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.

It probably wasn't an auspicious day to have an appointment at the ANPE (job centre) for CC.

We arrived, a little out of breath, a couple of minutes after 9 o'clock and had to wait about ten minutes before a pleasant young lady came to greet us and lead the way to her office.

She went through the paperwork we had been given by ASSEDIC (where you have to 'sign on' as being umemployed) and then asked more questions about qualifications and past experience. After much playing with the computer she came up with the obvious - there were no vacancies in any areas of interest to CC, even if her French were at a suitable level.

On the other hand, she gave us a paper which has to be given to someone else (another appointment) so that she can have free French lessons. She explained the system whereby you have to contact ASSEDIC every month by phone or internet to say how many hours work you have found. Failure to report  results in the withdrawal of your 'subscription' to the unemployment register.

As far as the immediate future goes she suggested looking for temporary employment in the tourist industry (in Charleville??!!) or taking on students for private English lessons provided payment was by 'cheque d'emploi service universelle'. This means that the 'employer' has to order a special cheque book with a form after each cheque which has to be filled in and sent off (envelopes provided) every time a payment is made. Then, about a month later,  employer and employee each receive a paper documenting the amount to be deducted (from the employer's bank account) for the equivalent of National Insurance etc.)

No wonder so many French people prefer to work and employ 'on the black'.

On the whole, you could say that we spent an hour and a half getting nowhere at ANPE and CC was very late for her French course. By the time she arrived the teacher had given out worksheets and disappeared to drink coffee in the staffroom. CC waited half an hour but when she didn't turn up she gave up in disgust and we met for a coffee.

Friday is never a good day to tackle the CPAM (Health Office) as the weekend seems to start by late morning for most of the people who work there.

Let's hope we develop a more positive attitude ready for another assault on French Bureaucracy next week.

The day started surprisingly well. The Bear gave me a kiss and a chocolate chicken sitting on a collection of chocolate eggs - not your cheap and nasty supermarket fare but Leonidas! Attached was an Easter Card and he laughed as I opened it.

"I did buy you a card but I lost it so that's last year's," he admitted.

However, to my shame, I hadn't got cards or chocolate for anyone. Our family hasn't been in the habit of exchanging cards or chocolate for some years.

Bear announced that he was going to Mass while the rest of us went to lunch with Yvette to celebrate her birthday. Gosh, that's the first time he's been to church since we moved here.

At 12 o'clock we arrived at Yvette's house and she came out to greet us. Jean-Claude was in the garden and we all sat round the table in the sunshine for aperitifs - champagne and canapés. She produced a second bottle and we were all beginning to feel a little squiffy by the time she asked us to go inside for lunch.

Despite the fact that she claimed she didn't like cooking and was no good at it she produced an excellent spread and, although  we had brought a cake for dessert she came through with some elegant icecream and sorbet concoctions after the cheese.

Then we had a necessary pause before going back into the garden for cake and coffee after which we were allowed a go on Jean-Claude's electric wheelchair. Whale went first and had problems controlling it  even at the slowest speed. He was glad to get back into his old familiar wheelchair but Jay and CC wished he had a self-propelling version for trips into town, as pushing him is hard going.

I was eager for a try and found it quite easy. Yvette set it to go faster and I was soon whizzing round the garden. CC was a little more sedate but got the hang of it eventually.

We didn't dare ask how much they cost but I reckon it's more than we could manage.

We enjoyed the afternoon sun until 5 o'clock and then, as Jean-Claude was beginning to doze off and the Whale was getting uncomfortable we took our leave.

Bear was still in a good mood when we arrived home.

Perhaps he should go to church more often.

It's one year ago since I started this blog, and I've even contrived to make this post number 100.

A blog is an excellent way to let off steam, and somehow, it's easier for me to type away at the computer than to keep a handwritten diary. The one I began when coming to France lasted less than a year.

It was Petite Anglaise who inspired me but I could never compete with her style. She has lived in Paris for many years and has shared the emotional roller coaster of her life as well writing some highly amusing anecdotes about life in France.

Then I discovered Jonny B a very funny chap who lives in Norfolk and Yaxlich who is also hilarious. He, too, started writing in April 2006 but has reached a much bigger audience than I could ever hope to because he knows how to make people laugh.

Through reading these blogs I came across Guyana Gal who writes a wonderful variety of humorous or thought provoking comments on life and I recently found Pat who is writing her most absorbing life story.

