February is the time for the AGM and 'St. Agathe' meal for the 'Club des Anciens'.

As usual the meeting started nearly forty minutes late, was brief and chaotic. The one thing we noticed in the accounts was that the club spends serious money on booze. Nearly 300 euros for champagne was third on the list and then there were three more amounts to a local drinks depot for similar sums.

We were all 'a table' by midday for champagne and nibbles and then the President sprang a surprise.

'As it is St. Agathe's day the men will be serving the meal and clearing the dishes' she announced. This was greeted with gallic noises of dismay from the men and shrieks of delight from the women. Mme Coutin then proceeded to pick two men from each table (of about twenty people) to be the waiters. I felt sorry for Daniel, who was sitting opposite us. He doesn't actually retire till next month and this was his very first meal with the club. I tried to cheer him up by saying he was chosen because he was the youngest but I'm not sure that was enough to mollify him.

It was interesting to see that some of the chaps were quite domesticated whereas others looked a bit lost but they all mucked in with a will and we got through the meal in record time. Coffee was served by half past four. Soon after that people started to get their coats.

Then the man opposite us mentioned that the local team (Sedan) were playing at five and the match was being televised.

You know that sensation of half waking but knowing you have a good hour before its time to get up. You are cosy and comfortable and your mind is half dreaming but able to control what happens.

It's then that Toby decides to jump on my head and pull my hair. If that doesn't have the desired effect he proceeds to bite my ear. At this stage I give in and haul myself out of bed to let him out.

Once my feet touch the tiled floor I have to trot off to the loo and by the time I come back is it worth going back to bed? This morning I tried and nearly achieved the same dreamlike state when the nurse came. She has her own key but she does clatter about in the bathroom.

OK, I give up, and get up. Toby is sheltering in the alcove by the conservatory. As soon as I open the door he rushes in and makes a beeline for the litter tray.

I suppose it was too much to hope that Jay's carte Vitale was really all signed and sealed and, sure enough, we had not heard the last of it.

Another letter arrived with various forms to fill in (again) and asking for the return of his Carte Vitale so that his own 'dossier' could be prepared.We dutifully completed the forms but kept the Carte Vitale as Jay had further appointments for his foot.

Meanwhile I had occasion to go to the 'Caisse Primaire d'Assurance Maladie' to deliver some medical claim forms and so I asked the man behind the desk if he could clarify the situation. He tapped away on the computer and printed off an 'Attestation' saying Jay was covered on his dad's insurance.

Two days later we received another 'Attestation' saying the same thing. Wonderful. It looked as though the right hand finally knew what the left hand was doing.

But NO. Last week yet another attestation arrived with Jay's NEW number. So he has his own file after all? Well, yes, according to the Charleville office but 'no' according to Monthermé, who returned the claim form from the chiropodist  saying, in effect, that they wouldn't pay until they received a new E121 (meaning that Jay would still be on Whale's insurance).

Today we received  a fourth attestation attached to a new Carte Vitale with Jay's own number on it. I rang the CPAM to ask whether they still wanted an E121 and was told it wasn't necessary. We just had to change the number on the claim form and return it to the Charleville office.

Maybe, just maybe, we have cracked it at last.

We have just had a near miss.

My neighbour popped in about her sick leave and as she was leaving we both smelled smoke.

'It must be the wood fire next door', she suggested.

But the smell was strongest in the hallway so I investigated further and found that in the garage the box containing ashes was giving off smoke. The cardboard  box where Bear puts the ashes had actually disappeared, leaving a square pile of cinders. There was evidence of a fire in the form of black stains up the white bricks and two coats hanging above had kind of melted.

The grey heap was still smouldering so I called Bear as calmly as I could. If the Whale had any idea what was going on he'd have panicked - big time.

Bear wetted an old towel and put it over the 'fire' and then went to look for a metal container to transfer the heap outside, leaving me in charge. I had to pour quite a lot more water over it as the towel was beginning to get singed, so there was a horribly muddy mess by the time Bear came back.

