It isn't easy coping with French and computer language even though lots of English words are used so we enlisted the services of a couple of amateur enthusiasts recommended by our friends.

A few months ago they equipped us with Wifi (prononced whiffy in French) because my broadband ISP was playing up and I was spending a fortune on expensive technical helplines.

It's bad enough in English but, in French,  when you have to ask them to repeat everything two or three times the phonebill mounts up.

The big problem was that the promise of connections for all three computers fell through when the metal in the fireplace meant that the little waves wouldn't reach the Bear's computer. The easy solution would have been to move it the other side of the wall next to the 'Livebox' but he wouldn't hear of it.

Then Jay's computer was infected with a pretty vicious virus so everyone used 'mine'.

The computer 'experts' took away Jay's computer and 'debugged' it but within days it was playing up again. It's his birthday next month so we ordered a new computer - just the tower - and they have  spent several hours over two days installing it and trying to arrange wifi for everyone.

I had the bright idea that if we put the box upstairs it might be possible to 'feed' all the computers. Seemed like a good idea in principle but in practice it wasn't so straightforward.

First of all they had to put  a receiver in my computer. Their first idea (they called it a clé - key) came to nothing so they came back with a card and little aerial thingy.

It made me wonder how 'expert' they really are because it took two hours and lots of 'oh's 'ah's and mild expletives before they succeeded in getting connected.

Eventually all three PCs appeared to be online, I made coffee all round, the bill was paid and off they went.

As soon as I went to check my email it claimed it couldn't make a connection. I've been fiddling with it but the only 'cure' is to restart. It even has the audacity to tell me I can't have a webpage because I'm offline when the little blue and green boxes tell me I am connected and the signal is good.

Never mind, Parsley is having fun playing with the aerial.

Bear and I went to look at a house this afternoon and left CC in charge.

The trip to the village near Laon was lovely - pale blue, cloudless sky, lush green trees with just a hint of Autumn colouring here and there and hills and valleys that stretched into the distance.

The house, on the other hand was a disappointment. We won't be making any offers there.

But when we got back Whale had a sad tale to tell.

He had lost his balance and fallen over. Even with three people it is extremely diffucult to get him back into his wheelchair and so CC couldn't do anything on her own except offer a cup of tea.

They rang the surgery but it is our doctor's day off and her colleague didn't want to know so the secretary kindly rang SAMU for them.

The pompiers (firemen/medics) arrived pretty quickly and picked him up. They checked him over, but agreed no harm seemed to have been done except for a few bruises. However, he had to sign a paper to say he declined a trip to the hospital and they advised him to call our doctor tomorrow.

He hasn't lost his appetite so I should think there's no serious damage. It could have been much worse.

We are househunting in a laid back sort of way but sometimes, when I send off emails for more details, the advertiser doesn't bother to reply, so I was surprised to receive a call last week from a very friendly lady who wanted to answer all my queries personally.

Halfway through the conversation she suddenly said,

"Excuse me, I don't want to be rude but are you Vietnamese?"

Well, I know my accent is pretty obvious but I didn't realise that English and Vietnamese had so much in common.

However, today's call took the biscuit.

It was lunchtime and I was just finishing off the cooking when the phone went. CC answered it and quickly passed it to me, saying she would finish off the lunch.

"Can I speak to your mummy?" said the voice.

"My mother died ten years ago".

"Oh, I'm sorry. Can I speak to your daddy then?"

"Why do you want to speak to my parents?" (in irritated tone)

"Oh, are you Mrs B then?"

"Yes I am."

Oh, excuse me, I thought I was talking to a child. You do have a very young voice."

Actually, it may have been a combination of my bad French when I'm tired and fed up with cold calls at inconvenient times and the fact that I do sound like a 12 year old.

"Let me introduce myself; I'm ..... from ......"

At this I let her know that her call was most ill-timed and I did not wish to speak to her.

CC remarked that I'm getting good at stroppy French.

Whale's appointment at the hospital was at 9.15 this morning.

That meant a bit of a rush around to get everything done in time before the ambulance arrived. But at 8.20 Whale started his usual "What time should we ring them?" routine.

"You are not going to ring them. They don't like it." I insisted, but as soon as I found a minute to dash to the loo he was on the phone.

"Come quickly" he called, and I thought they had arrived but I hadn't heard the bell.

My rapid exit from the toilet revealed Whale waving the telephone and shouting there was a problem and I'd better ring them back, while at the same time an ambulance pulled up outside.

"They're not coming", he was wailing.

"They're HERE", I  shouted back as I went to open the door.

It was a different ambulance company because our usual people were stretched to the limit. That must have been the problem Whale didn't understand when he rang them.

Now there was a last minute scramble to get him ready. He had been too busy telephoning to get his things together  so we went out in a tangle of footplates, walking frame and papers. The new ambulance men coped magnificently even if they found it amusing that we took so much with us.

We were deposited in the waiting room with time to spare and, at last, we were ushered in to to see Dr. Champagne. He went through the Whale's thick file, gave him a quick prod, asking where the pain was and finally decided that he would pass him over to another specialist at the Polyclinique - a semi-private hospital.

