There is a ritual I wouldn’t miss for the whole world: my morning’s coffee, in the coffee shop next door. I love the culture of coffee in London: you have big brands or independent coffee shops every 50 yards. I also love coffee and couldn’t survive without it. Some say it is a drug. It may well be but I don’t care: I have reached this stage in my life where I have accepted me the way I am, wobbly bits and nasty habits included.
I am posting a bit late today because time here, in Saint Tropez, seems to be different and it is starting to get to me. My Internet connection is very slow so no pictures. Sorry.
Everything is much slower here.
Or, as time is relative, maybe it’s me. I have become too accustomed to a fast-paced world and I am feeling a bit lost now.
First of all, most shops are closed between 12.00am and 2.00pm. Time to have lunch and a quick nap. I had forgotten that it was like that here.
Then, I have asked for a couple of quotes for my business. I am looking for a local gardener to take care of a few trees and plants in front
of our offices. Some companies came to see it and promised me that they would come back to me with a price. It has been a week and I am still waiting.
Finally, there is my insurance company. I have sent an email to my usual contact there, only to receive an out-of-office reply, saying, in substance (and in french):
” I will me on Annual Leave from 31st of July to 15th of September.”. No apologies, no “Thank you for your email” (I think that I miss London).
Please note that we are the 23rd and she doesn’t seem to be back. Go figure. It looks like France doesn’t only stop in August now. things have changed and I am out of touch!
To make matters even worse, one of the waiters in the restaurant started talking to me in English. It is official: I am not French any more.
The good news is that anyone who has even a very limited notion of customer service can make a fortune here.
The bad news is that I can’t stand this attitude any more. I used to live and work here. I probably used to do the same. Somehow I have changed!
So, for me, it is : back to London. Pronto!
This means that we had a few children with us over the week end. They were happily running in the street (it is a small, secure street). I was watching over them, happy that they were having fun, when another new neighbour came to me. She didn’t say hello. She didn’t introduce herself. She just explained to me that her son’s girlfriend was staying with them and, should we want a babysitter, she could help with the kids. She was about to go back to her house when I dared to say (silly old me):
The problem was that I can’t help thinking of my new neighbour’s bottom and I am terrified to see it again. It is the first time in my life that I wish for a really cold winter. He would need to get out in his coat. As long as it is not stripy as well we’ll be fine. The British summer usually doesn’t last long anyway. I should be ok. I hope. I am stressed.
Well, he is back in France and, as I am sure you have heard, the criminal charges against him have been dropped. As for me, I am disappointed. Secretly, I was hoping that the Americans would do what we French never dared to: punish him. I know that it is childish and that you are innocent until proven guilty, but come on, the guy doesn’t deserve to be hailed as a hero (as he was) when he landed in France. You see, DSK has simply been too lucky and it certainly looks like he is never going to be caught for what he did.