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.

There was I, engrossed in typing the previous post when suddenly the lights failed and the computer died.

Bear was in the bedroom playing with the lights. He had been changing lightbulbs without switching the lights off and something had shorted and blown the tripswitch.

He went into the garage with a torch but nothing happened. We were still in darkness, so I went to see what was happening. He had forgotten where the tripswitch was and was poking about at the EDF box at the other end of the garage.

"Haven't you tried the trip?" I asked.

He seemed a bit confused so I tried pushing it up but it wouldn't stay put. Oh dear, that could be serious. We played around for a few more minutes. Bear admitted that he didn't understand the buttons on the EDF box but I reckoned that the grey one ought to stay in when pushed but it wouldn't.

Eventually we gave up and I called Pascal. But there was no answer at home or on his mobile. It was five thirty on a Sunday evening. How do you find anyone to bail you out of a mess at that time?

I rang our friends in the next village for advice. Perhaps they would know someone.

"Whatever you do, don't call EDF," said Michel. "They will charge you a huge call out fee but they won't repair anything if it's not their box."

However, he didn't know anyone who could help.

We perused the yellow pages by torchlight and I rang the five electricians within five kilometres. Surprise, surprise, not one was answering.

By this time I had realised that the bread supposedly baking in the machine was ruined, CC had to 'purée' the soup she was making with a potato masher, and Whale's electric bed was out of action.

I phoned Daniel. He knows everyone, but he wasn't home.

"I'll get him to come round as soon as he gets back" said his wife.

Bless him, he arrived about forty minutes later and checked out the fuse box. He was puzzled so he rang an electrician friend for advice. It all pointed to a problem with the EDF box but his friend said he would take a look on his way to work at 7 the next morning.

You might have thought that this would lead to a pleasant evening by the fire in candlelight, opening a bottle of wine and talking together. In your dreams. That's not how it works in our household.

Everyone opted for an early night. Bear decided he couldn't get down to his mattress on the floor so I helped him make up a bed by putting the coffee table beside the sofa and putting the mattress on top.

"Be careful you don't fall out" I said as I went upstairs.

I was just about dozing off when a friend sent a text message. Then Jay and CC decided they were hungry and went downstairs to get some supper.

It was about 11 o'clock when I was woken by moaning and heavy breathing. Bear had fallen out of bed and then dragged himself up the stairs where he collapsed, panting on my sofabed and claimed he was going to be sick.

Fortunately he didn't throw up but he was in pain and from what I could see by torchlight he had a bump above his eye and was complaining that he had splinters in his hands.

He refused to let me ring for an ambulance so I tucked him up on the clic-clac and tried to get some sleep in the bed. However, knowing I had to get up at 6.30 it was difficult to relax and, in the end I got up at six. No light, no heating, no hot water. It made me think of those poor housemaids in Victorian times.

It was strange coming downstirs by torchlight and scrabbling around for candles and matches. I made hot drinks by boiling water on the gas hob and waited for the electrician.

He arrived on time, took a look at the problem and decided it was definitely an EDF job. However, he tried hitting the box quite violently saying that that sometimes did the trick! Daniel turned up and agreed to phone on my behalf. Apparently there'd be  no-one to talk to till 8a.m. so we waited.

Meanwhile, Daniel contacted his friend who works for EDF and obtained the correct phone number.

When he eventually pressed all the buttons and got through to a human being he explained the problem and said we needed help urgently because there was a handicapped person involved.

They said they'd send help straight away.

Meanwhile Bear was still pretty uncomfortable after his night's adventures and I decided to call the doctor despite his protests.

The nurse came to wash Whale but without light and hot water thought better of it.

"If you have time I can heat some water on the gas" I offered.

"It would be quicker in a microwave" she said.

"But there's no electricity. . . ."   So I'm not the only one who's only half awake at that time in the morning.

It was about ten o'clock when the phone rang.

"Madame, it's the EDF. Your doorbell doesn't work, of course and we're outside your house."

The two men inspected the box, declared it dead and replaced it in a matter of minutes. I pushed up the tripswitch and we had light!

Nothing to pay, nothing to sign and no coffee thank you.

What a relief to be back to normal.

The doctor arrived about an hour later, gave Bear the once over and decided there was no serious damage. However, after inspecting the bump on his head she said he must not be allowed to sleep for more than two hours at a time - day or night. So I have the job of setting my alarm to wake myself up so that I can wake him.

Looks like being a fun night tonight then.

Bear has definitely not been himself recently.

Apart from the worrying fact that his short term memory seems to be failing and his knees are really playing up he is actually being NICE.

