We have just waved goodbye to some dear friends who spent a few days with us. It was like having four  whirlwinds in the house but time passed only too quickly and there weren't enough hours in each day to say and do all the things we wanted to.

However, it made me aware of the little habits I've developed in doing the daily chores singlehanded. When other people help with clearing away it makes me realise how much quicker it is when everyone mucks in. Loading the dishwasher must be a very personal affair as no-one does it the same way as anyone else, but it's great to have guests who are willing to take all the clean stuff out  the next morning.

The Bear was shamed into 'helping' once or twice but he only succeeded in proving that he has no idea where anything 'lives' and his attempt at making the coffee resulted in me falling about laughing when he stood there with the jug of filtered water saying 'Where does this go?' 

My friends - all female - quickly sussed out what went where in a matter of hours, so is it the Bear or is it a male/female thing?

British driving licences can be a problem once you move to France as it is not possible to renew them (as in after the age of 75) without a UK address.

We were assured by the Consulate in Lille that there should not be a problem in changing to French ones but they reckoned without the local 'fonctionaires' ( translates as 'civil servants' but, in this case means 'office staff')

The first step was to go to the Prefecture (kind of Police HQ which deals with cars, immigration etc) and enquire what we had to do. A really kind and helpful man listed the documents we had to produce, gave us the forms to fill in and it all seemed pretty straightforward.

We went to the  booth at the local supermarket which advertised Identity Photos and explained we needed them for a French driving licence. The girl seemed a bit vague, but assured us they would do. A few days later, we confidently approached the allotted window and handed over the necessary papers - driving licence, identity photos, passport plus photocopy, carte de sejour plus photocopy and cheque for 23 euros with stamped addressed envelope. But the woman behind the glass had ATTITUDE.

She objected to the fact that we actually wanted to exchange our licences and informed us it wasn't necessary. When I tried to explain the problem about renewing them without a UK address she reluctantly drew the papers through her window, pursed her lips and deigned to look at them. An expression of  cruel glee crossed her face and she beckoned to her mate. 'This is not legal - you can't have TWO licences' she crowed, waving the card AND document that constituted the Bear's driving permit. (Mine was still the 'old-fashioned' one page variety)

Of course, she didn't want to know that that's what a 'newer' English licence is like, and my argument that that was a good reason to exchange the licence then, made her ever more prickly.

Her friend then started to pick holes in the ID photographs. They were too large. OK, could she tell me exactly what size was required? No, she couldn't - or, more likely wouldn't.

I asked if one of them would be kind enough to telephone the British Consulate to clarify matters but that only added to their venom.

The final straw came when the pair of them ganged up and insisted that it would take MONTHS before French licences would be forthcoming, and, in the meantime, we were not allowed to drive. Moreover, she would not give us a receipt to say she had taken the licences and a photocopy would not be valid.When I protested that the car was parked in town and we lived several kilometres away she gave an exultant Gallic shrug with an accompanying rolling of eyes to let me know that it definitely wasn't HER problem.

Defeated, I gathered up the paperwork, stuffed it in my bag, and with a final glare in her direction, made for the exit with as much ruffled dignity as I could muster.

A few months later, we plucked up the courage to try again. First we checked the size of photo in a friend's licence and went to have our pictures taken at a 'proper' photographer's shop. Then we went to the Gendarmerie to ask advice about this 'not being able to drive' business. A pleasant young woman gendarme said that a photocopy wouldn't do, but that the Prefecture should be able to issue a kind of receipt. When I said that the ladies at the Prefecture were less than pleasant, she smiled knowingly and agreed that 'not all fonctionnaires were helpful'.

Finally, we braved the queue system (take a number and wait AGES for your turn) at the Prefecture, until our number lit up. This time I was  ready for a confrontation but it was a different lady who greeted us  - with a smile.

She took the papers, nodded helpfully and told us the new licences would arrive in a matter of days.

And they did!

Since I've been less mobile because of a gammy knee I've noticed that the men in my life can be less than helpful.

The Bear:

Waits till I've done the chores, fed him, cleared away, brought him a coffee and then asks, 'Is there anything I can do?'

Always leaves pee on the floor in the loo but denies  he's the guilty party.

Tells me off for 'doing too much' but expects me to drop everything and mooch round the D.I.Y. store while he hums and ha's about the wood he needs (for shelves I DON'T want him to do!).

Watches awful American 'reality TV' shows all afternoon with the sound on deafeningly high.

The Whale:

Is obsessed with having cushions placed 'just so' to prevent his right foot from leaning over and calls me at the most inconvenient times to put them right.

Get's uptight if the physiotherapist or ambulance drivers are a bit late. He asks me to ring them and when I refuse he does it himself. Then they tell ME off because they don't think he'll understand the reprimand!

Even Jay, who normally cleans upstairs, went off to London this morning saying casually that he hadn't had time to do any housework - and The Bear's daughter and grandaughter arrive tomorrow.

My cleaning lady (8 hours a month thanks to the Whale's disability) is on holiday and so I'll have to do everything. No hope of resting my leg then.