Our New Car and our Renault 4 Van
It’s really only by watching British TV that I would know Christmas is coming. OK, there are a few decorations up in the supermarket and lights have been strung across the street in some villages, as yet unlit. But other than that Christmas in France seems to begin much later than in the UK. It’s a bit like England about 50 years ago. As a child I remember going on the bus to Leeds market with my father on Christmas Eve and bringing back a turkey and a tree (yes, on the bus!). I much prefer the last minute rush to the commercialism in the UK which now seems to start soon after August Bank Holiday.
A similar thought occurred to me while watching a programme tonight about how motoring in Britain has changed during the last 50 years from the pleasures of touring on the open road to a nightmare of traffic jams and fines. I am pleased to say that motoring in our bit of France is still a pleasure. I will make an exception of going to Lyon airport, and we always make a huge detour around Paris. But there are still plenty of empty roads here and sometimes you can travel miles without even encountering another vehicle. This lunchtime I went out for a test drive in our new car (well, new to us). As it’s the first modern car I’ve driven for a good while so I needed try out the brakes and steering which both need the lightest of touch. And it’s such a monster compared with my little Renault 4. As it was Sunday lunchtime there wasn’t another car on the road. Which was just as well as the first time I braked I nearly set off the airbags!
This week’s local event was a visit from a Swiss male voice choir. They were very good indeed, with an excellent pianist and conductor who were both very amusing. The choir finished by singing national anthems from several countries. As soon as the Swiss anthem began the Swiss people in the audience shot to their feet and stood like ramrods while it was sung. A bit different from the French who raggedly struggled to their feet for La Marseillaise. We must learn the words for next time so we are not like those World Cup footballers who stand looking embarassed before a match.
I know now why songs and operas are best sung in their original language. The Italian anthem, sung in Italian, was absolutely beautiful. However the Welsh ‘Land of my Fathers’ was sung in French so I could not conjure up the image I normally have of bands of Welsh miners singing in the Valleys.
