Three years ago the French government did  its best to suppress one of the many Bank Holidays in May. They opted for Whit Monday and suggested that it would be a 'day of solidarity' to raise funds for vulnerable people (following the deaths during the 2003 heatwave). This meant people would work but not get paid.

As you may imagine, this did not go down well and each year there has been uncertainty about who was working or not. Apparently 60% of workers took the day off  in 2006.

Last year, for example, no-one knew until the last minute whether schools would be open. In fact, they were closed. This year, the schools are closed again but due warning was given. In return, teachers have undertaken to put in two extra half day sessions - presumably sans pupils.

Some supermarkets are advertising business as usual while others are operating 'Sunday' hours.

With typical Gallic tenacity the French are holding out for their right to a day off - especially if it involves a long weekend - but lorry drivers are in a strange position. It seems they are officially at work but, because of  'jour de ferié' rules, their vehicles are not allowed on the roads.

It could only happen in France.

There was a mediaeval market in a neighbouring town today and CC's new friend cum French teacher, Catherine, offered to take us along this afternoon.

However, the Bear got wind of it and made life rather difficult in his own inimitable way. He didn't want me to go out with CC so he made a fuss about wanting to go too. He would take me himself. This made sure that CC wouldn't come with us but, as it happened, she had a lot to do and it gave her a good excuse to stay at home.

Consequently, we rang our friend to say the Bear and I would meet her there about 6 o'clock.

The weather was still warm when we arrived and the market was in full swing. The stall holders were all in costume and entertainment was provided by a middle aged man doing acrobatics and balancing on two chairs. He also played the bagpipes and recorder - but not all at the same time.

The Bear objected to the noise and complained because I wouldn't buy any strawberries (which were past their best) or a chicken (because I didn't want to carry one around in the humid weather).

Then Catherine turned up with her younger daughter and we started chatting. At first, Bear was polite and charming, but he soon got fed up and said he was going to sit down. In fairness, his legs were playing him up. Catherine, Annaelle and I walked round the market and she seemed to know an awful lot of people. She was on her fifth lot of kisses, greetings and introductions when a disgruntled Bear appeared at my shoulder.

"I've had enough. It was very rude of you to walk off like that. I want to go home."

I apologised to Catherine, we said our goodbyes and then I asked Bear why he had been so impolite.

No reasonable answer was forthcoming but it was plain he didn't want to walk round with her because he suddenly began to take an interest in the products on display.

First he bought some little trinket boxes from a craft stall to give to his daughters, grandaughters and ex-wife when we go to England. Despite my suggestions, he chose five identical ones.

Then he gravitated towards the cider stall where a large notice proclaimed that their cider had been drunk since 1529. They were also selling beer made with ash leaves and endives (as well as hops and yeast) so we bought some out of curiosity.

I asked him if he wanted a chicken - now that we were leaving - and we went back to the stall.

"The one I had my eye on has gone. It's all your fault. You should let me buy things when I see them." 

The quiches displayed nearby drew his attention. They were certainly unusual as the fillings were topinambours (Jerusalem artichokes) or orties (nettles). We bought a large topinambour and a small nettle one.

The chap also sold wine infused with herbs and spices according to old recipes. We were offered tastings and were tempted to buy a white wine flavoured with honey and sage and a red wine with cinnamon, ginger and cardomom plus rose petals.

By this time we had bumped into Catherine and Annaelle three times and it was a bit embarrassing. I was relieved when we made our way to the car and drove home.

There is a leak in the roof above CC's bedroom. The water only comes in when the wind is blowing in a certain direction at the same time as its raining cats and dogs so it's not THAT serious. However, it does need fixing.

A couple of months ago the father of a girl I was helping with English had a look and decided that the problem was a 'sick chimney'. He is a builder, rather than a roof specialist, but he said he would do it as soon as it stopped raining long enough.

OK, it stopped raining here on March 26th - for over a month - but he didn't turn up. I asked the girl's mum when she came to collect her daughter if her husband still wanted to do the repair.

"I'll ask him," she said, "and let you know next time we come."

Since then, I haven't seen anything of them. The weather remained dry so I phoned the nearest roofman in the yellow pages. His wife answered, took down the details, and said he'd get in touch.

But he didn't. I rang a few times more but there was no reply - nor answerphone.

The yellow pages is full of 'couvreurs' but it would be nice to have a personal recommendation so I started making enquiries.

At the May 8th ceremony, whilst talking to Felix I happened to ask if he knew any roofers. He said he knew a good chap and that he would send him round.

Sure enough, while I was out yesterday there was a frantic phonecall from the Whale saying a roofman had been. He thought he had been sent by our friends in the next village and he would be coming back at midday.

Later I discovered that the 'roofman' was, in fact Felix who had come to say that he was arranging to come back with his roofman another day. It seemed he had rung the bell but as there was no answer he had tried the door and walked in - giving Whale a bit of a shock.

Between his bad English and Whale's bad French it's little wonder the message was a tad confused. Anyway, the 'couvreur' came back today when Bear and I were in town (for an injection in his knee) and CC had to cope. As far as she could understand, he agrees there's a problem with the chimney: it will have to be dismantled, so he's coming back with a 'macon'.

Sounds as though this job is going to be expensive.

May 8th - VE Day - is a jour de ferié (Bank Holiday) in France and a simple ceremony is held in most towns and villages.

