All we had to go on was the scrappy piece of paper we had been given by the doctor on our last visit to the hospital.

He had written the address and time - 9.30, but not the name of the doctor.

Since Bear still refuses to go in Jay's car we booked a taxi - the new oneman business, recently started up in the village. The driver was playing with a SatNav.

"Is that a Christmas present?" I asked him.

"No, I don't know where to find rue Kennedy." he replied.

Fortunately I was able to explain where it was, as the computer generated voice was rather irritating and I could see Bear bristling.

The driver was quite impressed that I knew and I was rather surprised he didn't. After all, he lives in Charleville!

Anyway, he dropped us off with fifteen minutes to spare and we went inside.

'If you have an appointment go straight into the waiting room. If not see the receptionist.' said the sign.

As there were some doctors on the ground floor and others upstairs we had to go and ask which one we were to see.

Just our luck; he was upstairs.

He called us into his consulting room and started asking questions. It was a bit odd to start with. He was addressing Bear but I was answering. I think he found it quite amusing.

Anyway, he did an ECG and various other tests and decided that everything was fine. But, he did casually mention that if Bear had any severe chest pains I was to phone 15 (emergency doctor) immediately; if it was just a case of an occasional bout of discomfort we were to go back and see him. I don't think Bear understood this so I didn't worry him with a translation. After all, he'd just been given a clean bill of health heartwise, hadn't he? At the end of the consultation I handed over the Carte Vitale and fished out the chequebook.

"Tout est reglé"  (It's all paid) said the doctor. It's funny how sometimes you have to pay upfront and wait a few days for it to be paid back in to your account and then, at other times it goes straight through like this.

We emerged into the grey, rainy day just after ten and made for La Fontaine for a coffee. It's ages since we've been there and we were greeted with kisses and New Year wishes. Bear had hoped to stay in town for lunch but by 11 o'clock he had had enough and I rang for the taxi to take us home.

Needless to say, Bear has hardly moved from his armchair since.

Bear has been poorly since November and is still very much under the weather.

He spent five days in hospital after his fall and then came home nursing an infected hand (where they had inserted the canular) and a fractured shoulder (which they couldn't do anything about except give large doses of paracetamol).

This was followed by a bout of bronchitis and  he is still coughing and wheezing.

It was with considerable difficulty that he dragged himself out of bed for his first hospital appointment yesterday. I ordered a taxi because he still refuses to accept a lift in Jay's car and we arrived at the main reception office in good time.

However, having done all the necessary paperwork we had to find the right department for the consultation. It was not clearly labelled and in the end a friendly nurse informed us that we had to backtrack, go out (into the snow) and then we'd find the O.R.L. (E.N.T.)  out-patients in another building. We found it a few minutes before our allotted time of 10 o'clock.

By this time Bear was cross, nervous and grumbling but we didn't have to wait long before we were called in to see a very affable doctor. He briefly examined Bear's eyes and ears, asked how he had been since his stay in hospital and then declared that from his point of view everything was fine.

BUT he had a list of further specialist appoinments.

"Really? We only have a letter about the MRI scan on the 18th."

"Oh, haven't you been informed? There's the cardiologist on the 9th, the neuropsychologist on the 29th and the memory test in February."

He kindly copied down all the details, handed me the paper,smiled broadly, shook hands and ushered us out with a 'Bonne Année.'

It was not quite 10.15. when we emerged and I called the taxi. Pretty good timing compared to the NHS I reckon.

When we were back home I looked up neuropsychologist on the web. It seems they deal with all sorts of mental illness including 'mood disorders' and 'personality disorders'.

I wonder what they'll make of Bear. . . . . .

Bear came home yesterday.  He made me cross by refusing to come home in Jay's car so we had to call a taxi. There is no more sickness and dizziness thank goodness but his shoulder is extremely painful from time to time.

He stayed in bed for breakfast and lunch but wanted to get up to see one of his favourite programmes, 'Swiss Railway Journeys' which has just started.

He couldn't raise his arm to shave and so I had to help him. I've never shaved a beard in my life and we were both a bit nervous about it. What made it worse was that he kept yelping and wincing because of his shoulder and I was afraid I would cut him.

He still has a black - or rather yellow - eye from the fall plus a long graze on his forehead. Any further injuries might make it look as though I'm beating him up. (Not that it isn't tempting sometimes, but I'm not a violent person.)

On a positive note his appetite has returned and he has been eating everything I've provided without complaining. Perhaps a few days of hospital catering has made him appreciate home cooking.

He has appointments to see the doctor again on January 3rd and for an MRI scan on January 18th. They have also promised to send details of further consultations by post.

