drinks, gift items and scratch cards from which you can win an 'Ordie TT'.
There are two things that will make me part with my money. Firstly, buying a Stansted Express ticket on the plane at a £5 discount is just plain financial sense if you have to use the train. Secondly, the £2 charge allowing you to check-in on line and, therefore, have priority boarding not only guarantees that I will be virtually first on and first off every time, it guarantees fabulous stunned looks of astonishment and indignation from worthy 'but I've got children' mothers who have to stand aside for me. "I know it is rather strange but having a child doesn't get you priority I'm afraid - now excuse me please"
When it all runs smoothly it takes me 4 hours to get from home in North London to home in Carcassonne, which, when you think about it is pretty remarkable and I have made the journey so often now that I have the whole thing down to a well-practised schedule.
Everyone I know moans about Ryanair and their service and yet everyone I know uses them at some time or another. I, for one couldn't do without them. I guess I have got used to their idiosyncracies and inurred to the money-making practices that seem to offend most people. The pricing policy gets up most people's noses. The joy at clicking on a 1p outbound and 1p return flight is completely negated when your final bill, with taxes, charges, baggage fees, on-line check-in fees and credit card fees totals about £80. It makes people feel a bit ripped-off and resentful even though actually £40 each way is still a pretty good deal. From a PR point of view the pricing policy makes no sense.
I adore the fact that they schedule the arrival time as 2 hours after take-off time, then calmly announce on the plane a flight time of 1 hour 40 minutes and finally try to take credit for arriving early. Of course you will arrive early when you've got a built-in 20 minute leeway to work with. No wonder their 'arrived on-time' stats always look so good.
I can recite from memory every word of the in-flight service which is exactly the same on every flight. The training must be some sort of brain-washing technique because every flight crew recites exactly the same words at every stage of every flight.
I now know how to avoid the extra charges. No travel insurance, no bags in the hold and no in-flight service. On the whole, the cabin crew do a good job, so I would like to thank every David, Ian, Michael, Didier, Jose and Stefan, every Tracy, Michelle, Nancy, Dominique, Natalya and Ingrid for their polite attempts to make me buy from their selection of sandwiches and snacks, hot and cold drinks, gift items and scratch cards from which you can win an 'Ordie TT'.
There are two things that will make me part with my money. Firstly, buying a Stansted Express ticket on the plane at a £5 discount is just plain financial sense if you have to use the train. Secondly, the £2 charge allowing you to check-in on line and, therefore, have priority boarding not only guarantees that I will be virtually first on and first off every time, it guarantees fabulous stunned looks of astonishment and indignation from worthy 'but I've got children' mothers who have to stand aside for me. "I know it is rather strange but having a child doesn't get you priority I'm afraid - now excuse me please"
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