We cleared up the worst and will sweep up the rest when it is dry, before washing the floor.

I now find the last two lines of 'London's Burning' keep going round in my head:

Fire fire! fire fire!

Pour on water, pour on water. . . . .

The Whale has an annoying habit of ringing me on my mobile if ever I'm out for a couple of hours. The call usually comes just as we reach the village.

Last night CC and I went to a concert in town with some friends. My clarinet teacher,with his group, Tziganesh, was performing Klezmer and gypsy music.

I warned CC that concerts don't start on time and, sure enough, it was well past 9 before the lights went down and the stage lights heralded the appearance of the band. There was a young lad of 17 playing the accordeon, Thibault on clarinet, and two older chaps on drums and double bass.

It took the audience a few numbers before they were 'warmed up' but soon lots of people were clapping to the changing tempi. After an interval the trombonist turned up but the violinist couldn't be there. He is the one who explains the history of the music but my friend whispered information as we went along as she'd seen them the week before.

By eleven o'clock everyone was really in the mood and then I heard my mobile ringing in the depths of my handbag. I fumbled for it, answered and then hung up immediately. It was our home number. Surely the Whale wouldn't phone us during a concert. Perhaps something was wrong. It was impossible to push my way outside to phone back but CC was convinced 'It's just dad. Don't worry.'

I managed to turn off the incoming call alert just in time before the next ring and CC turned her phone off altogether. There were five more 'silent' calls to my phone and each time I answered and turned the phone towards the band so that he could hear that the concert was still in full swing. As soon as the  encores were over and we were outside I rang home and Jay answered.

'Is there a problem?' I asked.

'No, it's just dad.' was the exasperated response. Enough said.

On the way home CC answered another call. I heard her say 'Dad, it's very embarrassing to have phonecalls during a concert.. . . .'

Once indoors we found a rather redfaced Whale in bed. He complained that someone else had answered when he dialled CC's number - the answerphone perhaps - and when he rang me all he heard was Jewish music.

I was only expecting two slight changes to the usual routine this morning. The first was that Alexandra, who comes for help with English once a week, was coming today instead of Tuesday, and the second was that I'd have to finish the cleaning as my neighbour cum 'house fairy' was taken ill yesterday.

Chores finished in good time, Alexandra and I were deep in grammar when we heard a crash, followed by cursing. The Whale had fallen over.

Fortunately he had landed reasonably gently as he had kind of slid down the wall but the problem was to get him back onto his wheelchair. He is very heavy, Jay and CC were out and it usually takes four of us to raise him off the floor.

The Bear is always helpful in these situations and after a futile attempt to lift him onto a 'shelf' near where he had fallen, we decided to go for plan B and drag him into his bedroom where there is a lower step for him to sit on. Alexandra joined in, bless her, and we manoeuvred him into a position from which he could use his walking frame to heave himself up while the rest of us pulled and pushed.

He fell back, panting into his wheelchair and I made him a cup of sweet tea to steady his nerves. He insisted that there was no damage done but maybe he should cancel the physio's visit, so I rang the surgery, explained the situation and asked if the doctor could call just to make sure he was OK.

She turned up a few minutes later to check him over and agreed that there was no great harm done. Meanwhile, the Bear had taken over the English lesson and both he and Alexandra seemed to be enjoying themselves. I had only just seen the doctor out when Alexandra's mum came for her. Time to get lunch already.

This afternoon the Bear suggested a little outing. The sun was shining so it seemed like a good idea. We had been looking at houses for sale and I'd seen one in a village we didn't know so we thought we'd go and have a look round.

Of course, we didn't take a map as Bear's sense of direction rarely let's him down. Today, however we crossed the Belgian border and I realised we had gone wrong. 'I thought you said you didn't want to go there after all', was Bear's response, when I asked if we were lost. Uh?! Imaginary conversations seem to be happening more frequently. Is he mad or am I losing my memory?