Seems we'll have a busy start to the new year.

Bear is being very good in hospital although he doesn't like the food and finds the bed uncomfortable.

Yesterday he actually said, "I know I'm in the best place here".

And, yes, he is in his right mind!

While I was there yesterday afternoon they took us to another part of the hospital for a hearing test. They wanted me to be there to explain the procedure to him but it was very straightforward and I think he quite enjoyed the change of scenery. It involved being pushed through the building site (they are in the process of rebuilding the entire hospital) and in and out of lifts as we went down, up then down again.

After the test we went to speak to the doctor, who explained that his hearing loss was no worse than could be expected at his age. When we were  in the corridor waiting to be taken back to his room, Bear explained that that was the same doctor who 'threw me from side to side and then made me look him in the eye for a whole minute' when he went  to see him the day before.

They still haven't come up with any explanation other than concussion but it's good they are checking out all possibilities.

The good news is that he can now sit up without going dizzy, he can get to the toilet  with assistance and using his drip stand as a walking stick, (the new rooms have en suite shower and toilet facilities) and he is tucking into fruit salad and chocolate eclairs - not to mention a large piece of birthday cake - which I take in every day. I left him clementines, bananas and grapes on Wednesday but he hadn't eaten them because they were out of reach!

One other disadvantage of not speaking much French was that on Wednesday evening he rang me to say they had put his wee bottle out of reach and he needed a bedpan but didn't know how to ask. (He has his own private phone - prepaid at 10 euros an hour -  for anywhere in Europe)

I had to ring the ward and explain his problems and they went to his aid promptly.

He seems resigned to staying in over the weekend even though there is a big improvement and, I must admit I feel he is safer under surveillance as he might try to do something he shouldn't if he were here.

However, the bedroom downstairs is just about finished - at last - so he will have a comfortable and secure place to sleep when he does come home.

Update: he's coming home tomorrow.

Yes, last night was pretty eventful.

We went to bed in the guestroom (upstairs) at about 11p.m. Bear just made it up the stairs and then collapsed on the bed, diagonally.

I got his trousers off and pushed him as best I could into a reasonable position. He complained of being uncomfortable but seemed to doze off.

At one o'clock the alarm went off.

"I need a wee" he muttered. But when he tried to sit up he keeled over and I had to rush to his aid. Somehow we got the the loo, which is fortunately next door to the bedroom, and he tried to sit down without lowering his pants. Once that little problem was sorted he could hardly keep upright. I imagined him falling off the loo. What would we do then?

Somehow, we struggled back to bed and he felt sick.

"Pleeese. Don't be sick" I begged silently. That's something I cannot cope with. I managed to deal with my own children when they were small and I have hardened myself to cleaning up after the cats, but vomit - just don't go there.

He started coughing and spitting and I handed him a large towel. Fortunately it wasn't a full scale throwing up.

He lay down again and started talking about animals walking across the ceiling.

"Did you do your blood sugar?" I asked.

"Yes, normal" he replied.

Eventually he slept fitfully until the 3a.m. alarm. This time he was much worse. He tried to sit up, completely lost control and just missed bumping his head on the (metal) foot of the bedstead. He was sick, dizzy and hallucinating. I fetched a bucket and more towels.

We spent the next hour with poor Bear alternating between being sick, wanting to pee and complaining that his head was spinning and he hurt all over.

At about four o'clock things calmed down and I set the alarm for six.

But it didn't have time to go off before things went from bad to worse. Just trying to lift his head brought on sickness and dizziness and he was seeing black slugs on the walls now.  He wanted to wee but couldn't perform in the beheaded mineral water bottle that I held in position.

As soon as this little crisis was over I showered to try to wake myself up and went downstairs to phone the doctor. Surgery opens at 7.30 and she was already there.

"Could you get him to casualty?" she asked when I'd explained the symptoms.

"Not really. I don't think we'd even get him out of bed, let alone down the stairs."

"I'd better come and see him."

Ten minutes later she arrived and went up to look at the invalid.

"Hospital for you," she decided after a quick examination.

She rang a few private ambulances but once she had described the problem -   a heavy invalid who needed carrying downstairs and was also liable to be sick -  they were unavailable.

So she called SAMU and three pompiers turned up in a huge red van with blue lights flashing. It took the three of them plus the doctor to carry Bear to the ambulance cocooned in an inflatable stretcher. I was not allowed to go with him so Jay took me to the hospital in the car.

We needn't have rushed because, once I'd done the paperwork, they made me wait for nearly an hour before allowing me through to see him.

There he was, all forlorn, on an uncomfortable looking bed with a drip and a kidney bowl. They had done bloodtests and an ECG but couldn't do a scan because the scanner was being repaired.