Yes, of course, there are moments of irritability but his overall demeanour, for nearly a month  now, has been calm, pleasant and (almost) affectionate.

"Why?" you hear me cry. "What can possibly be the reason?"

Why has he been so goodtempered when everything should be conspiring to put him in a black mood. The bedroom is still not quite finished so he is sleeping on a mattress on the floor in the lounge while, for the last week, I've been able to make it upstairs and get a better night's rest on the clic-clac (bed settee) in the spare room.

What's made him so solicitous for my health and well-being? A couple of weeks ago he brought me a cup of tea before I was up. This came as such a shock that  I was completely disorientated and had trouble getting into my routine of chores that morning.

When I've been reluctant to go into town to eat he hasn't shouted and accused me of not doing what he wanted. No, he has agreed that he didn't really feel like it either.

The only outing we have had, apart from doctor's appointments was to buy a new wardrobe to replace the one that fell apart. (He has put it together again in the garage but it would collapse if we were to try and move it back.)  He saw an advertisement in the brochures that clutter up the letter box every Tuesday.

I groaned inwardly. It was at my least favourite shop, and it was priced at 179 euros: enough to tell you that it would not be very good quality.

Nevertheless, not wishing to be accused of pouring cold water on his ideas I agreed to go and look. The said article was virtually hidden at the back of the shop and looked even worse in the 'flesh' than it did in the leaflet.

However, I held my breath  - and my tongue - waiting for his reaction.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Well, it's not put together very well and the handles aren't very nice. . . . "

"No, it's a bit of a disappointment." he agreed. "Let's go and look in BUT."

Now, BUT isn't a great deal better than the store in question but it was worth a try and it was a relief to escape the monstrosity we had come to see.

There were wardrobes I liked at this shop, but they were far too expensive. In the end, we compromised on something that didn't look as cheap and nasty as the one we had seen at first but wouldn't break the bank.

Bearing in mind Bear's state of health and record of disastrous DIY I insisted on paying a bit extra for 'livraison et montage'. He protested (he had offered to foot the bill) but gave in remarkably easily. We're expecting delivery on Wednesday.

Apart from that little outing life has been incredibly quiet - almost relaxing: definitely not normal for us.

Bear is simply not 'dans son assiette' (in his plate). In other words, he is not himself, he's under the weather or he's sickening for something.

A couple of years ago a young chap came back from training to be a chef in England and opened a restaurant in the village.

His menu was rather more exotic than the choice at the local hotel or the pizzaria but, all the same, it seemed rather optimistic of him to open a third eating place in a relatively small village.

Our Club de Troisieme Age had one of its three annual 'repas' there and although the food was excellent we were crammed into a relatively small space so that going to the toilet was a bit of a problem for certain well built ladies who were sitting towards the middle of the room.

On the couple of occasions when we tried to book a table there was a problem - he was closed because he was catering for a 'do' in Sedan or there was a private party.

Eventually we saw a 'for sale' sign on the door and rumour had it that he didn't have a good head for business and he was always offering free champagne to his customers.

However, despite the major upheaval on their doorstep, M. et Mme Demarez opened for business on Monday. They are a young couple with a toddler and seem prepared to work very hard. They are not taking a day off for the first couple of weeks.

We sampled their bread, eclairs, and 'sausage rolls' and found them all to be very tasty. The village already has a  baker and caterer, bread is sold at the local supermarket and there is a baker's van which comes round every day except Monday so the newcomers have a fair bit of competition.

Let's hope that they can establish their new business and be more successful than the restaurateur.

CC is claustrophobic, I have a fear of spiders but with Yvette it's cats.

At first, she didn't say anything because she realised how much we adore our six small furry creatures but then I noticed that she flinched a little if any of them approached her and she always preferred to sit on a chair at the table rather than on an armchair where one of them might want to come on her lap.

Eventually my friend admitted that she was terribly afraid of cats but that she was making a great effort to get used to them.

Her daughters were amazed to learn that she was prepared to come and visit a home where there were so many felines on the prowl so she was obviously making progress already.

A few weeks ago she brought one of her daughters to see us. She persuaded her mum to stroke one of the twins. Another victory.

But this week, Yvette actually sat on an armchair with Toby perched on the arm beside her. CC and I stood by to grab any cat who might leap on her but then she decided she'd like to try having Toby on her knees.

I grabbed a camera. Despite her anxiety Yvette let Toby sit there long enough to take a picture. Et Voila!

Chloe always used to be happiest on top of our wardrobe. Maybe she felt safe from the rest of the cats, or perhaps she was just shy. Whatever her reason she would only come down to eat, use the litter tray or creep into our bed at night.