Nevertheless we had an enjoyable drive. The French Ardennes are most attractive but the Belgian Ardennes are more 'mountainous' with lots of hairpin bends and at this time of year you can see down into the valleys bcause the trees are bare.

We stopped at Rochehaut, a well known 'point de vue' and even in February it was full of visitors. 'Fancy a coffee now we're here?' asked the Bear. The Auberge de la Ferme is rather expensive but we went in. 'Let's have a cake', he said, and I must admit I was tempted. It claims to be a gourmet restaurant but the 'tarte maison' turned out to be a square of soggy pastry with a thin layer of sliced apples, singed at the edges. It was very artistically presented with a whirl of chantilly decorated with mint and a red berry on one corner of the square plate and a scoop of icecream on another corner. The whole dish was dusted with icing sugar and a trail of maple syrup finished it off. Pretty but disappointing for the princely sum of 7euros. The coffee was excellent though.

Before leaving we went to the shop next door and bought some local cheese, one flavoured with ginger and another made with beer, some farm butter and home made chocolates. This was turning out to be an expensive trip.

Once home, it was time to feed the cats, light the fire and settle down for a typical evening: Jay and CC upstairs in their bedrooms reading or watching TV, Whale watching a DVD, Bear watching Judge Judy and me on the computer. Some things never change.

Stress in the house has been heightened during the last few days because Bear has been unnaturally quiet and pleasant. It just isn't normal for him to watch me go out with CC and Jay and not make nasty comments but several medical appointments and shopping trips occurred this week without the slightest grumble from him.

I even began to wonder if he might produce a Valentine card yesterday but he didn't. Things were getting back to normal. The speakers on his computer stopped working and, as usual, it was all my fault. He had changed the position of the computer and insisted that he'd taken out the connections one at a time so he would remember where each one went but, in fact, he hadn't plugged in the speakers at all. I got it working but he would not admit that it was his fault.

Today my friend came round to practise her English at the same time as Bear was battling with the computer again.  Yvette had brought a DVD about trains to lend him but when I took it through he started shouting at me because he was having problems. He wanted to make a copy of a CD but couldn't figure it out. He had put the discs in the wrong way round despite the fact that the recorder was clearly marked DVD RW.

I sorted that out but he still moaned at me because I was going to 'talk to someone' instead of standing by to solve his next problem.

It's weird that I feel more comfortable now that he is back to 'normal'. The 'Dr. Jeckyll Bear' just doesn't ring true. At least it means I won't have to feel guilty about refusing to go to England with him whenever he decides to go.

We can all look forward to a well deserved rest from him for a couple of weeks.

CC has suffered back problems for many years and has paid a fortune in osteopath and chiropractor fees as there's no hope of treatment on the NHS.

Today she went to see a Doctor in town. He is a qualified GP, homeopath and osteopath and charges double the usual fee for going to see a doctor. However, 70% of that should be reimboursed thanks to form E111.

After the preliminary questions he examined CC standing, bending forward, lying on her back and on her tummy. Then he bent her legs, one at a time, back towards her bottom and I could see that there was a big difference between her right and left legs - the right one wouldn't go back nearly as far.

Then he, literally, put his finger on the problem. 'That's where it hurts'. she said. His next actions surprised us both. 'I'm going to hit her with my fist but without malice', he announced, and proceeded to give two or three short, sharp wallops followed by one really hard one in the place he had pinpointed.

Then he bent her leg back again and it went much further. Instant results! He completed the treatment with some more familiar manipulations, explaining how important it was to position the arms and legs before administering each 'crunch'.

CC came away delighted, especially as he had prescribed ten days of taking it easy and no lifting.

'Is it expensive to keep a cat?' asked my friend one day. Her son had been given a kitten but as she was still out of work she was a bit concerned about another mouth to feed, however small.

When I had given her an idea of the price of vet's visits and vaccinations she was worried, but the kitten was cute and her son was smitten. However, no-one seemed to have the time to look after the poor little mite and in less than a week she was reported missing.

