Calern

Yesterday the BH had the bright idea of taking her mother-in-law and Yours Truly up to the Calern plateau, where the astronomical observatory litters the limestone with strange structures and even stranger notices (what, for instance is the T.A.R.O.T. facility, as there were no signs of card players or chiromantic enthusiasts?).



There was one solitary puff of cloud to emphasise the faultlessly blue sky, the crickets were suffering a traffic jam as they leaped out of our way on the tarmac, and the sarriette (summer savoury) was in fully scented bloom, backed up by the last of the wild lavender.

Can't think of a nicer spot, after the hectic scooter dodging of the coast.

Serving under the Tricolore

It feels strange to be finally afloat, but serving under a Froggy flag. Actually, as a flag it looks magnificent when spreading out over the stern, amidst a welter of spray.

However, yesterday I narrowly missed having to be on parade in 'penguin uniform' for the ceremonies connected with the anniversary of the liberation of Antibes. Uniforms, tricolore, speeches, veterans, I can put up with, but there was one element which would have been hard to take - the town 'harmonie' or band. Its renditions are impeccably bad.

Luckily, I wasn't needed, and I spent an agreeable evening with colleagues who had also missed having to go on parade, whilst waiting to shepherd the boats which were to leave port to watch the rather splendid firework display, orchestrated to synchronise with the songs of Ray Charles, for some reason. A late evening cruise, under a full moon, on a mirror-like sea, with the reflections of Nice, Antibes, etc, and the regular, generous festoon of spectacular fireworks, was really nice, even though Ray Charles is not entirely my cup of tea.

Rapace

Whilst having breakfast on the terrace this morning, en tête à tête with the BH, I detected movement behind her, on the roof of Mamo's restaurant, no more than six or seven yards away. A peculiarly hunched up bird, with its head down in its shoulders and very powerful looking wings. It was also wearing what looked like plus fours.

Clearly it knew I had seen it, for it opened out its wings and flapped briefly then glided its way into the morning sky. It was a bird of prey looking for a bit of breakfast, perhaps dove or pigeon. I had been party to one of those privileged moments, not uncommon in Antibes, when a moment is essentially eternity.

A lot of lifeboat time

As the summer silly season is supposed to be winding up, the weekly routine of training exercises has just started again. Saturday mornings, with everybody at the station before nine. Yesterday was different, though, as there had been a defamatory article about the crew in Nice-Matin. Apparently there had been a clear out of old lags just before I joined, and they channeled their discontent into the form of an article claiming the present crew, Yours Truly included, were incapable of taking to sea in safety.

That may well still be the case for me, as I am still (and will be for quite a while yet) just a trainee deckhand, but it was not welcome for the others, who have risked their lives on quite a few occasions, and have saved five people from a certain death this year.

So we had one of the big shots of the lifeboat service, in full summer uniform, down to lecture us on how to take the insults with dignity, and how to deal with the factual inaccuracies when the only channel open is the very same newspaper which printed the porkies in the first place. A fascinating example of media studies, and very professionally done.

I went home for a much delayed, hurried lunch and a swim, then almost immediately got called out. The big shot wanted to see the crew in action, for his report to Paris, so off we sailed, out from Antibes, and the coxswain took us deliberately, hair-raisingly close to all the most terrifying rocks along the coast, commenting on the dangers, and enumerating how many boats, bods and bodies had been pulled off each one. I don't think it was by chance, either, that he sailed not so far from a large, wrecked sailing boat, perched on a reef at an angle of 45 degrees, muttering quietly "Saved that lot of Italians only last week".

Hardly had we docked again, and readied the boat for the next call out, but the beepers went off, and we had to leave the big shot on the quay and speed out of harbour once again. Somebody with engine trouble, perilously close to the rocks at La Garoupe bay.

We got back, stinking with sweat, after nine pm. Twelve hours of lifeboat service in one day, a lot of rope work, two complete washes of all the windows, and four engine room routines. Not bad for a trainee...

H for CAVALLINO

How one works out what to eat, or not to eat, where, is a real problem. In certain countries, for instance, beef or pork might be the subject of prohibitions, religious or alimentary. I imagine similar worries about guineapig or dogmeat.

Antibes, to name somewhere close to home, has a couple of horse butcheries which have set my mouth watering.

On my trip around Europe, for instance, we passed some time in Mantova (Mantua), where we ate really well at the Leoncino rosso, an inn which has been in the same place for hundreds of years. The BH ate a main course of rabbit with local olives, but I had dobbin stew. As horse goes, it was awesome, cooked to perfection, and a perfect lesson that what one eats can be anything, as long as it is well prepared. Mind you, the accompanying wine helped a lot, probably. In any case, old horsey did me proud.

Normal Service Resumed

Do not adjust your set. Normal service has resumed after a pause filled by a grand tour around part of western Europe (Italy, Austria, Germany, France). The one thing in common about these countries was the propensity for rain, which seemed to follow us wherever we went.

What was nice, though, was to catch up with family and friends. This involved quite a few aperitifs and beers, which were welcome after all the driving.

Italy and Germany shone in the cycle-friendliness and pedestrian-friendliness leagues. Austria may have been up there, too, but there was so much damned rain and clouds that we never got to see. We knew we were back in France, though, the moment the car became king and crossing the road became a not unrisky business.

Various photos need to be put up on the blog, but I need to sort out the software to upload them from the camera. Watch this space...

On return, I was re-issued with a beeper for the lifeboat, which beeped twice today - both false alarms, but we turned out all the same. This precipitate arrival of all and sundry at the lifeboat provided convenient, orange-shirted extras for a film being put together by the France 3 TV chain, who had a camera crew at the station.

Tax Harmony

Some time ago, I went, armed with British tax forms, to the Antibes tax office. The mission was to get myself declared fiscally resident in France, and thus not subject to UK income tax. The forms were complicated, the day was hot, and the tax officials here were worked off their feet.

I was very well received, though, and they stamped and signed my forms for sending on to Paris and then to the UK. I thought the chances of anything happening were pretty slim. However, yesterday I received two charming letters from HM Customs and Excise announcing that the process had duly been put in motion.

Well done, both lots of tax people; and thanks for being nice, too.