The lack of posts for the last few days is due to taking advantage of Bear's absence and fine weather to catch up with seeing friends and going out.

News has spread that the welcome mat is out and various people have felt free to pop in for a coffee - or something stronger  - and a chat.

On Friday we took the Whale to Reims where we wandered round the town centre. CC enjoyed window shopping while Jay went for a browse in his favourite record and bookshops.

The Cathedral was surrounded by 'travaux', (in fact they are digging up roads and pavements all over the place,) but we were able to admire its imposing facade. Disabled access is not easy. There is no ramp at the main door and so to go in with a wheelchair you have to ask inside and make arrangements to go round to a side door (approached by a very uneven pavement) which they unlock specially. We looked round a few years ago so didn't venture in this time. Besides, it didn't look as though the side door would be accessible thanks to the roadworks.

However, we did go into the shop opposite which sells champagne and chose a bottle of our favourite Billecart-Salmon.

This weekend Charleville is hosting a food festival. The Place Ducale is full of little wooden cabins where various 'confreries' (literally brotherhoods) display their wares. The local ones include Cacasse a Cul Nu (bare bum stew!) which is traditionally made from potatoes boiled gently with onions and cornflour. When served in a restaurant they usually add thick slices of bacon and sausages in a rich gravy: Omelette au Jambon Sec d'Ardenne (jambon sec, a regional speciality, is a bit like parma ham): Lapin a la Biere (rabbit cooked in beer): Boudin Noir (black pudding) and Boudin Blanc (white sausage) a speciality from Rethel. Then we have two very famous local cakes - La Galette au Sucre and Le Gateau Mollet. They are both made from a brioche type mix but the former is flat and covered in sugar while the latter is made in a tall fluted tin and is exceptionally light and delicate.

From further afield came Les Goutevins de L'Enclaves des Papes with their wine from Valreas in the south, La Confrerie Tchantchés from Liege with their specially brewed beer called Djus and a white liqueur from Loupiac which should be tasted in a silver winetaster to release it's flavour. Then there was nougat from Tours and Sucre d'Orge (barley sugar) from a convent in Moret-sur-Loing.

Belgium was represented by Le Peket de Namur, a distillation of grains and juniper berries. It is, in fact, like a homemade eau de vie and a long time ago when this was banned, people referred to it as 'piquant' or 'peket' in the Walloon dialect. Of course, you can't think of Belgium without beer and this was  represented by le Franc Tour Nostre-Damme de Ciney who were also offering pancakes.

This morning at 10.30 there was a parade of all the Confreries through the town centre. All the Confreres have colourful costumes - a bit like academic dress - and it was fortunate that the weather has turned a bit cooler today, without actually raining as they might have felt too hot in temperatures in the upper 20's.

Celebrations continue until nine o'clock this evening with live music and dancing and, of course, eating and drinking.

As you must be aware, yesterday saw the first round of voting for the next President of France.

We are not entitled to vote but it has been interesting to hear the views of those who are. Some friends are delighted with Sarkozy but the ones with left leanings are not so happy with Segolene Royal. It appears she has made quite a few mistakes already, including upsetting teachers by implying they have it easy.

With the choice of twelve candidates, many people were wary that splitting the left vote could make room for Le Pen to come second as he did last time. Therefore, many of the socialist minded felt constrained to vote Royal, without conviction, but to avoid the same thing happening.

Some of the defeated candidates are telling their supporters to vote against Sarkozy rather than for Royal, and Bayrou, (also right) who came third, refuses to recommend Sarzozy to his followers.

Whatever the result of the second round it looks as though there will be more discontentment than accord.

As for our village, the FN (National Front) has a worryingly large following: 114 votes for Le Pen against 190 for Sarkozy and 137 each for Royal and Bayrou.

As far as I know, we are the only immigrants here. Do we have neighbours who are not happy about that?

CC and I went to the CPAM (Health cover) yesterday and almost made it to a Carte Vitale.

The young girl had obviously never dealt with English people before but she had the sense to pick up the phone and ask for assistance sooner rather than later.

We thought we had all the requisite papers - birth certificate, passport, E104 and forms from ASSEDIC (unemployment office) but there was one thing missing: a RIB (relevé d'identité bancaire).

'When we came earlier we were told that she could use my account as she has no income', I said.

'Oh no,' insisted the girl, 'you MUST have a RIB.'

She put all the papers together and handed them back saying.

'but you have everything else.'

So this morning we went to open a bank account and were surprised to find that you can have one for the sole purpose of having a RIB. You only need a passport, 15 euros and proof of residence et voila!

Of course, they won't let you loose with a chequebook or credit card.

Armed with yet another file containing all the bank papers off we went to the CPAM.

There's a queue-ticket system but we hardly had time to put our bums on the bench before our number flashed up.

This time we proudly produced all the paperwork and sat back with bated breath.

The girl looked suspicious and  pouted but, yes, it seemed all was in order.

Then I asked about CMU (100%  free cover as CC is unemployed). Oh dear, it seems that because she was working last year and they take into account your earnings for the previous 12 months, she would probably only be eligible for a percentage of the extra insurance cover.