"We may not be able to do the scan till this afternoon." announced the doctor but he has a drip to prevent nausea and we'll give him something for the pain and to help him sleep.

I waited beside him, providing moral support and urine bottles until he dozed off, then took advanatage of the chance to escape to find a toilet (and a sandwich as I'd had nothing to eat or drink and it was nearly 11.30.)

When I got back his room was empty. They had taken him for the scan.

A few minutes later they wheeled him back.

"There's no haemorrhage." announced the doctor.

"Does that mean he can come home today? If so, I'll have to go home and make up a bed downstairs"

"We don't know yet, but it might be a good idea if you do that."

The young doctor gave me a direct number to ring casualty at 2 o'clock to see what was happening so I contacted Jay for a lift home. It was difficult to explain things to Bear as he was still very sleepy.

Once back home we tackled the  cleaning and furniture moving in the newly decorated bedroom and made the beds.

At two they said he had gone for more tests and to ring back in an hour.

I've just telephoned and they are admitting him.

Looks as though I'll be spending a few hours hospital visiting tomorrow and Bear probably won't be back to enjoy the curry evening we have planned for my birthday.

Next Spring the postponed (due to Presidential election) voting for all the Mayors in France will take place.

The French maire plays a much more important role than his English counterpart. Even the smallest village elects its own mayor who enjoys considerable power. Apart from his obvious role in marrying people (a civil ceremony is compulsory, followed by optional church service) he and his council make decisions regarding planning permission, law and order and how to spend the income of the community.

Now that's where our present Maire has become unpopular. There are major roadworks at the entrance to the village which were supposed to be finished by Christmas but look like going on for several more months. It was rumoured that they were going to put in a roundabout - a sensible option - but now we can see that they are, in fact,  narrowing  the road  and increasing the pavement area so the new road system with its inevitable 'priorité a droite' will be no safer than the original layout.

Add to this the complete replacement of the pavement the whole length of the main road,with parking bays alternating with flowerbeds, which resulted in several houses having their gas or water pipes broken and you can understand why lots of local inhabitants are pretty pissed off. To add insult to injury, those who complained to the mayor were not well received.

Of course, the local tax bill (taxe d'habitation) has risen considerably for the coming year so everyone feels they are paying for the mayor's folly.

He has also installed a ridiculous set of traffic lights outside the village hall which are always at red until a car approaches. I've already seen several drivers go through without waiting for them to turn green. An accident waiting to happen?

According to the local paper he is planning to stand again next year and isn't aware of any opposition, but I've heard that someone else is prepared to enter the arena against him. We know this potential candidate quite well and, now that he has retired, he should have plenty of time and energy to devote to the village. However, the present Maire has always been very pleasant to us and we like him too.

It's going to be a difficult decision when the time comes to vote.

Whale has great difficulty describing exactly how and where it hurts in English so it is far from easy to explain his problems to French doctors.

After five years I get the impression that they are running out of ideas but since his last fall the pain has certainly got worse. Our GP decided to send him to see the rheumatologist at the hospital. He's a strange man with a nervous tic. He keeps his head down and mutters and grunts to himself rarely bothering to look up and ask a question or make a statement. In a way that's fortunate because it is difficult to understand him.

He had a huge file of papers and x-rays from Whale's previous trips to hospital and spent ages poring over them, underlining parts and adding new bits. After looking at several x-rays he prodded Whale briefly to ascertain where it hurt and then decided to send him to the oncologist at the Polyclinique to see if he needed some more radiotherapy.

Of course, that upset Whale but we didn't have long to wait for an appointment.

"Is it urgent?" asked the secretary when I phoned.

"No, Dr. C didn't say it was."

"In that case next Tuesday at 3. Would that be alright?"

We duly booked an ambulance and attended the surgery of Dr J. He spoke a little English and was keen to practise it on us. After we had explained the problem he sent Whale for an x-ray and asked us to go back on Friday.

So off to hospital again and Dr J explained that the x-ray showed  that certain vertebrae had been 'squashed' - maybe when he fell, and that would account for the increase in pain. He said that radiotherapy was certainly not necessary - much to Whale's relief -and passed the ball back firmly in Dr C's court, saying that he should give him an 'infiltration' (which, I think,translates as a cortisone injection).

So, I duly made an appointment, checked whether he'd be better on a stretcher than in a wheelchair for his injection and booked an ambulance, warning them that he would need to stay on their 'brancard'.

Dr C examined the x-rays, counted the vertebrae not once but umpteen times, hmmmmed and grunted, wrote notes, put all the x-rays away carefully, took them out again, counted vertebrae again and finally gave his verdict.