Missing? But she shouldn't even be allowed out till a week after her vaccinations. They asked all their neighbours if they'd seen her and hunted high and low to no avail but eventually a little face appeared at the window. She had found her way home.

That should have been enough to ensure that she was better tended but a couple of weeks later we heard that she had got out again and been involved in an accident with a car. My friend and her sons were going away for a few days so we volunteered to take care of little Misty. She arrived in a cardboard box, sitting up and looking round despite her injury. She had been taken to the vet but an operation would be too expensive so they were hoping she would get better eventually even if she had a permanent limp.

After a very short time we decided we couldn't bear to see her in such discomfort so we took her to our vet. An X-ray revealed that she had a broken pelvis and the femur was actually displaced. Poor little thing. Owner's permission or no we asked them to go ahead with the operation and we paid for it.

She needed special care afterwards as she was not allowed to run around so it was agreed that she should stay with us. At first we made a cage out of two fold up plastic boxes and kept her in our bedroom but later we saw a rabbit cage for sale at a local store. It was about four feet long, two feet wide and two feet high - just right. We bought it and installed Misty in her new 'home' in front of the fire. Every day we lifted her out for a cuddle and she would spend many hours curled up on Bear's lap.

The other cats came and sniffed her and she responded. She gradually became more mobile and the day she tried to climb out and got her head stuck in the door we thought she was ready to enjoy a bit more freedom, at least during the day.

Christmas came and went and she settled in well. Her owner came to visit occasionally and it was obvious he was impatient to have her back. Bear, on the other hand, was adamant that she should stay with us. I felt the same, but we couldn't exactly insist.

Luck was on our side when our friend found a job and therefore couldn't be at home to look after the cat. Her son wanted to take Misty to live at his father's - in Brittany - so he could see her during some holidays, but in the end he saw reason and agreed she should stay with us.

We re-named her Chloe and she is now well and truly one of the family. She has completely recovered from her injury and, although she has a slightly unusual gait, there is no sign of a limp.

She is the one who sleeps in our bed every night, while Toby and Mustard sleep on top of the covers and Parsley chooses the radiator. Pepper curls up on her favourite armchair and Holly sleeps on Whale's bed.

Six cats are enough. Let's just hope that we don't come across any more felines in need of a home and lots of TLC.

Thursday 10th october (2002)

Wake at 6a.m. - still dark. Wait till 7.20 before getting up. Quick breakfast of tea and yoghurt before Michel and Marie whisk me off to Charleville to collect the keys to the house in town.

It was better looking than the village house but had THREE steps at the frontdoor, an inconveniently placed washbasin in the toilet and it stank of animal pee! Non - absolument pas!

Keys returned, we went to open a bank account at BNP. It took well over an hour but the advisor seemed very thorough and helpful and tried to explain things in simple French. A lens fell out of my glasses so I had to sign loads of papers with one eye closed. A huge pile of papers to take home. Hope Marie will go through them with me when/if there's time.

 Next stop the Caisse Primaire for health cover. No appointments till Monday, we were told, but Marie, who held quite a high position there until her retirement, pulled rank and strings and got us a rendzvous for tomorrow. She's a miracle worker!

Visit to the Prefecture was less succesful. Rather officious lady gave a list of required paperwork which included a 'Cerificate de Radiation'. What on earth's that?

Lunch was simple but delicious: melon,  choice of left-overs - carbonade or confit de canard - with the most absolutely scrumptious roast potatoes cooked in duckfat, salad with cheese, icecream and coffee.

Took Yaris for a walk then came back to work on THE letter (telling Bear I was leaving him for good) while Michel put a cupboard together.

Jay rang to say he has re-arranged the truck hire for the end of the month and is coming back by car on Sunday.

Lots of conversation during which they both corrected my French alot. It's very helpful but difficult to remember.

Lots more officialdom tomorrow. Life could get comp.licated