However now that the house is upside down because of decorating (and the wardrobe has fallen apart) our Chloe has been forced to integrate.

At first, when the bedroom was emptied and 'out of bounds' she was rather lost. She would scamper through to the conservatory and hide under a chair but gradually she came round to the idea that this was 'her' house too. She realised that she had as much right to curl up in an armchair as any of the other cats and she didn't have to wait for a human lap before she dare make herself comfortable.

She took a liking to the soft stool in front of the television - one of Pepper's favourite seats - and held her ground against all opposition until, one evening we actually found them sharing it.

Another popular place is the radiator and all the cats vie for position when it's turned on. At first, Chloe was not very pushy but now she waits her chance and jumps up like the rest of them, as soon as it becomes vacant. Then she stretches out in contentment and enjoys her snooze.

We may be  fed up with the length of time it's taking to get this bedroom repainted but it's doing Chloe the world of good. She is a much more confident little cat.

We watched the British Legion service from the Royal Albert Hall last night but found the simple ceremony at the village memorial equally moving today.

Despite the rain, people gathered with their umbrellas just before 12.15 and there was a rather more hasty exchange of greetings than usual before one of the deputy mayors began the procedings on time.

First there was a presentation of medals to an 'ancien combattant' and then a letter from a government minister was read out. Two other 'adjoints' proclaimed  the names of those who died, - mort pour la France - a wreathe was laid, we observed a minute's silence and then they played La Marseillaise.

Instead of the usual walk to the cemetary we were invited to the 'vin d'honneur' straight away. No doubt because it was starting to rain heavily.

Was it because the maire himself was away that they brought out whisky as well as champagne? We've never seen alcohol flow quite so freely - though they are always quite generous. Extra bottles were produced from behind the scenes and glasses were refilled liberally.

We explained the custom of wearing of poppies to various people and discovered that some of them wore badges with a 'bleuet' - cornflower - for similar reasons.

We were staggering back home (due in part to knee problems as well as the alcohol) when Pascal and his wife hailed us from their car. They were just returning to their house and they invited us in for 'a verre'.

"Just a small one then" we agreed as CC was cooking lunch and expecting us at 1.30.

Pascal had other ideas. Once we were inside he brought out a huge bottle of whisky and then Florence produced an enormous bowl of nibbles. Not content with that, their son came from the kitchen bearing  a large platter of cold meats.

We met their two daughters as well, and the dog and the cat and then were shown round the house (dating from 1742) which Pascal had renovated from scratch mostly unaided.

It certainly is a little palace. He is justly proud of his work even though I was a bit surprised to hear that he had ripped out the wattle and daub to rebuild the wall and include a fireplace. Nevertheless he had preserved most of the timber frame and the 'Victorian' tiles in the entrance hall and the whole place is tastefully decorated.

We came home an hour late to enjoy CCs Sunday lunch which she had fortunately kept warm in the hostess trolley.

"You're lucky I didn't give it to the cats" she said - half seriously.

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.

Wendy from A Baguette on my Table has tagged me to:

"List one fact, word or tidbit that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of your first or middle name. You can theme it to your blog or make it general. Then tag one person for each letter of your name."

S:  Sablonneuse; a literal translation of my name Sandy. However, I'm no longer a 'beach' person. Years ago I could spend hours sunbathing/reading but nowadays I don't like the heat.

A: Animals and Allergy. Despite being allergic to cats there is no way I'd part with any of them. It wasn't till I retired and spent more time in the house that my allergy appeared and it was some time before they discovered the cause of my blocked nose. A combination of homeopathic 'cat fur' and traditional medication controls the problem.

N: Norwich and Norfolk: my home since I was two. Although I grew up there and was very happy I have no regrets about retiring to France. On the few occasions I've been back the changes in Norwich have made it barely recognisable nowadays. What I do miss is friends and family but, fortunately we can keep in touch by phone and email and they come to visit us pretty regularly.

D: Daydreaming: something I like doing to keep sane(?) - or not - as the case may be. That doesn't mean I spend all day in this state (at least I hope not) but I find it relaxing and helpful before falling off to sleep. What do I dream about? Shhh that would be telling. . . . .

Y:  Youth, (as in mis-spent?) and Years (as in age) If only I could go back forty years knowing what I know now there is so much I'd have done differently, so many mistakes I hope I wouldn't make again but, fortunately I'm basically a happy person and normally look on the bright side.

And my victims, if they wish to take up the challenge are:

Derek

Guyana Gyal

John-G

Keith

Meredic

Looking forward to seeing what each of you will make of this meme. Have fun.