No, an 'infiltration' was not the answer. If he were to give one it would only last about a week. He suspected osteo-porosis - a possibility after years of treatment with Zoladex - so he wanted Whale to have a 'densiometrie'.

The appointment was made for Tuesday (yesterday). We discussed the difficulty of getting Whale from a stretcher onto the x-ray table and Dr C asked the ambulancemen if they would stay and lift him. Fortuately they agreed it would be possible.

After all those trips to hospital costing around 120 euros each time for the ambulance alone (which we don't have to pay upfront thank goodness) the conclusion was that he does not have osteoporosis, it is not a return of cancer and all they can do is increase the medication.

So we're right back where we started. What a waste of time and money.

Jay has had problems with a verucca for over a year now and has been going to a dermatologist who has tried various treatments.

The last attempt was with an injection  - or rather two - which he said should do the trick.

But it hasn't.

He is a very pleasant chap and invited us to go back to him if there was a problem. Unfortunately his secretaries are highly reluctant to let anyone get near him.

This morning I rang to explain the situation and ask if there was any hope of seeing the Doctor for a few minutes - or perhaps having a word.

No way. He was absolutely full up. The best she could do was  give us an appointment for October 16th.

 "That's rather a long time to wait, especially as he has a long drive to do."

"Your only chance is to see if your GP will get you an earlier appointment".

"Right, that's what I'll do." was my reply and we both wished each other 'Bonne journée' with cool politeness.

So I rang the surgery to find out when our doctor was free.

"She's on holiday. It will be Doctor L." said the receptionist. Hmm. We know the locum doctor quite well as it's always the same one but whether or not she'd want to argue our case with those secretaries was another matter. She's kind of too nice.

All the same, we were given a rendezvous at 3.45 and she listened to the problem and inspected the foot. She decided on two courses of action - one: a homeopathic remedy and two: phone the dermatologist.

First she typed out the prescription saying that she found there wasn't much in the way of allopathic medication for veruccas but the homeopathic approach was often successful - if long. She added that not all doctors approved (our GP doesn't) but she found it very useful.

Then she dialled the dermatologist and was most assertive but in a pleasant way. When she put the phone down she looked up and said with a satisfied smile,

"Ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

While we were waiting at the chemist's Jay wondered if we could get away with pretending to be a doctor next time we want an appointment.

Not with my accent I'm afraid.

CC had a check-up in London just before she came over to stay for good. It was incredibly difficult to find an NHS dentist and they wouldn't take her on unless she took out  Denplan insurance. When she had a problem with inflamed and bleeding gums she was given a mouthwash which stained her teeth.

The same problem reared its ugly head again and so I made an appointment at our local surgery. She was given a form to fill in and a prescription for an x-ray but when they rang to ask if we could change the dental appointment to 8 o'clock this morning there was no time to arrange it.

CC is not at all nervous about seeing dentists: unlike her mum. As long as I can remember I have had a very strong aversion to any dentists' tools coming anywhere near my mouth and as soon as I was old enough to take a stand I would say "OK, you can look but you mustn't touch." 

How I ever put up with having a wisdom tooth out I'll never know but it was a bit loose anyway so it came out quite easily. The worst part was all the bleeding afterwards. Then there was the time when I bit the dentist's finger. . . .

Anyway, CC and I were greeted by the dentist at 8 sharp and we sat down to explain the problem. Then she invited CC to take the chair and began her examination.

To our surprise she took a swab to put under the microscope and called us over to have a look.

She pointed out tiny moving bacteria, just a few of them, darting across the screen.

"That's what's causing your trouble." she explained.

It seems that people who are not prone to decaying teeth often have a tendency to house these little beasties which cause bone 'loss' and consequent receding gums. The bacteria responsible for caries prevent these from reproducing.

What's more a tendency to nurture this kind of bacteria runs in families. Oh dear. My mum had very few problems with caries but she did have receding gums and, in the past, dentists have told me I had similar problems. But they didn't make any suggestions or do anything about it.

Not so with CC's new dentist. She has given her orders to use a special toothpaste which must never, under any circumstances be used in conjunction with any other toothpaste. Then she has a special pokey thing to push between all her teeth every night before rinsing with a mouthwash which matches the toothpaste.

"It will make your gums bleed for the first week or so but it will be alright after that."

Worst of all, she has a course of antibiotics for ten days. When we collected them from the chemist she said,

"Did the dentist warn you that it is absolutely forbidden to have any alcohol with these tablets? Not even other medicines containing alcohol."

Our faces fell. It is Jay's birthday next week and we were planning a celebratory meal - with champagne.