Anyway, she couldn't complete the necessary form until she had her Social Security number and that would take up to a fortnight. (Yesterday we had been told it would take about a week.) She also gave us a form for choosing a GP. The new rules say that everyone must choose their 'medecin traitant' and they can't go and see a specialist (and be reimbursed) without a letter from the said GP. This is because, in the past, the French were in the habit of seeking second, third or fourth opinions from various specialists and the Social Security was footing the bill - or, at least, 70% of it.

Of course, now, you have to pay 21 euros to ask your doctor to write a letter of referral and the Social Security has to pay 14 euros of that. The rest is paid by your 'Mutuelle' or 'private' insurance. This is not obligatory but it's highly advisable as hospital costs are very expensive. On the positive side, Mutuelle insurance is a lot cheaper than Private Medical payments in the UK but the Health service in France is as good as, if not better than BUPA.

The only problem is that it takes time, patience and a great deal of determination to get into the system.

If we hear a ring at the bell and no-one comes straight in it either means the door is locked or it's someone we don't know.

At last I've managed to learn how to bar unwanted salesmen without being rude and, fortunately, there haven't been so many 'beggars' recently. I do object to being offered rubbish at inflated prices and the more insistent they get the easier I find it to stick to my guns.

However, today I opened the door to find two gendarmes standing there. They asked to see the Whale about an 'infraction du code'.

'You probably need to see my son,' I said as it's Jay who drives the car, but they insisted on seeing the person on their form so I asked them in and wheeled out the Whale. As soon as they realised that he was not in a position to drive they decided that they would speak to the 'culprit'.

When I asked what rule he had broken they said it was a case of 'vitesse'.

I went upstairs to find Jay and warned him that the police were after him for speeding. He looked shocked but came downstairs to see what it was all about. They started talking about a fine and I thought they meant we had overlooked a payment. That's serious because the longer you leave it the more you have to pay.

However, it  turned out that it was because he had been fined a year ago but, as he still has his British licence, they were not able to deduct the necessary points.

The policemen perused the tattered piece of card that is Jay's driving licence and decided to write down all the information they could find. We offered to make a photocopy of it for them and they gratefully accepted.

Then it was courteous handshakes all round, we all wished one another 'Bonne journée' and the two officers went out into the heat of the day to continue their business.

Phew, what a relief.

"I'll pick you up at about 6.30", said S, the physio. "and we'll go and eat at the cafeteria at Cora." 

I had already warned the Bear that I was going out with S and her little girl and he didn't raise any objections. Amazing!

As we drove towards the supermarket she chatted about her boyfriends and the lack of them. She was widowed just over a year ago after nursing her husband for months when he was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour. Her present motto seems to be 'better single than attached to the wrong man' but she has, nevertheless,  had several brief flirtations.

The carpark at Cora was pretty full but she found a space near the cafe and pulled in expertly. We were early so we walked round the 'little' shops inside before making our way back to the entrance.

"There he is", she cried. I looked round and there was this very shy looking chap, dressed casually, who approached us almost reluctantly. He greeted S and her daughter with the usual kisses and then she introduced me to him and after a split second of wondering "handshake or kiss" we went for the latter.

He obviously didn't know what to say to me and studiously avoided eye contact in case he had to speak. We joined the queue and eventually arrived at he point where we could choose our food. It is arranged 'backwards' so you get your dessert first - we all chose Isles Flottantes, then cheese - S took a piece of camembert - then starters, - prawns for S, carrot salad for me but nothing for Monsieur - and, finally, the main course. S went for sauteed turkey and chips plus breaded fish and chips as well as a 'present bag' for her daughter. Monsieur had the lasagne and I decided on fish in sauce with broccoli. At the checkout he and S had an argument about who was paying and were both waving their credit cards about. I suggested we all pay for our own, but, in the end he won  and treated us both.

S wanted to eat near the 'playground' and led the way to a table right next to the kiddies play area. Little L was allowed to go and climb immediately but every so often she would come back for a mouthful of fish, chips or cheese. Conversation was a bit stilted as Monsieur spoke very quickly and with a strong local accent, so I had trouble understanding him and it was highly embarrassing to have to constantly ask him to repeat himself.

As the play area filled up with older kids the games became a bit rough and we were all craning our necks to keep an eye on L who is only two and a half. The meal finished, it was S who kept the conversation going, in between dashing after L and feeding her with titbits from the bag of presents. The poor child was swallowing mouthfuls of yoghurt drink, apple compote (in a squeezy packet), the rest of the camembert, chocolate biscuits and the odd cold chip with mayonnaise in any old order. We stuck it out till 9.30 and then were invited to have a coffee with Monsieur.

As we followed him to his home S explained that his wife had died in December but they hadn't collected the hospital bed yet. It was still sitting in his kitchen as a constant reminder. Therefore we would be having coffee in his 'little house' just next door.

It was obvious that he and S knew each other very well and he was perfectly at ease with her and her daughter - to the extent that S even asked him to check whether L had filled her nappy. He sniffed and shook his head.

But, although he is a very nice chap and I would have no objection to meeting him again I can assure you that nothing 'interesting' or 'complicated' will come of it.

S dropped me at the front door at 11.45. CC called from the bedroom window, "What time do you call this, you dirty stop-out?"

Bear was still up, sitting in darkness in his armchair.

"You're late. I thought you'd dropped dead or something".