Here, we were invited to gather in the square in front of the mairie for 11.30. We try to be among the first to arrive because it is customary to greet everyone already there with a handshake or kisses and it's not always easy to remember which people you have seen when there are lots and they keep moving about.

We timed it well and found about a dozen villagers huddled against the mairie steps to keep out of the wind. After four years of residence we now find nearly every face familiar even if we don't know names.  However, I still can't be sure whether or not I'm on kissing terms, and if so, how many. Four is the tradition but lots of people stop at two: however if you stop at two you can bet there is a cheek held out to continue.

Anyway, by the time all the kissing and handshaking were done, Monsieur le Maire and his wife came down the steps and did a lightning tour of greeting before we all gathered round the memorial to listen to a speech written by a government minister (I think) and read out by the maire. Two little girls laid the wreath; there was a minute's silence followed by a brisk and jolly version of the Marseillaise and then we all trouped into the mairie for the vin d'honneur - champagne and nibbles.

Various people came up for a chat: Mme Coutin, the president of the 'Old People's club'; Daniel, our supplier of champagne; Felix, a chap who speaks several languages - hopefully better than he speaks English - the three 'deputy mayors' who were there, and, of course, the Mayor and his wife.

I was determined to stop after one glass but, in the end, I had three and came back feeling just a bit tipsy as I had managed to avoid the nibbles.

We were among the last to leave, and, although we had carefully avoided the subject of the Presidential Elections, we couldn't help saying farewell to the photograph of Monsieur Chirac on the wall - soon to be replaced.

Among the regional specialities of the Ardennes one can normally count on rain. Last year we had interminable wetness all through what was supposed to be Spring and everyone complained that it ruined crops. Most vegetables were late and those who had planted their potatoes at the normal time found that they had a very bad year. When it rains here it usually chucks it down for several days at a time but, at least, the well isn't likely to run dry.

However, this year we have not had a drop fall in our garden since 26th May -  until today, when there were a couple of showers which just wetted the surface and then dried up in a matter of hours. The well is still working, but for how much longer?

The rest of France seems to be getting all our rain and I even heard that some people in the south have had to put their heating back on or light their fire in the evening.

I can't believe that every day I look at the weather forecast actually hoping for a good downpour.

May 1st is a jour de ferié (bank holiday) and as it fell on a Tuesday this year many people also took Monday off. Next Tuesday is also a jour de ferié (Victoire 1945) - with it's additional Monday off - and then there's Ascension Day on May 17th - a Thursday so people take Friday off as well. According to our local paper some people will only work 17 days this month.

It is a custom in France to offer one another lily of the valley for good luck. A charity association in the village sells them at rather inflated prices so, despite having a corner of the garden full of them I always feel obliged to buy some when they knock on the door.

Every Mayday our village holds a Brocante - a cross between a fair and a market. Last year everyone was fed up because it rained all day, but yesterday was fine and sunny. Stalls were set up before 7a.m. and the roads were crowded from eight till late at night. Besides the expected display of all sorts of goods there were icecream vans with long queues, another van selling chips and snacks and a large refreshment stall and bar on the village hall carpark.

There were roundabouts, bumpercars and a rifle range too, and live music in the evening so everyone should have found something to interest them.

We spent most of the day wallpaper stripping as it was too hot and crowded to go out and saved our look round till late afternoon, coming back with chips and croque monsieur for tea.

This morning the village showed signs of the invasion with plenty of litter, bottle banks full to overflowing - and bottles left lying around but by lunchtime everything was clean again, thanks to the efforts of the half dozen or so handymen employed by the 'commune'.

I took advantage of Bear being away by going up to Jay's room to watch DVDs until midnight. When I came downstairs I said goodnight to Whale and told him CC and Jay would be down soon to 'put him to bed'. (They do the bedtime routine and I do the morning chores).

Within a quarter of an hour I was snuggled up with two cats and just beginning to drop off to sleep. Then Whale called me - softly - as though trying to ascertain whether or not I was asleep yet.

I ignored him and went back to dreamy thoughts. A few minutes later the calls came again, louder this time.

"What's the matter?"

"I think they've fallen asleep up there. They haven't come down yet."

"No, I told you. They're watching a DVD.They'll be down when it's finished."

I may have dozed because it seemed pretty soon after that when there was shouting from Whale's room. He was calling Jay, then CC then me - loudly - then came cursing and exhasperated sighing.

I dislodged the cats, dragged myself out of bed and went along to see what the fuss was about.

He was sitting up and looking harrassed.

"They must have falled asleep and no-one's emptied my bag." (the one holding wee from his catheter)

"But they can't both be full" (I always leave a spare one so that he can change if one does become full).

"No, but I can't go to sleep like that."

Oh well, I was up so I emptied the bag - rather grumpily - and toddled back to bed. I had only just tucked myself in again when I heard Jay and CC come down. I looked at the time. It was 12.52 - maybe I could get some sleep now.

A while later Jay knocked on the door,

"Are you awake mum?"

"Well I am now. What's the matter?"

"Did you hear that noise?"

"What noise?"

"Oh weird. It sounded like an animal outside. The cats pricked up their ears and ran to the conservatory to see what it was."

"It may have been the dogs next door but one. I dunno."

"OK, sorry if I woke you. Goodnight. Sleep well."

It's little wonder I slept through my alarm this morning and was woken by the nurse clattering about in the bathroom. (Good job she has a key to let herself in).