"My secretary will help you make an appointment," he said. This may be because when my head is spinning and I have a headache my French usually gets even worse than normal.

Sure enough, the kind lady behind the desk telephoned for me.

"Did Dr. Champagne say it was urgent?" she inquired.

"No, he didn't say so,"

"Well how about 10th September?"

Crikey, if it had been urgent would they have seen him tomorrow - or even this afternoon?

I asked her if she would be kind enough to telephone the ambulance for the return trip and she smiled and picked up the phone again.

We had to wait about half an hour and then two familiar faces appeared. Our usual company had come to collect us. But, frankly, the whole visit had been a bit of a waste of time. We can but hope that the specialist at the Polyclinique will have some idea what to do about Whale's back pain.

Time passed all too quickly.

Our five ladies arrived in two cars on Wednesday afternoon. They had left in the early hours and persuaded the 'tunnel keepers' to let them board an earlier train (9.20 instead of 10.30) so that they reached us about 3 0'clock, absolutely worn out. Elaine and her 82 year old mum had driven non-stop, apart from the trip through the tunnel, so they were pleased to have a little nap after some light refreshments.

Thursday was the day for Elaine to see her French specialist while Bear took the others on one of his sightseeing tours. Dr C has seen her for the past four years and has been far more helpful than the BUPA  doctor who gave her 5 years to live in 1997.

He had all the time in the world, did tests, took X rays and explained at length that, basically, she was stable, and provided she avoided infections she ought to stay that way. He offered advice for when she does have a 'crisis' and although he cannot promise a cure he is always encouraging. He told us he would never tell anyone they had just a few months or years to live as one can never be sure of these things. One of his patients developed lung cancer and he felt that perhaps he might only live about eighteen months but he remained optimistic - it's too easy to make mistakes in giving a prognosis like that.  He continued treating him and he's still alive after eight years.

Elaine was in a very happy mood when we left his surgery and we went home to celebrate with a bottle of champagne.

On Friday we went to the caves at Han-sur-Lesse. There are nearly 500 steps (not all at once) and two kilometres of pathways so Elaine's mum and the Bear decided not to try it. However, Bear missed the shortcut back to the village and they both walked miles along the railway track to meet us at the exit.

We enjoyed the services of a charming guide by the name of Stefan. As we were the only English visitors he asked us to stay at the front of his group of Dutch speakers and so we were able to ask him questions as we went along.

Some of the galleries were flooded thanks to the unseasonal rainfall so there was no 'son et lumiere' but there was still plenty to enjoy. I hadn't realised that without water the stalacmites and stalactites would die but he showed us a column that was now dead.

He explained that trout passed through the caves via the river but that it was too dark for them to take up residence. However, there were plenty of rats, spiders, bats and other 'wildlife' in the unvisited sections.

That evening we went to one of the 'posher' restaurants in town where the 'girls' treated Bear and me to a wonderful meal.

The Bear spent Saturday in bed, only getting up in time for the evening meal but the rest of us went shopping - or rather, I sat in a café with a cold drink while the others did the rounds of the clothes and perfume shops.

We managed to avoid any major arguments while our guests were here but they are all aware of the difiiculties and couldn't help picking up the bad vibes.

Let's hope it didn't spoil their holiday but, here, it's business as usual - back to everyday life with Bear and Whale.

There hasn't been much time to keep up with blogging but I must share this little story.

On Wednesday we had a cooking session and prepared meals for two days; chicken and mirabelle tagine for the first evening and a fish pie for Thursday.

Fish pie is one of Whale's favourites but after he complained about the salmon mousse starter that CC had made for Wednesday one of our guests mischievously announced that Jay had made the fish pie. She waited until everyone had pronounced it good and had second helpings and then said to me,

"Jay did a good job with the fish pie didn't he?"

Bear looked up quickly and then came out with,

"I knew there was something wrong with it. He put too many herbs in it and it was too wet."

Elaine had to leave the table to have a good laugh. She went upstairs to tell CC and Jay and they creased up too.

7.10: nurse's arrival wakes me. Oops, forgot to stock the toilet with loo rolls last night and it's Normacol day so totter down to cupboard and put three spare rolls on holder.

7.15: let cats out,  feed them and clean out litter tray.

7.20; do a mile on exercise bike.

7.30: shower and dress

7.45: make tea/coffee and distribute to people in bed. Whale (having emerged from toilet) informs me that Holly has been sick on the bed.

7.50: clean loo and change Whale's bed sheets etc.

8.10: decide it's a good time to wash his hair. (This is a trick the nurse taught me for washing his hair while he's in his wheelchair: slit a dustbinbag halfway down one side and drape round neck on top of a towel. You can then shampoo and rinse using one jugful of water and catching it in the binbag. My problem is disposing of said water without spilling it all over the floor - but I am clumsy sometimes.