Last but not least I'd like to mention CanisFamiliaris a blog about keeping and training a dog. It takes me back to the time when we tried to take on a rescue puppy - a collie cross - and found ourselves sadly lacking. It looks as though Beattie the family dog in Canis Familiaris has started on the right track though despite her mischievous exploits.

So, may I finish by thanking the small but faithful band of readers who visit this blog and take the opportunity to wish you all a Happy Easter - just a little bit in advance.

We've been putting it off but today we finally made the decision to cut the grass.

Last year we had a gardener who pretty well ruined the newest lawn mower. The clutch went (for the third time) and the repair would have cost an arm and a leg since the guarantee had expired, so he removed the offending part which meant that the traction would work as soon as the motor started. He also took out the filter and left it stewing in petrol on the floor in the shed, and he never dreamed of cleaning it after use.

Therefore it wasn't surprising that it wouldn't start today.

Jay got lawnmower number two out of the shed, checked the oil and topped up the petrol, and after a few attempts it kicked into life spitting out a great puff of black smoke. At first it seemed to be working well but only a few yards later it began choking and stuttered to a stop. We raised the wheels and tried again.

This time it kept going for about ten minutes before conking out with a more serious problem - no traction. Poor Jay finished off half the grass by pushing it over the rough ground but we reckoned the 'orchard' could wait. We even considered enlisting the help of a couple of sheep or goats but by the time we'd fenced in the top of the garden and built them a shed to live in we could have spent more than the cost of a 'sit-and-ride' mower.

The only option seemed to be a new machine. We'd have to raid our savings but there seemed little option so Bear met me after my physio appointment and we went shopping.

The first stop was a large grey barn of a building on the way into town. A pleasant lady came to greet us and when I explained the problem she showed us a range of smart looking mowers with rather frightening price tags. Pretending not to be too shocked we took an interest in the least expensive model - a mere 800 odd euros - and I was relieved to find a letout. It had just one speed - 3.4km per hour. "You'll never be able to walk that fast", I said to Bear and then translated for the benefit of the saleslady.

"Well, we can arrange for you to try one," she helpfully replied, and they found a similar model that was in for repair, took it out the back where there was some grass and gave Bear a quick lesson on the controls.

Well, I know the Bear is not too good on his pins and he hasn't cut grass for at least a couple of years but he made a real pigs ear of managing that machine and nearly fell over. While they rescued him I silently applauded his acting.

"What you need is a three-speed" said the chap, pointing to another shiney new example priced at 1,340 euros.

"That's too expensive for us. I think we'll have to go home and give it some thought. Thanks all the same." and we made our escape.

Next stop, a firm on the industrial estate near Cora. We had their brochure advertising a special offer at 499 euros. (We had thought that was a bit much before our visit to the first shop.) We drove all round the 'Zone Industrielle' but couldn't find it. Thank heavens for mobile phones, I was able to ring and ask where they were.

"Where are you ?" asked the lady.

"At Cora"

"Well, we are right opposite, next to the paint and wallpaper depot."

Of course, leaving Cora, you can't just cross the road. We had to go some way up the dual carriagway before we could find a way to turn round and it was then that I noticed Bear was making a bit of a fist of steering, but his driving is getting worse so I didn't think too much of it.

Once in the shop there was a long wait before anyone came to serve us but we found the model we had seen in the brochure and, compared to lots of other mowers on display it seemed to be the best value for money. When the salesman eventually turned up I described our garden, including the rough terrain, the molehills and all the problems the machine would have to deal with and he assured us it was man enough for the job. If we wanted to use the mulching option, however, we would have to make sure the grass was kept relatively short.

Paperwork done, we handed over the cheque and waited while they filled it up with oil and petrol and started it up. They brought it through to the shop and gave us a quick demonstration before loading into our car.

On the way home Bear started wincing and 'ouching' and finally admitted that he had fallen over while I was at the physio. "Why didn't you tell me? We needn't have come out."

He mumbled something about not wanting to sit there with them and went on to explain how he had missed his footing while in front of the house and had luckily avoided banging his head on the lampost when he landed on his right shoulder and knee.

As the evening wore on he seemed to be feeling rather worse for wear. He went to bed early, well rubbed with various potions and dosed with painkillers. I tucked him in and said that Jay would take the mower out of the car in the morning.

"No he won't," protested the Bear, "I'll do it myself. I want to play with it first."

"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".