8.20: put washing machine on and check on Bear. He's looking a bit miserable. I ask what's wrong and this leads to another 'hate' session directed against everyone else. The main cause seems to be that I said I wouldn't have time to go into town for lunch today because we're getting ready for visitors tomorrow - five friends from Norfolk. Row ends with Bear threatening (or is it a promise?) that he'll ask if he can go back with them because he can't stand it here.

8.55 Whale reminds me he hasn't been fed yet so give him his breakfast and take Bear a second cup of coffee

9.00 check emails and find that a message from one of the friends due to arrive tomorrow is being blocked because of a virus. Try to phone her but no reply.

9.15: settle down to write this post despite having a million and one more pressing things to do.

I'd be the first to admit it: I'm far from well organised when it comes to paperwork, but I usually manage to juggle three bank accounts (Bear's, Whale's and mine) without going into the red (very often).

But ever since GDF (gas de France) promised a rebate it's been virtually impossible to track it down. Bank statements arrive when they think they will and the last one was dated July 11th so I rang or went into the bank to check on several occasions.

Each time the answer was negative.

Last week, still no statement and it was well beyond the expected date for payment. It looked as though it was time to contact GDF - but I needed to be sure.

There was a long queue but I was determined to wait. The machine only gives one week's transactions if you ask for account details so I had to speak to someone.

Eventually a young man greeted me and I explained the problem and asked if he could give me a printout of my statement since July 11th.

He looked taken aback and asked his colleague what to do. Basically her response was a snotty "NO, we can't do that."

I tried some polite insistance and he rang the chap at the reception desk.

"If you go and see my colleague he will do it for you, Madame."

There were two people ahead of me so after another wait I went over the problem yet again.

However, he couldn't or wouldn't print off a statement bcause he saw that one was in the post.

"But I have to contact GDF if the payment isn't in and so I do need it in black and white. I've been asking since July and each time they tell me it has not been paid in."

He still insisted that he couldn't give me a printout but he looked it all up on the computer again.

"How much did you say it was?"

"About 400 euros."

"Ah yes, it was paid in on July 19th."

"So why did everyone tell me it hadn't been paid?"

"It's because they are holiday trainees", he said without batting an eyelid.

Charming. My expected windfall had arrived and been spent (it was already accounted for) but my hopes had been raised that it was still to come.

When I got home the statement had arrived - giving details from July 27th. So still haven't seen that transaction with my own eyes.

Of course it was all my fault.

Bear has been complaining that he couldn't sleep because his legs were itching. He rummaged through the first aid cupboard and tried various potions but nothing eased it so, last night I suggested he try an antihistamine tablet.

This morning I left him snoring until late as usual but when I took him his coffee he said he felt dreadful and it was all due to that tablet I gave him.

I looked up the side effects on the notice.

"Headache, nausea, dizziness and drowziness" I translated.

"Yes, I've got all of those," he moaned.

He drank his coffee and went back to sleep, snoring loudly most of the morning.

Just before midday, when the noise stopped I went into the bedroom.

"How are you feeling now? Is there anything you fancy to drink - or eat?"

He thought it over and then said he'd like some cereal.

"Should I bring everything on a tray so you can help yourself?"

He fell back on the pillow, holding his head.

"No, you do it. You know how much milk I like - just enough to make the rice krispies rise."

So, back I went with the bowl of cereal and a glass of fruit juice.

"Oh, I don't like that sort of bowl. And where's my banana?"

'Well, he can't be feeling that bad' I thought as I trouped back to the kitchen to get his banana and a knife.

CC made fishcakes for lunch and when we had finished and cleared away I went to see how the invalid was faring.

"That was funny fruit juice. What was it?" was his greeting.

"It was a mixture - multivitamin juice."

"Well, it didn't taste of anything." he grumbled.

"Do you fancy anything else to eat or drink?"

"I'll have a coffee, something with a bit of flavour, and is there any fresh bread?"

So he had thickly buttered baguette for his lunch, followed by a nectarine, neatly quartered.

He got up about three and watched television until it was time for an 'hachis parmentier' (cottage pie) from the freezer (as he wouldn't eat salad like the rest of us) served on a tray in front of the box.

The side effects of one little antihistamine pill were certainly far reaching.

We were having lunch when we heard this squeaking sound coming from the conservatory.

CC and I went out to investigate. The twins and Parsley were stretched out on the armchairs but little Chloe was staring at the corner under the door. We couldn't see anything so we went back to our food.

A few minutes later CC called out, "There's a mouse!" and I caught  glimpse of a small brown shape scuttling for cover behind the radiator. Chloe watched but didn't pounce.

It was a shrew and it was climbing up the wall behind the radiator well out of reach of the cats - or us.

We wondered whether one of the cats had brought it in while the doors were open this morning or whether it had foolishly walked in by itself.

Parsley came over to sniff the intruder but went back to her siesta. There was nothing we could do while the little visitor was rockclimbing out of reach so we left them to it.

Some time later we saw Chloe in hunting posture by the litter tray. It took a combined effort to catch the tiny creature - CC lifted the tray and I pounced with a pot - and then we put him outside in safety.

He seemed rather disorientated at first but then made for safety under some stones.

We have kept all the cats in to give him time to make a complete getaway.